The Beautiful Code

(Originally 4th Novemeber 2006, 5:37 pm)

The waiter had a long day. It didn't end yet really. More like half a day had gone by only. But he had a long day already. It was really a long day because he had been waiting for this time of the day, when he would have his lunch. He had waited every second to pass by. He had literally counted every second.

"Would you like to have toppings on your potatoes?"

"Bacon only."

45 ... 46 ... 47 ... He served the topping, gently scooping those crispy, red bits onto the potato. Say please at least ... 56 ... 57 ... 58 ...

"Enjoy your meal maam."

60 ... another minute ... 1... 2 ... 3... 4...

Each second seemed like an eternity. More than an eternity in fact. That next minute was taking too damn long. It was nibbling at him like a hamster gnawing its way out of a cage. It kind of hurt actually. Each second, the hamster sunk its teeth deeper. Each minute the hamster removed another piece.

He made it through the ordeal of half a day. Sure it was nothing compared to many other things, but it was bad enough having to count and serve pompous customers at the same time. He scurried over to the staff canteen and gobbled down his meal. He didn't even know what he ate, it was always some unusual fare that any more thought spared on it could make you think otherwise about being hungry.

Still gobbling a mouthful, he returned his tray and dashed off to the pay phone.

No queue please ... please ... please ...

He was third in line when he got there. Fuck.

The minutes started counting in his head again. Or rather, the seconds. He swore he was counting down to the milliseconds. At times, he was pretty sure time stood still to make a mockery of him. He tried to shake these thoughts out of his head, and dug out a piece of neatly folded paper from his pocket. It was his like his little bible which he would go through over and over again. On it was written nothing more than a bunch of code-like numbers. It was a long string, but still, they were just numbers.

Honestly, he didn't need that paper anymore; he had already memorised those numbers by heart. Everyday, he would have seen these numbers at this moment, and for uncountable days now, these numbers have been his prayer.

When it got to his turn, he fumbled for ten cents and plonked it into the slot. He punched the numbers on the keypad. Punch, punch, punch. Each punch in angst and agony for the day's waiting. Each punch was filled with the pent up emotions of the day. Emotions. Yeah, each punch was filled with emotions. The emotions that were all held back for months. The emotions that chained him down to a tonne of lead. The feelings of emotions that he had to surpress, for reasons he didn't know why.

Punch, punch, punch.

In a minute, it was done. In a minute, a minute that he had patiently waited the whole morning for, all the emotions he held coursed through his body. It ran every length of his veins; it ran through every strand of hair; it ran through his soul. It sent the chilliest shiver down his spine, yet he was feeling extremely warm, almost too hot in his chest.

With a wide smile, he kept that paper neatly back in his pocket and walked back to work. Just another minute, in another day. There's nothing more than tomorrow's minute to look forward to ...

1 ... 2 ... 3 ... 4 ...