bicycles

The first man steps into the rail car on the second stop after I did. He’s in his early forties. He wears a windbreaker that looks to be about a hundred dollars, expensive sunglasses and slacks, the right leg of which is pinned with a binder clip. He wears a bicyclist’s cap and helmet on his head.

The bike he’s pushing in front of him is well-maintained. It’s about twenty-four inches, between five and ten years old and has new tires. There is a headlight attached to his handlebars next to an aged bell. His U-lock sits in a clip attached to its frame. A copy of today’s Wall Street Journal is strapped to the rack that sits over his rear tire.

With the bike hung, he turns around, glancing across the faces of the other passengers. Even through the expensive sunglasses, his expression seems to say, “I hope all of you see that I rode a bike today.” He reaches around, takes a book from his pricey buckled leather backpack, leans against the Plexiglas and begins reading.

Two stops later, the second man enters the train. He wears a cheap and over-sized white t-shirt, a baseball cap with a flat bill that’s turned to the right, a pair of off-brand sunglasses and giant denim shorts that are long enough to come within inches of his white sneakers. He’s in his early twenties and wears a gold watch on his right wrist. It looks to be fake.

He’s pushing a smaller bike, about twenty inches or a bit shorter. It’s newer than First Man’s, but looks slightly older. The left handle is missing, it’s dirty and there are many places where its paint has chipped. It lacks any accessories but looks to be frequently used.

First Man, seeing Second Man’s bike, moves out of the way along with a few other people. The door closes while Second Man’s still making his way to the rack. He stands his bike and tries to hang his front wheel over the hook while keeping his balance as the train pulls out of the stop. He’s not very successful. First Man gestures and mutters something in an attempt to help, but is ignored.

Finally, with far more effort than is normally needed, Second Man has his bike in the rack. He backs away, steps toward the door and stands against the Plexiglas there. He doesn’t look around, he stares straight ahead and his expression never changes.

The two bikes are within feet of one another on the rack. One is obviously a leisure vehicle for its rider. It’s proof that First Man is environmentally conscious and forward thinking, not matter how loudly that rings hollow. With the cultural shift toward environmentally friendly living, dozens like him beam with pride over their smaller carbon footprint and their BMWs sitting idle in their garages.

Second Man uses his bike as a source of freedom. It’s a mode of transportation and an item of necessity. He doesn’t care about his impact on the environment. He may be new to mass transit, but he gets good use out of those two wheels. Maybe he has a car, but shares it or it’s in a shop or doesn’t run. Maybe he’s just taking it out today because it’s sunny and warm or he wants to avoid the roundhouse to the wallet that comes with filling up at the pumps.

The two bicycles may be hanging by their front wheels on the same rack in the same rail car, but they come from different places and are used in far different ways.

palatable

The country is facing epidemic obesity and weight-related health problems. Treatment of preventable conditions feed the health care industry. Heath care is one of our fastest growing sectors in cost and profits, outside of oil and defense spending.

The problem cannot entirely be blamed on the public, nor the high-calorie, low-nutrition industry. Portion sizes at restaurants have grown according to market demand. With consumer demand for more product at lower cost, mechanized processes to remove valuable nutrients or mass-produce high-fat foods have been developed. With budget cutting and limited oversight, those that police food manufacturing do so with far less authority and less often.

Our economy is weak and our nutritional educations are worse. On any day of the week, local bistros that serve direct-from-farm produce and local foods are passed up while millions stop in chain restaurants like Applebee’s and McDonald’s because the meals there are so much larger and cheaper.

The fast-food and restaurant industries constantly bombard consumers with delicious imagery and enticing deals. The accessibility of the drive-thru, coupled with our fast-paced society, make these establishments practically irresistible. Parents are overrun with responsibilities and a stop at the closest Burger King and it’s attached play area is often a welcome reprieve.

The market needs to change. People need to be more informed and motivated in their dining choices. If those same millions of people limit their dining out to one night a week in order to better afford the local bistro, the market will shift. Chain restaurants, forced to alter their product, with either bring more nutritional, local food to the table or face corporate decay.

We wait about fifteen minutes in the lobby of the IHOP. At least half of those around me are large, some alarmingly so. A few dozen people make their way in or out of the doors while I glance through a menu. The manager calls names off the list with a microphone hooked to the PA system. He yells names with his booming voice and jokes with the crowd while he herds them toward their table as quickly as possible.

Our names ring through the wall-mounted speakers and we’re hastened to our seats by a dispassionate hostess. Our server comes by, gives his name and disappears again into the sea of people with assurances he’ll be right back.

The menus are packed from edge to edge and cover to cover with appetizing photographs of calorie-rich offerings. Every item comes with an assortment of sides, similarly nutritional. The server returns to get our drink order. I decide on a water.

An insert for a children’s meal, promoting a film currently in theaters, depicts a stack of buttermilk pancakes covered in two different fruit glazes alongside a generous serving of both eggs and ham. On the other side is a drink with two different types of sugar-heavy sodas mixed with chunks of two different flavors of Jello.

I decide on an omelet and watch the other tables that surround us. The server at the table to my left is, as politely as possible, explaining how the mother had not ordered her meal in “all the excitement” of ordering for her two sons. She looks at him with obvious disapproval while slicing her younger son’s ham into smaller pieces.

Across from me, a large family sat at two separate tables. The father is tall and wide and oddly shaped, fitting snugly in an over-sized pair of discount denim jeans. The rest of the family followed his lead in wearing low-cost shirts and pants. One of the sons wears headphones and focuses intently on doing something with his cell phone for the entire meal.

Down the isle, a man of substantial weight is finishing off the third plate in front of him. He spills over onto the chair next to him and it takes him immense effort to stand and make his way to the bathroom.

Our server returns, takes our order and is gone again. We fill the time before our food arrives with entertaining conversation. Often I need to speak up in order for my father, opposite me on the other end of the table, to hear me. The hum of other conversations is formidable. The woman with the two sons finally receives her omelet.

The food arrives, with each person receiving at least part of their correct order. My sister is instructed to “pick the onions out” of her scrambled eggs. It takes two more trips for my father to get his toast, another to get an entree and we are still left without a water.

The pancakes are mediocre, but better than most. The omelet is split almost in two, but the sausage inside is cooked well and the eggs fill their purpose. No part of the dish stands out as delicious, but it’s satisfying. I finish all of it before we fall back into conversation, waiting for the check. Considering how little we had seen of him, we assume the server will take time to get back to us.

We’re wrong. It takes him awhile to drop the bill, but he’s back quickly to settle it. We pack our things and ease toward the door. Most of the section is full with different people than when we arrived. The service was dismal but our table is ready for another group within moments. The food was unimpressive, but generally satisfying.

Still, as we walked through the dozen or so people waiting in the lobby, and more outside, a stale taste manifests itself in the back of my mouth.

hidden

I saw her at the refrigerator when the hall opened into the office kitchen. I get to work earlier than most, so there was no one else around. She was going to say something.

“Good morning. How are you doing?” She only glances to see it’s me before turning back to what she’s doing. I muster a short reply and rinse off a plate from yesterday. I empty my water bottle and move to the other refrigerator, the one with the filtered water in the door.

“I haven’t seen you the last few days. Have you been hiding back there?” She asks. She seems interested, but isn’t. It must take a lot of energy to keep up such appearances.

“Little bit maybe,” is all I can think of.

Maybe I have been. Lately, social interaction has been exhausting. Just keeping up with conversations without falling too hard into my head has been taxing. I can’t find a reason, but there rarely is one. This sort of thing comes and goes. This round of fogginess has been around longer than usual.

I have been getting home from work, watching television or a movie in my room and ending up sleeping less than I would like most nights. I’ve had to mentally prepare myself for any instance I’ve been in public and even then I haven’t always been comfortable. My birthday came and went with just a dive-bar dinner and a discount movie.

Sleep has been difficult. I have been laying awake in the dark, waiting for my brain to turn off or at least quiet itself. Nothing out of the ordinary has gone on outside my neurons, but they’ve still been firing like I need to categorize a massive to-do list. The naps during lunch haven’t done enough to clear the tired haze I’ve been walking in. My eyelids play tricks on me. I’ve fought them to stay open most of the day and then fought them to close at night.

Conversations got away from me. I perceived things not how they were, but through a kaleidoscope of strange thoughts. The lack of sleep, combined with general confusion, have been making me irritable and moody.

I’ve forgotten to say things, thought I’ve said things I actually haven’t or have said too much. I’ve felt awkward and imagined my many misspeaks and missteps as I’ve fumbled through discussions. I’ve distanced myself to save face, to not look like an ass.

Things are clearing. I still sleep less than I’d like, but more than I was. I’m still irritable, but have my moods mildly in check. Soon I’ll be rested and things will be back to normal.

Maybe every once in awhile I just need some time to reset myself. It’s when I start trying to keep up with things going too quickly that I end up disorientated.

She walks behind me, around the counter and back down the hall to her office. Maybe she’s right and I’ve been hiding away in my cubical. Considering I had two meetings with her yesterday afternoon—each almost an hour long—I haven’t had to try very hard.

naught

Some people bottle their self-worth in their self-image. Their happiness is inextricably intertwined with their attractiveness. They spend their mornings primping and parading until they have the confidence to face the day. I’m not one of those people.

Some people fear the uncontrollable. They worry about events out of their hands or beyond their ability to change. They stress and fret when others go about their day without a second thought to things out of their reach. They micromanage almost everything with intense anxiety. I’m not one of those people.

Some people have a strong direction. Their goals in life are laid out and organized. They’ve already taken necessary steps and have the next ones planned. Their place in the world is cemented in their imaginations and they’re driven to make them a reality. They see every opportunity as door opening into a hallway that will lead them where they imagine. I’m not one of those people.

Some people have gigantic social networks, filled with tertiary acquaintances. They remember names and shared events as if they were yesterday. They fill gaps in conversation without sounding forced and distant. They keep people interested and can maintain relatively close relationships even with months between discussions. I’m not one of those people.

Some people need our nation to have a vague enemy to prove our superiority against. They like that we had Germany and Japan, Communism, and now have Fascist Islam to defeat and secure our place as the world’s only superpower. They need to have constant reassurance that we are the best and deserve our standing as the largest consumer and military power on the planet. I’m not one of those people.

Some people watch the news, see the spin and pathetic coverage and don’t get annoyed. They see the manipulation and propaganda and aren’t phased. They change the channel and forget what the saw and heard. They don’t feel violated and wronged. They don’t see a difference between what they’ve seen and responsible journalism. I’m not one of those people.

Some people meet new people with unyielding optimism. They don’t see the frustration that other will cause them. They immediately trust them, give them the benefit of the doubt and believe they are good people. They believe the others won’t take advantage or use them for their own gains. They see the good in everyone and expect the same in return. I’m not one of those people.

Some people function in blissful ignorance of the manipulation that surrounds them. They assume our nation’s standing will remain constant on the world’s stage. They know things are tough now, but we’ll come out of it quickly and easily. They believe they have the ability to spark change and that their lives mean something. They know they’re important and have a stake in any outcome. They have purpose and are sure of themselves.

Sometimes I’m not one of those people.