Chapter 2: Ludlow
Thursday, September 7
I was rinsing my face with cold water in the men’s bathroom. I had just finished my weekly set at a sticky-floored comedy dive on Ludlow. Like any other Thursday night, there was a mixture of neighborhood locals, mostly drunks who turned into late-night creeps, and the usual lot of New York City tourists who left after their complimentary drink.
I sat down and drank a cold beer. “Someone left this for you,” said Craig, smacking down a white business card on the sticky wooden bar. “Maybe it’s your big break,” he said with a menacing smile and left me alone.
I like to have sex in your office, I thought without saying it.
I finished my beer and noticed how white the card was. I don’t trade business cards on a daily basis, or ever, but somehow this object shone like a beacon of light. Maybe it was the poorly-lit wooden bar, or the worn-in Guinness coaster next to it that amplified its presence. Either way, I picked up the pearly white, sharp-edged card and read the inscription on the front.
Q
I flipped it over.
Seeking human connections
“What do you make of this?” I asked Daniele. She was behind the bar, drying moisture off newly washed glasses with a towel. She held a glass up to the dim light and placed it on the shelf.
“I don’t know how you do it,” I said, tossing her the business card. “Half of these idiots wouldn’t know if you served them gin or rubbing alcohol. Let alone complain about a dirty glass.”
She ignored my comment and picked up the card. “Mysterious,” she said. “No phone number.”
She ran her fingers along the edges of the card, weighing it in her hand. “Solid.” She swiped it across her neck like a knife. “Even dangerous. Do you think I could slice lemons with it?”
“Go ahead.”
She read it once again while pouring me a healthy glass of bourbon. This was the not-so-subtle hint – there would be no sex tonight.
“Maybe Craig’s right,” she said, using the card as a coaster for my drink. “Might be your big break.”
I gave her an exasperated look, coughing out a ha sound. I was tired anyway.
——————
Chapter 3: The Call
Friday, September 8
The next day I received a call. It’s not often that someone calls my landline. Only a few people actually have this number – not including telemarketers. This is the main reason I have an answering machine. Everyone thinks it’s crazy, but just three years ago I dropped most modern mobile telecommunication from my life. I use a flip phone with basic SMS. I also got fired from my day job and stopped using personal email.
I know, it sounds extreme, but I had…have…my reasons. Or so I believe.
Like all the unknown numbers, I let this one ring to the answering machine. I actually took pleasure in this moment. My prompt was fairly succinct and usually caught people off guard. Just having an answering machine was antiquated – fertile ground for awkward moments – and this is where I get most of my amateur material for Ludlow anyway.
“You’ve reached Sam Noble – I’m not around at the moment, but maybe if you have something good to say I will pick up the phone or call you back.”
The voice was delicate, female.
“Yes, hello, Mr. Noble. My name is Q. Are you there?”
There was a pause of several seconds, but the caller was still on the line, waiting. Now I was the one surprised – only my mother did this.
“I guess not,” the delicate voice said. I started towards the phone, but something stopped me. The voice continued. “I left my card for you last night at Ludlow. Did you receive this?”
Another moment of silence passed. “Well, I would be interested to speak with you about an opportunity. I guess I will try to call you again, as I cannot leave a phone number.”
I picked up the phone. “Hello,” I said, pretending to be out of breath. “This is Sam. Sorry about that, I was running on the treadmill.”
There was a slight pause, as I continued my pretense of breathing heavily. “I did receive your card.”
“Oh great. I would be delighted to meet you in person.” If possible, her voice was both fragile and firm. It hardly wavered in pitch. “I have an office space downtown and would like to learn more about you. I know this might come off as a strange request.”
I caught my fake breath. “Are you an agent?” I asked.
She seemed confused. “An agent?”
“Okay, I guess not,” I said, surprised at how disappointed I was. “So you just want to meet?”
“Yes. And talk.”
“Talk about what?” I asked.
There was a slight pause.
“Human connections.”
Now it was time for me to feel awkward. “Human connections?” I repeated, remembering only now what was written on the rigid, white business card.
“Yes. I will explain everything in person, but after your show last week I felt that I could learn something from you about this.” There was a slight pause and she continued. “Humor is an important aspect of life.”
I didn’t really know what to say. It was like speaking to the Queen, or Miss America. She was so proper.
“Yes, it is,” I replied, matching her serious tone. “People don’t laugh enough in life. It is the flower of joy. And joy is the seed planted in all our hearts.” I had no idea where this came from. I think I read it in a fortune cookie, but it seemed right and I found myself wanting to say this.
There was a thoughtful pause, and the delicate voice replied firmly. “Thank you, Mr. Noble. I won’t take any more of your time, but here is my address.”
I jotted it down.
“I am free any day next week at 9am. We have already given you clearance for the entire week, so if you choose, you may just show up.”
I hung up the receiver and pulled up the map on my desktop computer. There was no doubt that I would go. It would be worth it for the view alone.
Authors Note
I Am Q began as an essay. There were no motivations other than the need to express certain sentiments in words. These sentiments are sourced from a generation of experiences within the tide of technological progress. The context of these reflections, and there are many, spans nearly two decades.
One particular ah-ha moment from 2011 comes to mind. We were somewhere along the coast of Australia at a scenic overlook. An army of tourists emerged from a bus, forming an imperfect line and marching towards the main lookout point. Most were holding phones, at the ready in their hands like revolvers. Some phones were already attached to a long, silver rod, while others were diligently assembling this new invention like a bayonet. I observed this squadron as they snapped pictures like machine-gun fire on the front line until it was time to depart.
This was over two decades ago. We were already witnessing the carnage of a subtle, if not invisible war with technology. The natural order of looking at a beautiful world with our own eyes was already being disrupted. In the era that followed, I would continue with this concerned, oftentimes agonizing, and sometimes comical observation of our engagement with technology.
It’s outright mind-blowing how far we have come in such a compressed period of time. Progress is like dog years, easily compounded. I used to believe that the essence of our human fabric – i.e. what makes us human – was torn and shredded. Now, I’m afraid that it is simply being manufactured. And if you think this sounds extreme, if you believe that my view of the human condition sounds more like a devolution as a consequence of the evolution of technology, you would be correct.
As a writer I have always chosen to question. As a parent, I feel anxious. As a human being, I am responsible.
I Am Q is an attempt to thread a narrative during this Bridge Generation – an era of individuals who straddle the divide between pre- and post-internet eras. It seeks to provide insight for those who never experienced life before the World Wide Web, and to make sense of how we arrived at where we are today. At the very least, I hope you find this journey to have entertainment value. Yet, if I were to ask more from you, it would be this: Reflect.
For, progress is like the tide, it is relentless. Reflection is like swimming, it is survival. If we fail to learn how to reflect, we will surely drown in progress.