A little less average

So Im a white guy. Average. Basically what you’d expect. Grew up in a fancy town, with some pretty fancy friends, but no one too fancy. Went to a good school, but not too good, just good. Recently got job with a reputable consulting firm, but nothing too great, just a job.

Consultants travel. Constantly. A consultant has no company to call his own. The universe of American business is home, I guess. And that’s ok. Because businesses all look the same anyway. When you walk into any hotel room, you instantly know that it’s not home. When you walk into a business, you can’t tell the difference between AT&T and Goldman Sachs, they are indiscernible. Depressing?

The next time you drive down the highway through a rough part of New Jersey, and you say to your co-pilot “Ugh, what is that smell? How does this happen? Look at this, it’s awful!” That is business too. It happens there too.

They sent me there. A few thousand average people like me packed like scared puppies into a glass cube in the middle of awful. Inside the cube it’s the same as every other place, New York, San Francisco, Boston. Outside, it is very different. Not average.

Two weeks passed and I took less than 50 breaths of actual fresh Newark air. As my hotel is attached to the office I can go from my room to my office without ever going outside, or touching the ground even. Listening to my gut, I avoided going into awful. Weekends provided enough fresh air. Live to consult another day, right?

Wrong. Agoraphobia is unbecoming. Wednesday of week three; Breakout. Taking only the clothes on my back: Black Banana Republic pants, slim fit white and brown shirt, black loafers, sunglasses; and an unhealthy fear of the awful outside, I busted loose from the lunch line in the corporate cafeteria in search of something awful.

The loafers touch their first awful sidewalk. Regret. This town doesn’t seem to appreciate average white kids. One block in and one block away from the office. So far so good. Still alive.

Definitely began this trip on edge. Maybe the air conditioning finally got to my brain. Had to mix it up today. But. Should have planned this out.

Wandering. A few people walk past and don’t notice me. Just another corporate pilgrim. A guy asks for money, and when I don’t comply with his request he sears me with his hatred. I really don’t have anything for him, only plastic.

More relaxed, I tune into other senses. Hunger and smell. There is the scent of burning meat. It’s coming from a block ahead. Wandering over, following my nose, I post up in line inside a Carnisqueria. Not an Au Bon Pain.

Seven dollars bought a rack of ribs, a pound of fries with rice to match, and a soda. My nose didn’t fail me. Cooked over a wood-burning fire pit and seasoned with their sauce and spice mix. A perfect crisp of skin, sauce and spice. “Thank you,” I said to the cashier. “You’re welcome,” she replied. Looking around at the tables, I know that I’m not welcome as more than a day-time guest, regarless this so isn’t awful. My appearance is out of place; my enjoyment of this meal is not.

Retreat and return. Back to the ivory tower. Food coma. Nothing that can’t be fixed with a coffee. Stuffed. Satisfied. Scared shitless, no more. Sitting at my desk. Starting to sift and test as part of my average job I can still taste the salty and charred lunch. Quietly, my tongue picks at my teeth. I smile because I feel a little less average. But only a little.