Parallel Paths

Seemingly identical men stand, a moment frozen in time. Same suits, same ties, same briefcases, or so it seems…

Three men meet at the crossing and wait to cross. One man enters stage left, one stage right, and the other starts when the curtain rises. We have a red light, and they do too, parallel paths. How about that.

They stand. Uniform. Not in uniform, just… uniform. Three men, bald as… umm… bald men. Holding briefcases, similar in size… but not the same. Wearing suits…sort of, a slight difference in height…ish. Umbrellas stand beside them, in a way… because umbrellas can’t stand. All three men wear black and grey suits and hold ordinary briefcases.

The first has a certain smell of musk that hangs limply in the air, much as I recognise his demeanour to be. Limp. Soggy. Just like the clouds drooping above his head. He’s a bit of a wet blanket, I think; saturating the other two bald men’s fun. He is performing on a stage, but doesn’t know it, as one of the most intriguing characters I’ve ever seen. Much like Mary Poppins and her never-ending bag. He stands unaware, unassuming, as a car full of giggling teenage girls looks on intently.

Wet Blanket comes from a home where everything has a purpose: the books in alphabetical order, the utensils categorised by how often they are used. I’m sure he probably even cuts his grass with nail scissors and measures each blade with a ruler, as if to ensure they are all the same length. His grey suit is ironed flat, as dead as a doornail, sitting stiffly around him, almost protecting him from his less OCD colleagues. The pants sit the perfect distance from the ground and the overlap between the blazer and the trousers is concerningly close to perfect. Legs as straight as rulers, arms as tense as if he is waiting at the doctors. Wet Blanket stands with a purpose at the crossing. Waiting. Not with patience, not with any urgency, but the way he stands just looks uncomfortable. His deodorant has no smell, no pleasant fragrance. His life has no excitement. It’s clockwork, day after day, year after year. A cloud of discomfort encases him. You would walk past him and want to squirm. He just gives off what he is: a wet blanket.

This man is one who is so boring yet so intriguing that you can’t help but…Stop, let your jaw drop, and roll around in fits of laughter. Wet Blanket is so unintentionally comical that you just can’t help but feel he’s a performer, standing stage-left ready to act out his day. Hour by hour, year by year.

Bald man number two wears a suit a bright shade of black, and his briefcase has an exciting tone of grey. If he had his way this man would wear yellow… doused in glitter… dipped in chocolate (then just throw in a handful of rainbow and that’s a pretty accurate representation of his personality). He has a house with five enthusiastic kids, an exciting wife and an exciting life. His workday is very different from that of Wet Blanket. Although they dress in similar suits, they wear them in a way which is anything but. The three baldies work in an accounting firm, one that is about as exciting as watching paint dry.

Glitter Guy’s day is the total opposite of Wet Blanket’s. It consists of squeezing five children into a car and taking them off to school. When they get there, they explode out like confetti, running in all directions, screaming as loud as the colours and patterns of their clashing outfits. None of that matters though, because they are one squillion times better than Wet Blanket could ever be.

At work, Glitter Guy types words with the flair of a fashion designer and signs his name with a flourish every time. He makes his colleagues smile, simply by strolling past, his glittery personality leaving a shiny wake and lighting a bright path in front of him. His house is one of organised chaos. Toys are stacked ten high on shelves and family photos sprinkle the walls. He has a yellow front door which opens to an entrance which embraces you with a warm smile and fourteen open arms.

Glitter Guy stands at the crossing, not on a dais. He wants to talk face to face. I imagine his gait is relaxed and at pace with the others around him. What a friendly fellow.

The third bald man…well, he’s a different case altogether. He’s in a league of his own. His briefcase is a mysterious shade of black. Small objects stick ominously out the side. Up to no good is all I can say…. A shifty glance draws your eye. He tries to hide it, but not very well. Through his eyes you can almost see his brain ticking. You can almost see steam coming out of his ears. You can almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. All other sounds and smells are blocked out by the way you are sucked into him. Shifty Eye Guy doesn’t want you to look at him, he doesn’t want you to know his plans. I don’t know where his family is from… if he has any. How does this man get here? I’m sure he rolls in ninja-like, his hands making chopping motions.

When I try to imagine his house… I can’t really. It’s shrouded in a misty cloud, one you try to fight through, but to no avail. Maybe he lives on a street… that’s not even there, in a non-existent house with invisible couches and see-through beds. I’m really having trouble getting into his brain, I can almost see it ticking, almost see steam coming from his ears, almost hear the cogs in his brain turning… but not quite.

Shifty Eye Guy is up to no good… I think, I can’t really tell. Those things coming from his briefcase could be anything really… well not anything. It’s probably things for a… umm… scheme… of sorts. Blow up the world?…nah, that’s too big for his funny little mind. Take over his work? …nope, that’s too small. Umm… uuh… I know! Maybe… He has the answer to everything, it must be… maybe… but you can never tell with Shifty Eye Guy.

They stand. Uniform. Not in uniform, just… uniform. Two men, bald as… umm… bald men. Holding briefcases, similar in size… but not the same. Wearing suits…sort of, a slight difference in height…ish. Umbrellas stand beside them, in a way… because umbrellas can’t stand.

Parallel paths, how about that. I think about these men as I watch from the car. They seem to be the same, but are anything but. Two men are left. The first one up to no good has got what he deserves. Glitter Guy stands strong with his smile. Wet Blanket perches uncomfortably on the edge of the curb. Shifty Eye Guy is missing; the newspaper tells of an explosion.

One man stands at the crossing, a smile still spread across his face. The last one left standing, the only one that is true to himself. Wet Blanket, has gone from his monotonous life. Their personalities spell out the fates of others all over the world. We follow parallel paths to these men. Seemingly similar sitting in the car in our matching school uniforms, but have lives that are anything but. Parallel paths. How about that.