Cloudya

“If I fail the bar, I will have wasted my life,” he says. “I’ll be 30 in a couple of years. That’s my whole life right there.”

I struggle to keep from rolling my eyes. But then I roll them anyway. What does it matter? I’m eavesdropping. The rules of etiquette don’t apply.

I want to turn to him and say, “Get a grip! Life is hard and so is the bar. But honey, you’re not even 30. You’re a baby!”

But I’m eavesdropping. I can only watch. Like God or Santa Claus.

“People want lawyers who have been through adversity.” His father tells him. I cover my face with my napkin to hide a “what the fuck” face.

Adversity? Give me a fucking break.

I signal for the bill. The food is good here, and it’s expensive. I would like very much to keep it down.

Perspective, man. Next time I get the urge to bitch about a crying baby, I tell myself to remember this moment. This right here. When I sat eating a pastrami sandwich and listening to some kid bitching about his promising future. When I spent an hour eavesdropping. Like some kind of woman taking a break from her “problems”.