8.29.2005

The Slow Tragic Demise of Pollyanna

Letter Sent to the Restaurant Where I am Painstakingly Employed

August 20, 2005

To Whom It May Concern:

As I'm sure you are aware, your establishment is a wonderful diner and has excellent food. It is also however, quite a "late night haunt." Needless to say I tend to frequent your diner at rather uncivilized hours after a long night of severe alcohol consumption. In any case I found myself at your diner late last night and to say the least a little inebriated. Unfortunately I woke up this morning with a distinct feeling that I was a little bit short on the bill, I think about dollar. Leaving my lovely young waitress without a tip and perhaps even your establishment one dollar short. Please accept my most sincere apologies. Enclosed is what I hope will cover the dollar short and if you could see that the rest goes to an excellent waitress who was working late on Friday the nineteenth. I believe she was Asian, that is all I can remember.

Your loyal patron,

Kathy

(She sent me $10.00 with this letter!)
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A Conversation Between Two Voices In My Head:

Cocaine Girl: "Remember when you first moved to New York and every day was full of adventure? Every person you met filled you with inspiration and hope?"

Quaalude Lady: "Vaguely."

C.G.: "Whatever happened to that girl? She was so excited about life and people and the future. Now, you are just so sullen and cynical."

Q.L.: "I really don't want to hear this Pollyanna bullshit right now."

C.G.: "But, it's true. You used to call g8s every day and tell him about all the synchronicity you encountered. It seemed like fortune smiled on you everywhere you went. You were leading such a charmed life."

Q.L.: "I was 23 years old and 30 pounds skinnier. I was desperate. I ran around the city screwing bartenders and trying to become a star. Of course every day seemed charmed. I was delusional."

C.G.: "No, you were optimistic. Good things happened for you because you looked at the glass as half full. You believed in goodness and the universe delivered."

Q.L.: "So, what, now I'm just mired in a misery of my own doing because I don't believe in the potential for goodness everywhere I look?"

C.G.: "Well, it couldn't hurt you to at least try and smile a bit more."

Q.L.: "Seriously, I'm seconds away from stabbing you right now."

C.G.: "Look, all I'm saying is there was a time that you, somehow, managed to find the good in people. You wanted to believe. And because you believed, it was true."

Q.L.: "So, basically, you are saying that what I perceived was true."

C.G.: "Ummm...yes."

Q.L.: "But, it may have just been my perception of the world that was positive and not the reality."

Silence.

C.G.: "Yes, but, how we exist is defined by how we view our life, so. . . "

Q.L.: "So, what? I think I'm happy, therefore I am happy? Or, should I say, I convince myself I am happy, therefore I am happy?"

C.G.: "Being happy is an active verb. Happiness doesn't happen, you have to be happy."

Q.L.: "But, I am happy. I am pessimistically happy. Or am I joyfully contemptuous?"

C.G.: "Yes. No. Shit. Now you've got me all confused. You know what? Fuck you. If you want to be miserable, be that way. I need a fucking drink."

Q.L.: "Come on. I'll buy you one. I'm sure we can find a happy hour somewhere."

C.G. smiles brightly: "Fuck you very much."
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Dear Kathy --

Thank you. Really. You restored my faith in people, if only for a moment.

Seriously. Thanks.

Marisol
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