So I had the pleasure of watching this film the other day, and I really think it’s one of my favorites already.  I think it’s quite a wonder to watch someone come into their own, to see a feature that is so self-assured and confident, to watch something that is funny and emotional, and beautifully realized to boot.

Basically I’m obsessed with Lena Dunham.  She writes and directs in a way that has a light touch sort of like Whit Stillman or Nicole Holofcener (Have you seen Barcelona or Friends with Money? So good.)

Anyway, when Tiny Furniture comes out  this fall, I hope you check it out.

“Her name is Margaret.”

Needless to say, it stopped me dead in my tracks.

•••

I’ve never been the kind of person who takes lots of risks.  I had a pretty safe job, doing the grunt actuary work at a large bank.  In college I was an Econ. major.  Even in high school, I just kept quiet and did what people expected of me.  So I was probably more surprised than anyone when I caught myself flipping out at work.  Back in the old days, I probably would have just been looked at as crazy, but now, there are all sorts of pyschological terms for what happened.  Depending on your point of view, I was either venting, or suffering from work induced stress. But in reality, I just hated my job.  I hated getting up in the morning with that cold feeling of dread at the pit of my stomach.  I hated riding the train to midtown and being herded like cattle.  I hated counting down the minutes of my precious lunch break.  And I hated leaving, knowing full well I’d be back the next day.

About three weeks ago, I stopped going to work.  Well, I should say, I stopped working.  I would show up, but at odd hours, whenever I could get out of bed.  2pm, 3:45.  Once I even showed up at 5:59.  It was an obvious cause for concern, but at the same time, I was equally as productive, which made it harder to discipline my actions.  At first.  But by the last day of the week, after I pulled that 5:59 business, I was called in for a review by my manager, and his supervisor, and a representative from HR.  They had me go into this long conference room that overlooked the park.  And in my younger days I would have probably been excited about all of the pomp and circumstance over little ol’ me.  Instead I felt numb, and was angry that my time was being wasted.  I’d been at this company for over 6 years, and I’m pretty sure no one knew my last name.  It was a wonder anyone even knew my first.

The HR rep offered me some water.  I accepted.  They spent the next twenty minutes saying how valued as was as “part of the team” and how “my work was really stellar” but for the majority of the time they were talking I just sort of nodded out.  From what I was able to glean, they basically just wanted me to cut the shit.  And be a regular pion again.  And they were so nice about it, it was really easy to agree.  I told them I had been having some problems at home (which I wasn’t) and said I appreciated them taking time to really treat me like a person and give me the benefit of the doubt (which again was bullshit).  And then I wrapped it up saying that I wouldn’t disappoint them.  If I was Japanese I probably would have bowed too.

So in short, the meeting went well.  A friend of mine once said, people don’t mind if you are a jerk, as long as you are consistent.  For example, if the same guy at the coffee shop I go to is rude to everyone, it’s fine, I just take it at face value.  But the one time I saw him be nice to some other random customer, I lost it.  Well, not actually.  I didn’t really have the balls to “lose it” on him.  But I was peeved, nonetheless.  With my behavior at work, it was the same thing.  If I was always rude, it would have probably been tolerated.  But to change, that’s what gets people.

As I was leaving the meeting, I started to have this hollow feeling in my stomach.  Like I had completely sold out.  And as I was riding the elevator with my manager and the head of HR, my blood started boiling.  One of them noticed I had broken out into a sweat and said:

“Some weather we’re having!”

And I screamed out: “No!” right as I hit the emergency button.  I was tired of being taken for granted, and for doing the easy thing.  I stayed in that elevator yelling at those two men for 45 minutes.  Spittle was coming out of my mouth I was so furious.  And I never felt more alive.

Of course I was fired, but it was worth it.

I guess what I’m saying is, is that when I saw that woman, who looked so calm, I knew I needed to…well to do something to get what she had.  I knew she had answers for me.  And when that cloddish overgrown bell boy smiled at me after he said her name…well I was pretty sure I would do whatever it took to get more information out of him.  Even if I had to beat it out of him…

Ouch.

But kinda funny in a weird meta, life is a movie way.

When I got back to my fourth floor walk up, I was drenched in sweat.  I knew better to wear pants in weather this hot, but the movie theatre is always freezing.  I sat on my bed and looked at my typewriter.  Hadn’t written anything in weeks.  I laid down and just kept replaying the moment where bicycle lady smiled at my in my head.  It was more than polite, that much I know, and yet not lewd or inappropriate.  Welcoming.  That was a good word for it.  Welcoming.  Like going home.

I went into the kitchenette, and poured myself a large glass of water.  There was no ice in the freezer but I opened it just the same and stuck my head inside.  What was her name?  Something like Brenda?  Debra?  Karen?  Maybe she was a Karen.

I’ve seen plenty of women in this city, and for the most part, a great majority of them are attractive.  But none I’d ever passed looked like this, this level of calm.  She had something I wanted, and I couldn’t place my finger on it.  I decided I’d go to bed, but sleep wasn’t coming.  And as crazy as this sounds, I knew why.  I had to find this woman.

I went to sleep immediately after I made up my mind: tomorrow I was going to find this woman.  I live in a city of millions, but I knew in my heart of hearts I would be successful.  And I slept so well that night.

In the morning, I got up and jumped in the shower.  I made myself a cup of coffee, which I then put in the freezer.  Two pieces of toast and one egg over easy.  I pulled a notebook out of my dresser drawer, which was empty.  Perfect.  In it, I wrote two words:

Find her.

I grabbed the coffee out of the fridge and gulped it down.  As I locked the door to my place, I knew my next step was simple enough.  I would go back to the corner we met at.  I stood there for 10 minutes boiling.  I couldn’t tell which direction she would have been walking from, because in that part of town, there really is nothing.  There was a hotel on the corner, but the bike was clearly hers, not a rental.  And by the looks of her clothes, she didn’t live around there.  So what to do next?

I waited.  I waited for an hour.  Then another.  I couldn’t tell what I hoped to accomplish, but I figured maybe if I stood still she’d find me.  Also, it gave me something to do.  After quitting, most of my days were aimless.  I knew I had a time limit for when I’d need to look for more work, but I wanted to treat this summer as a gift to myself.  I was going to buy two months of life.  And if that meant using it to stand on a hot corner for hours on end, so be it.  It was my money and my life and I was glad to do what I wanted with it.

At 2:00pm, I realized I’d been on that corner for almost 4 hours.  My neck was starting to burn, and I had to pee.  But I didn’t want to leave.  So I did the only thing I could think of: I drew a picture of her, which looked like shit, as I can’t draw.  And underneath it I wrote:

“You: sundress and bike.  Don’t go anywhere.  Be back in 10 minutes.”