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Blogs by Paul Cuenco
The Colleague 3/8/2012 5:41:31 PM
I was writing a book, “A Cottage in Another Country”, several years ago. Mike (another Mike) and I were sitting at the corner talking when he spotted his co-worker approaching us. He quickly mentioned that I should ignore him because he talks a lot and certainly, I will be bored with his conversation. So, there I was sitting quietly, trying to concentrate on my writing until I hit a stump. Of course, I tried ignoring their conversation, but something intrigued me. It was not their conversation per se but how they talked. Soon enough, I was describing them in my novel.
And in the novel, there were these two hobos sleeping behind some bushes in some business along Hawthorne. Nobody notices them but I certainly did in my novel. They woke up that morning, early enough so that no one noticed that they had slept behind the bushes. They talked with a twang like some comedic episode of some sitcom. One of the characters was trying to awaken his sleeping partner. Too bad, the scene was that short.
I was also taking notes on what was said but as I mentioned it was not the determinate gist of the novel. I totally forgot what their conversation was. But Mike seemed to be in control of the conversation.
This time, I saw Mike again, but late in the evening. He hadn’t gone home yet and wants to spend the ending day drinking a beer or two. I approached him and he began a tirade about a co-worker who talked and talked, for the past sixteen hours. He said that this co-worker was assigned to his work team by his superior because the superior didn’t want him on his team. This co-worker didn’t know when to stop and when you vouch a subject, the co-worker would talk about that subject without knowing full well what the subject was all about. For example, if you mentioned Oakland, he would talk about Oakland without knowing anything about the city. Not only didn’t he know, he has not been to Oakland, in the first place.
I have encountered people like Mike’s co-worker. But unlike Mike wherein he would be pissed off, I merely relegate this poor soul to limbo. I would be there, but I am not listening anymore. I am daydreaming or writing something about the guy. But if a friend bored me to death with his constant yapping, I would pretend to be listening. And if that person was a lesser friend, I would excuse myself and I would just write.
I certainly love to talk to some people but they are very few people I would want to talk to. It was as if just when the conversation just got started, I wanted to end it after five minutes into it. I am not a conversationalist. I could talk when I am paid, for it is a job. But certainly, I want my peace and quiet. Even with my mom, it pains me to talk to her. She would discuss about her prayer meeting and novenas while I try to listen and respond, painstakingly. Too me, it’s all blah, blah, blah. I just didn’t know what to talk about to her. But I think I am getting better now at not only listening and responding. It was imagining of what to talk about that is most difficult. After all, I am mostly the writer.
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