as promised, more about the roommates, or one of them, at least
Damien is the other American--from Florida, in fact, Naples. He’s nicely tanned, wears nice suits, is affable in a frat boyish sort of way: Suffice it to say that I was not at all surprised when he said he worked as a junior analyst for CitiBank. It’s all in the voice, really. I would buy a Chevy Impala from Damien, and even though he would overcharge me, I would recommend him to friends and family.
Now for some idle speculation. Damien is a man--a kid, really, but I am of the age where kids have started to call themselves men--who is extremely sure of his world. He knows with certainty which way is up and which way is down and which way he doesn’t want to go at all. This certainty defines him--he makes predictions for a living, for crissakes, his is not a career that permits second guessing or double checking. But it’s not just a line on a resume, it really does define him.
His worldview goes something like this: A man goes to work and makes a lot of money and, more importantly, earns praise from those who make a lot of money. He comes home to his apartment in a fashionably shabby part of town--he could pay more to be somewhere better but doesn’t--and then he does whatever the fuck he wants. He drinks and smokes and dances and fucks and does all of those things that get grouped together into that impossibly vague term, partying. The fundamental lesson is this: If you work hard and play harder, the world is your oyster. Follow the rules of the game and you will win. (He reads pop psychology that reaffirms this, the paperback advice columns dedicated to making rich people feel important. Me, my pop psychology is writing shit like this.)
That isn’t that unusual, maybe, a yuppie who works a boring but well-paid job and parties on the weekends, but Damien doesn’t just play the part, he is an ideological zealot. The fervor with which Damien believes in it is what makes this all worth noting. He’s not especially vocal about it, no, but you can tell, five minutes with him and you can tell: This is not a person who considers what he is doing. I don’t mean that in a negative way, even, just that this is not a person who has crises of confidence. The next step in any social situation, in any major life decision--it is always immediately obvious to Damien.
We are very different people, Damien and I. I am not certain, I am at my most decisive only between crises of confidence, I am wholly uncomfortable with the rules of the game. But we don’t look so very different. We’re both in New York after time at a party school doing the logical next step careerwise. I blend in all right. So when I passed on a drink, expressed my love of museums, passed on a joint--a few flags were raised.
“So what is your vice?” Damien asked me. I must have one. And the thing is, I do. I am thoughtless sometimes in how I treat friends and lovers. I am prone to periods of self-loathing in which I am not considerate of anyone at all, including myself. I am sometimes judgemental, shallow, self-involved. I would go on, but my vanity doesn’t want to let me write them all down.
I have no shortage of personal flaws I fall back on again and again. But these are not the answers Damien was looking for. He wants hentai porn or e-cigarettes or something like that, something within the rules of the game, some proof of playing harder. Dennis, the Dutch doctor, does not know this word vice. Damien translates it essentially as a hobby. At this point, I say board games. Dennis says Game of Thrones.
This did not satisfy Damien, but what choice did he have? When pressed, he said his was that he likes to go out and drink and have fun. He didn’t have one, either.
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