I Served the King of England, by Bohumil Hrabal is a book about a waiter who finished life by telling his story. It's an out-of-body type of narrative and takes a stream-of-consciousness style.
I had a similar out-of-body experience as I floated through a seminar/conference in Vail these last few days. My thoughts, like those in this book, were ever-shifting and jumbled, and the experience has felt very "out-of-body."
I type this in a lobby at nearly midnight and the clatter from the bar goes on. There are occasional shrieks of laughter, clinking of glasses and tones of immense solipsism.
I am out of my element.
"Ditie" spent every phase of his life out of his element in one way or another. Whether as the newbie waiter, German-sympathizing Czech or the approved-for-Aryan-marriage semi-human. Somehow, against all odds, when the chips were down, Ditie served the Emperor of Ethiopia -- a feat of such heroic proportions in the eyes of other waiters that you almost forget he "accomplished" the avoidance of the whining of an ueber-rich person who ALMOST had to wait another handful of seconds for his food and was in serious danger of receiving that food without a bow.
Ditie does the best he can. But the pomp and protocol escape him. It sort of seems familiar... (my feeble attempt at Hrabel style)
On Thursday shoulders rubbed. Drinks flowed. Networks were built. Names Drop. Clatter happened. A dinner was arranged for six... then 11... but 9 more showed up. I hovered above the table and watched myself squirm outside my element. How do they stomach a bill that will include so many $10 glasses of wine. Must everyone be "the greatest?" Why can't I play this game? It is fun, but not comfortable.
Then the chef suggested a "Dive" famous for its weekend chef. The "Dive" required $34 for a meal. It was also fantastic and the waiters were clearly trained by a person who had once served some sort of county commissioner.
Eyes roll at substance, signaling a preference for more shop-talk. Stories make their charges to be "king of the hill" and one-upsmanship abounds. I was thinking this not out of any meanness but from confusion and even participation. I think my topical preferences actually confuse.
Friday was solitary. I wandered with my book through the "village" and read sections at park benches. I heard only the sound of shoes on cobblestone. I sat by the pool. I sat in the lobby. I finished my book as the clatter continued and the latest arrivals enter the automatic revolving door. Must each one give me that look?
And now the clatter fades, or rather shifts to the lobby. Now I type. And it is all quiet. The last elevator closes and the lobby is quiet. My promise to deliver thoughts before the meeting has been narrowly accomplished.
At this very moment... the lobby is quiet.
This conference has been fascinating in its curriculum. I have enjoyed the company of good people and I even accomplished the amount of networking necessary for my niche profession. It is helpful and I have learned many things from many people. But, even if it is fun, it is not my element. And it will never be comfortable.
FINAL THOUGHTS
The parts I did not try to copy in the above post were the more graphic portions. I even resisted the obvious Clerks reference. I was taken aback by the very graphic nature of the sex scenes. I'm not used to that and it, much like this conference, was uncomfortable at times.
I'm still amazed at how this place went dead so quickly.
I liked the book. It was definitely a new experience. I'm still digesting it. It was thoughtful and well-conceived in a macro sense. It was both slice-of-life and contemplative.
I am in a fancy hotel, but I want to go home.
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