Hoping between spots that are either too windy or too sunny, I finally sit at the Goldilocks of tables facing an infinity pool of fountains.
"He facebooked me,
he friended me,
he posted something to me,
he unfriended me.
The girl at the next table recounts the drama of her e-life, her hands cupping her drink, as if that too, would fly by like the wind blown pieces of napkins, never knowing when or where it will find a settlement.
Her dark hair flies up with the wind, momentarily melding into the colors of her dark eyes, flickering, wincing, then peering up and down at the world without seeing, without realizing the one next her staring and taking notes.
"What about those back-end stuff?" Three men in T shirt and shorts pushed around the metal chairs enough times to form an infantile attempt at the Requiem. When the screeching finally stopped, they popped around words like "hybrid systems, storage building..." -- terms I'd rather forget than perpetuate. The clean cut dark haired chap talked in low soft bass tones, while his friend wearing long blond hair and dark glasses cuts through the whistling wind and the strings of other conversations in high pitch.
"Did you hear about so and so?" A middle aged woman walk up to them and patted on the shoulder of the blond. After a series of low murmuring exchanges, I hear her say:
"Oh yeah, she just got so tired of working with us...
we got bought out...
The men showed no signs of slowing down. In fact, food disappeared rapidly as they nod in collective silence. The woman finally bid them goodbye, and after she turns a corner, they burst into chuckles and resume their shop talks in the rise and fall of voices.
I look up from my table, the swaying palm trees are backed by nothing but a perfect patch of blue, next to a hundred year old oak. If I concentrate, letting only the breezes and colors guide me, I find myself transported to a square of beach in Hawaii, with only the sound of hula dances accompanying the symphony of nature.
But my brief escape dissipated when voices shuttle me back into reality, as more men arrive in varying office attires discussing "interfaces, applications, systems, competitions..." and tossing around the general vocabulary of office gossips.
Without walls as white as envelops or water coolers that has gone stale since the Hoover administration, somehow I find the ghost of office space surround me. They shroud me with their shadows and their words, their discussions of the first day of another week of rat race, of friendship and love, of found and lost, much like the tables about us -- everyone searching for their version of the perfect fit.