Installation 8: A Day in the Life previous
Every
morning, Phoebe got up at 6:30. She didn't need to be at work until 8:30
but she liked to have enough time in the morning to select her clothes
(some combination of wool skirt and tights), take a shower and eat toast
while watching the Today show. She felt she needed time to prepare for
the task of walking to the bus stop and riding the bus.
Most passengers on the bus read the paper or
listened to music on headphones, but Phoebe often did nothing except sit
with her hands folded in her lap. Sometimes she thought about what she's
seen on the news – stories about plastic surgery, emotional affairs
or college hazing rituals. She also listened to the morning conversations
between an older woman and a younger woman who both got on the bus two
stops after Phoebe and talked very loudly. For awhile, Phoebe tried to
determine which seat would end up being furthest away from them but either
they still ended up close by or their voices carried back to wherever
she was sitting. Their conversations were always the same. Young Woman
was in some sort of bad relationship and Old Woman was lonely. For example:
Young Woman: And so I told him, we can't
go on like this. We need stability...
Old Woman: Yes, you need to feel like
you can trust him.
Young Woman: It's not my fault his first
wife was a lunatic and they ran up all those credit card bills. But that's
over now.
Old Woman: She sure sounds crazy.
Young Woman: Oh, did I tell you what Hannah
did last night? She came downstairs in her swimming suit and danced around
the living room. I made a casserole and we all watched Finding Nemo.
Old Woman: That sounds nice. I heated
up a frozen dinner. And went to bed at 8:00. Alone.
At some point during the ride Phoebe would look
out at the houses and notice all the cats sitting in windows and then
the bus would arrive in front of The Museum. She slipped out of her seat
and walked to the exit just as Young Woman and Old Woman discussed a movie
about a murderous husband that had appeared on Lifetime the night before
last.
When she got to her desk, Phoebe took off her
coat and turned on her radio, set at volume level one, and checked e-mail.
It usually took roughly half an hour to answer all the e-mails. Then it
was time for a bathroom break and a stop in the staff lounge for hot water
for tea. She liked to smile at people and offer little waves that were
akin to saying, “Well, here we are again, back at work for another
day.”
In the late mornings, she filed papers. She made
out expense reports for Carlotta and Julia and proofread press releases.
In the early afternoons, before her ambition completely left her, she
made photocopies of press clippings. If she didn't do a little every day,
she ended up with an avalanche of clippings that seemed insurmountable.
So she did a little every day. She took phone messages on pink pads labeled
“While You Were Out.” While you were out, she thought as she
wrote, the world kept spinning. While you were out, people called and
wanted to talk to you. Big deal.
Not that she had a bad attitude, because she
didn't. She didn't think too much or too deeply about her work and that
was the key to happiness. She did her work and offered her opinion when
it was asked for and then she went home. At 5:00 she put on her striped
scarf and vintage car coat, slid on her gloves and said goodnight to everyone.
She went out the glass door that separated her department from the hallway
and hurried out to the bus stop so she could do the morning ride in reverse.
For some reason, Young Woman was never on the bus on the way home, leaving
Old Woman to sit by herself and look out the window. Phoebe passed the
ride thinking about what to do that evening. She might make some sketches
or sew a skirt or go to a bar to listen to music. She might get into bed
with a good book or watch a documentary on orcas or lemurs on PBS. She
might scrub her tiny bathroom and put out fresh soap. It was not a bad
life. She was young and had a lot of years ahead of her and she wasn't
responsible for anyone but herself.
And yet. There were certain things she longed
for. Maybe a boyfriend. Maybe a boyfriend who could become a husband.
She felt bad thinking this. She thought about Young Woman and her shitty
relationship. Is that what she had to look forward to? Still, her last
relationship had ended in college and she found herself looking with a
certain agenda at the young men at work, at the grocery store and when
she was out listening to music. Sometimes the men looked at her, too,
although nothing more happened.
“Am I unapproachable?” she asked her
friend, Liset, one night when they were out for drinks. “Do I give
off the wrong signals?”
“I don't know,” Liset said. “It's
all about body language. Are you smiling? Are your arms folded or down
at your sides? Are you subconsciously leaning away from them?”
“I have no idea,” Phoebe said, reaching
for her coat and scarf. “I'm going home to have cocoa and watch reruns
of Frasier.”
One afternoon, on her way to the copy closet,
Phoebe saw Karl headed towards her. Karl, who came for a bagel but didn't
get one. Karl, who was probably using precious minutes of his 15-minute-per-day
allotment to be walking in the hall. Cute Karl. Karl who looked as if
he enjoyed reading. She thought about what Liset said about body language.
She smiled. She let her arms sway at her sides. She leaned forward so
far she was in danger of falling on her face.
“Hi, Karl!” she called.
Karl jumped. It looked as if he had been thinking
about something very important only to be scared from his reverie by Phoebe's
loud voice and maniacal grin.
“Oh, hi,” he said. He paused for just
a moment, as if he had more to say, something important that may lead
to a long conversation in the lounge over tea or coffee. But then he gathered
himself and kept walking.
“Well,” Phoebe said, mostly to herself.
That day she worked until 5:00 and rode the bus home. It was raining a displeasing mixture of icy pellets that seemed to bounce a little when they hit the street. Everyone on the bus was wet and miserable. Phoebe felt miserable herself. To make matters worse, there was nothing to eat in her apartment except a box of rice pilaf. There wasn't anything comforting about rice pilaf. She lay down on the couch, noting the smell of wet wool coming from her skirt. She fell asleep and didn't wake up until 2:30 in the morning, when it was too late for dinner and too early for breakfast. For a long time she stayed on the couch and thought about herself and her life because she was still of the age when one's own life definitely seems like the most interesting thing to think about. But this time thinking about herself only led to thinking about her inadequacies, which made her cranky. So she got up from her nap and went to bed.