When I came to Shampoo-Banana this year, life looked grim at me, but with a hint of a smile. Although I took up some interesting activities, I could not find a place to live and a circle of friends. However I was determined to try my best, going to every party I was invited to, and honestly, very frequently even to parties I was not invited to. Crashing parties here is easy, the people are friendly, but, every time I would make some interesting conversation, have a good time, and ask people when they have the next party. They’d tell me they don’t know. When I’d ask them when we’d meet again, they’d say, “Let’s leave it to luck.”
I couldn’t figure it out what’s wrong. I was so confused, I talked to my mentor. This is something good I’ve learned in the U.S. Everyone has to have a mentor, and mine, looking at me with a mysterious smile, said, “You need to find a scene.”
“A scene?” I asked.
“A scene, a place where you meet the same people over and over again, a place where people are comfortable near one another, and yet they try to climb up the food chain, impress one another, and move up the social hierarchy. If you go to a certain bar all the time, eventually you’ll know all the people there, and it will become a bar scene. When I was in college, it was my scene.”
“But I don’t like going to bars,” I complained, well aware of my lack of coolness.
“Well, then, find a place where people meet regularly and that’s it.”
And that’s how I found myself one day knocking on the doors of the Cosmo Club for the coffee hours. Well, I should say on the porch of the Cosmo Club, because the door was open, and, oh miracle, I saw multiple graduate students (just like me!) from different countries, busy doing nothing but communicating with each other. I walked over and talked to the first guy I set my eyes on. It turned out to be some Indian guy with a turban. “Hey.”
“Hi.”
“Interesting place, huh?”
“Yeah, do you like it?”
“It’s my first time here, so I don’t know. You on the other hand look very much at home.”
“Yeah, I do feel at home. That’s because I live here.”
“Really, I didn’t know you can live in this house. I’d love to be in your place, you know, to be a local in this scene, and to live in a place like this, you know, I don’t have a home yet.”
“As a matter of fact, you CAN be in my place.”
“What?”
“Yea, I’ve got a job offer in California, which I couldn’t turn down, and so, I’m looking for a sublease of my place.”
“Oh, but this place must be very popular. It’s very expensive to live here.”
“Actually, it is popular, but it is also very affordable. We deal with popularity by making people talk to Andrea.”
“Andrea?”
“She's a nice lady who decides who is going to live here. She’s visiting tomorrow.”
“I want to speak with her.”
“Don’t you want to see my room first?”
“That’s OK, I want to speak to Andrea, but if we’re at it, let’s check out the room.”
“By the way, my name is Ajay.”
“Lev. Nice to meet you.”
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Amazing! The first person I spoke to here, already solves a big problem of mine, which I was struggling with for a long time. And here I am, two weeks after I had looked at the room and talked to Andrea, putting some groceries into a section of the refrigerator marked “Ajay.”
“Hi, I understand you’re Ajay’s replacement.” I heard a female voice behind me.
“Yes, I am.”
“I heard about you. Like Ajay, you're from computer science, and you’re the only son.”
“Yea, that's correct.”
“And just like Ajay, you’re forgetting to do your kitchen cleaning duty when you move in.”
“What?”
“Look at the board. Today is the 10th of October, and it says, Ajay.”
“But I’m not Ajay, I’m Lev.”
“You are Ajay’s replacement, you take all Ajay’s chores.”
Another girl appeared, coming down the stairway. “Hi, you must be Ajay’s replacement.”
“Yes, I am, and I’m sorry I forgot to clean the kitchen.”
“That’s OK, I used to take Ajay to Aldi, and we would shop together, do you need a ride?”
I knew it would be hard to get into Ajay's shoes (or rather turban), but it sounded like fun.
To be continued . . . (next newsletter)