It's Hard To Make Friends

The frigid streets were animated by the stirrings of leaves on the sidewalk. But George was lost in his own world, walking forward while staring at the ground in front of his feet, unassailable in the sanctuary of a bubble of his own creation.

‘Why am I always like this?’ He said to himself, thinking of the events of yesterday.

He had gone for the third time to a book club that he had joined because he had decided he was spending too much time alone. The book club had been a haven, a place of warmth in his otherwise cold life. However, things had not gone well the last time he had been there. The book they had chosen to read, was The Brothers Karamazov, by Dostoevsky, and as always, he had read the whole book and was ready to have a good discussion about it.

Unfortunately, the evening took a fateful turn when the book club leader had asked, ‘What do you think are some of the main themes that The Brothers Karamazov is dealing with?’

He had thought the answer was obvious. ‘I think the book is dealing with how the world will cope without a belief in God.’ He had replied.

He still remembered the book club leaders face shift into a mask of irritation, at his reply. ‘Interesting, and what makes you think that?’

He had been grateful for the chance to talk about his opinions further. ‘The Karamazov Father is someone who acts deplorably due to a disregard for the faith, yet he rests easy in skepticism because of the assertions of the time, that God does not exist. And then there is the scene with the Grand Inquisitor, showing the corruption of the church, and how mankind is seemingly better off without God- ‘

She cut him off. ‘Yes. Well, I am more interested in the role of women in the book.  For example, how does the Patriarchy manifest itself in this book? How are women portrayed in the book? That sort of thing. Your views are typical of an outdated worldview. Can’t we get through a book without bringing God into it?’ There had been some murmurs of assent, and he still recalled hearing another of the women saying, ‘What is he trying to brainwash us?’

George had never been religious, but in his view, that had been a clearly perceivable theme of the book, so he had brought it up. Nevertheless, he had been quite upset to have his views shot down so openly, and it seemed by multiple people in the club. As he continued his strides in the frosty air, he considered whether he would bother going again. If people didn’t want him there, then why should he go? Yet, he was thankful for the opportunity to make new friends, it just seemed that this possibility in this group had been exhausted.

He was not wandering aimlessly. He was heading to a place to meet up with his best and only remaining, close friend. Time was on his side, as he had left his place early, and it looked as though he would arrive at the meeting place in good time. Before long he was outside the Grand Turk Café.

He scanned the sitting patrons, looking for his friend’s face. There he was, sitting predictably in the back. Before joining him, he decided to order a coffee. ‘A large latte, with two extra shots please, so four in total? Will that be alright?’

On his way to the table, the table number in his hand, his friend caught his eye. 

‘George you bastard! I’ve been waiting 30 minutes.’

He pulled out the chair and sat down.

‘So don’t arrive early, maybe?’

For anyone else, arriving 30 minutes early would be no problem. They’d just scroll through a feed of something, or listen to some music, but Anatoly insisted on living in the dark ages, with the internet permanently turned off on his phone.

Anatoly rubbed his hands together for warmth. ‘So, tell me, how’s life? How’s the book club you joined going?’

George sighed. ‘Not great. They all got upset with me over nothing. I think I’m not welcome anymore.’

‘Really? And it’s only been 3 months! What on earth could you have done to sink the ship so quickly?’ Said Anatoly, taking another sip of his coffee.

‘I don’t know, I think I’ve’ given an unfashionable opinion on one of the books. You know I had high hopes for this book club. But then you didn’t want to go with me, and now this.’

‘I’m sorry George. I choose to keep my hermitude. But I’m grateful you were able to make it today. This is one of those rare occasions that my solitude is broken.’

‘Ah!’ Said George, waving a hand. ‘It’s no trouble, I’m just as glad to see you, my friend.’

Anatoly stroked his beard pensively. ‘So, what will you do now?’

‘I don’t know, how do people make friends at 40 years old?’

‘Join the armed forces and suffer together?’ said Anatoly mockingly. ‘Isn’t suffering one of the best shared experiences for friendships?’

‘I don’t see you putting up your hands to enlist.’

‘It’s just that the prospect of becoming cannon fodder, doesn’t have any appeal.’

‘Well, it’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it. You know, freedom isn’t free and all that.’

They both paused and attended to sipping their coffees.

Presently, George continued. ‘Why can’t things be like the old days. Remember back when our other friends came out with us? You know, before they got married. Remember when we used to discuss philosophy, economics and history to the late hours of the evening. You know your lucky I never got married.’

Anatoly said nothing.

‘What’s life all about? Why is it so hard just to earn your crust, get a few hours’ sleep, maintain sanity?’

‘Sanity is for the weak my friend.’ Said Anatoly, tapping the side of his head with his right pointer finger.

‘Hmmm.’

Saying ridiculous things like that was clearly why he had stayed single so long.

‘But seriously...’ Continued Anatoly. ‘If your still determined to succeed at making friends in the twilight years of your life, I found something that might interest you.’

He pulled a shabby piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it and pushed it across the table.

Sydney Socialists read George. 

Come to our hall and discuss the problems of rampant, late-stage capitalism, and learn what we can do about it.

‘You must be joking.’ Laughed George.

‘You know me.’ Continued Anatoly. ‘I hate politics. But you could just show up for the social aspect.’

‘Why don’t you come along?’

‘I’m content with my solitude.’

George knew Anatoly gave a certain amount of every day to gaming. There was an MMORPG he was fond of playing, which had a reputation for cutthroat player vs player activity, as well as a totally devoted fanbase. But he only brought it up if he ran out of other things to say. He too had invested hours into gaming at an earlier time, but eventually had decided it was a useless pursuit that gave you nothing in the real world. However, he did find it amusing that Anatoly talked about hating politics, in a game that was famous for its emulation of real-world complexity. But as far as he knew, Anatoly didn’t get involved in factionism, spending most of his time holding up new players and robbing them blind.

After spending an hour together, George bid goodbye to his friend, walking away from the café with the paper folded up in his pocket. As he made his way back home, he pulled it out his pocket with some difficulty, and unfolded it to read again in the waning light.

We meet at Arlington Hall every Saturday at 5pm

Arlington hall was just a block away, and it was 4:45. He stopped momentarily, unsure of himself, but eventually plucked up the courage, and took a turn to head to the hall.

In 5 minutes, he was standing out the front of the hall, warm lights at the doorstep beckoning. A few other would-be socialists were shuffling through the doorway, so he took a breath to deal with his nerves then walked in. Inside, a bunch of cheap plastic chairs were arranged in a circle, about half of them occupied, and at the back of a hall a tea and coffee station was set up with a boiled water system plugged into a nearby power point. He decided he would feel more comfortable with a drink in his hand, so he made his way to the station.

At the station, there were the usual suspects of cheap hospitality, a large half empty jar of instant coffee, a crusty sugar container, as well as some earl grey and peppermint teabags. Next to it all, was an open container of long-life milk, which he hoped was still fresh. He settled on a black tea with a sugar and milk, then made his way to the ring.

Sitting down, he glanced around inconspicuously at the others. There was a super skinny youth in a black down jacket, who must have been in his 20’s. Probably a vegan. A few seats from him was a lady dressed in tie-dye with long dreadlocks. The rest of the group were similarly a mixed bunch, though his eyes did rest on a rather buff, well built man, who was wearing blue denim jeans, and had a thick cotton shirt on, almost the same color as his jeans. Looking at him, he couldn’t help but think of the ill-fated boxer from Orwell’s Animal Farm. Come on George, lets not be silly.

After a few moments, the skinny boy stood up, and looked around intensely at the congregation.

‘Well, greetings all. Nora, David, I’m glad you could make it. And hello to anyone joining us for the first time…’ He orated, giving George an intense glare.

‘Tonight, we’re going to talk about dumpster diving, a counter-cultural method for saving money, and reducing waste from big supermarkets, and then Nora is going to share some poetry. After that, everyone will have a chance to speak. But first, a word on why we are here. None of you would have stepped through that door, if you didn’t feel that something is wrong with the world today. Why is it that we slave away in jobs, waiting in vain for pay rises while the cost of living steadily increases. Why is it that it continues to cost more and more just to have a roof over our heads? The answer is capitalism…’

George began to tune out. He watched as Nora rifled around in her shoulder bag, looking for something. He also began to realize that he was hungry. The young man continued his spiel, confident in a solution to every problem he mentioned. He talked about the danger of a system that rewards greed, the injustice of being able to collect money from rent as a landlord, the coming socialist utopia. And then before he knew it, the introduction was over, and they moved onto to dumpster diving.

George began to wonder if it the prospect of getting to know these people was worth the time investment listening to all these speeches. He’d heard of dumpster diving before, and he had nothing against it, but it seemed like too much effort for him to take an interest in it. Besides, he didn’t trust himself as being able to pick between food that was safe to eat, and that which was dangerously out of date. But the skinny guy seemed to have an answer for everything.

‘… It doesn’t take long to learn which foods are safe and which to leave alone. You will be surprised what gets chucked out, meat, dairy, vegetables.’

Just then, he noticed from the open door, a police paddy wagon pulling up. The rest of the group were all staring out the front door along with him. Two police officers stepped into the hall and the taller one of the two addressed them all.

‘Is there a Benny Sanders in here?’

The skinny man glared defiantly at them.

‘I’m Benny Sanders, can I help you with anything?’

The officer coughed. ‘We have footage of you breaking into the back area of a Woolworths. You’re under arrest for trespassing.’

Benny turned back to the circle. ‘And as you can see, this is how the capitalists enforce their world order. I’m under arrest simply for making use of food that would otherwise be thrown out and wasted. One day, the people will no longer tolerate this. Rise up!’

With that, he was handcuffed and led out of the building. After he was sent to the back of the paddy wagon, the car pulled away and left them all wondering awkwardly what to do next.

‘Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’d still like to hear some of Nora’s poetry.’ Said George placatingly.

Nora smiled and looked down. 

The blue shirted man nodded. ‘Yes, let’s not let this set us back, share your poetry with us Nora.’

Nora produced some rumpled sheets of paper from her shoulder bag, and began to read.

‘Don’t let the system get you down,

For beyond the horizon lies in wait.

A utopian vision of equality sown,

With the blood of the workers the earth cannot sate

I suffer under this greedy regime

Struggling futilely to make ends meet

My sadness will not be my final theme

I’ll never give in, never taste defeat…’

At this point, George decided he had had enough, and rose and walked out of the hall. Why did life have to be so difficult? All he wanted were some people to share the lonely experience of existence with, but everyone seemed intent on complicating things.

His thoughts turned again to the book club. Was there any chance of salvaging it? Then he decided. If Nora could take up the time of 10 odd men and women with her crummy poetry, then he could take up the time of the book club attendees with his unfashionable opinions. ‘Who likes to torture his hearers with outdated worldviews and improper readings of the source material? I do.’