Post by LeoVictorBriones (poetremains) on May 29, 2009 13:50:17 GMT -5
In a meeting, a guy about fifteen years older than me looks at my watch--
one of those monster-truck watches with a big fat face.
I think he thinks it’s tacky.
Then with perfect precision, he asks, "What time is it"?
I pull my blackberry from my jacket and reply, "2:32 p.m.".
"No, no, no!" he says, "What time does the watch say it is?"
"I never set my watch anymore, just bling",
I answer, my nose crunched like a snarling pale punk rocker.
With an accountant's indignation, he asks,
"Oh, really? Then how do you tell time?"
"My blackberry, dude", I say with a tone clearly ten years younger then I really am.
He scratches his head and gives me the look my Aunt Becky used to give me
when I was playing The Legend of Zelda on the Nintendo.
I leave the meeting and don't even notice that I'm walking
with a quick paced clip like I can’t wait to get out of there.
I get home.
The kids are jammin' Jimi Hendrix on Guitar Hero
“Purple Haze all in my brain”
Yellow, green, green, red, yellow, red, green.
In my mind I see Petri dishes, vials of bubbling chemicals.
I rub my hands together.
"Ok, kids, what time is it?", I ask.
They open their MacBook.
Then after hitting a few magic keys,
"4:30 LA time. 7:30 in New York, 2 a.m. in London,
8:00 a.m. tomorrow morning in Mumbai.
Why do you ask, Dad"?
" Oh, just a technicality",
I grin like that Cheshire cat.
