Organizational Narrative Project
Protagonist: He, co-founder at Bund Education Co., Ltd.
[Introduction]
Caved in the weird, inveterate smog of Shanghai, he drifts slowly along the asphalt road - almost three years ago the night it had all begun he used to walk like this - only then it was high school, and he was a waiter. O' those dreadful times have long passed. He's settling down, though temporarily, almost tentatively - having served in New Oriental as a teaching assistant for nearly one year it was high time to start out on his own - co-founder, as he writes on his CV for whatever murky applications in the future. He's an adult now. Matter of fact he has been an adult for one year! But what sense to make with it? The four youthful souls in this upscale office building near the Bund of Bund Education Co., Ltd., stuck together, balled-up to keep the money rolling in - plenty of it. But that's one of the few things he deploys to delight himself. What else? Parents in the country? Dull and nearly repetitive. Spouse? So far, only a girlfriend below the planet beneath. Until he seems to find another, not dream, but fantasy experimented, FUSE.
[First Report]
Having no intention for an actual venture at first, he followed headlong into a world which is alien to him and which, unexpectedly he finds agreeable, for it imbues him with a sense of being alive that he had aspired but never truly attained. It is so soothing, so genuine, like how the bird must have felt when perching on a spring's tree. Though for him, for anyone with an inkling of rationality, the tree is but in its crudest, tattiest form, blood-fed with the money that was once part of his tuition fees next year, an apartment that is, in an old, French-style office building thirty-second of walk away from the Bund - he goes there all the time, usually after dinner. In the beginning the grand Shanghai skyline dazzled him. Mesmerized, he would rest his shoulder and arms on the handrail by the river and take gazillions of pictures to flaunt. But before long it becomes norm. He even feels a connection, however diluted, between the shallow pumping heart of his and the much more tangible ambition of this entire nation on the other side. He neither touches nor feels it. But he knows it's there. And it pleases him. He feels light-hearted all the time - those penniless hipsters, complaining about food and courting girls, carefree as they appear to be, they ain't even convinced of themselves, he thinks, and he's at least got something to grasp, and cheers to that.
Occasionally he would niggle over some petty issues with his boss, who he finds quirky. The boss is an unstable man, and earthquakes all the time. He can be quizzical and clingy on this second and disinterested and aloof the very next. The only thing constant about the boss is an unwavering greediness - "300 yuan per hour? That's too little, make it 500 yuan. For God's sake I would make it 1000 as long as these rich bastards are foolish enough to accept it." And it unsettles him, he doesn't want to come off as a vampire. But he faces no choice but to accommodate the boss, after all the boss is the boss, and boss makes right decisions.
It's a small company still. He has to take on multiple roles, mostly as marketer and teacher, but routinely as garbage collector and dishwasher as well. And the crucial part is the former. He needs to find students, and to teach them, together with his boss in a cohesive way. It is easier for him to work with the boss and the other two paperwork dudes. Workload is divided and he gets to work on what he does the best; during the downturn he can also assure himself that the others are suffering with him. But it is not without trouble, in fact sometimes huge pain in the ass, to have to deal with his boss, to always find a middle way, and to consolidate the schedule when the boss is off 2000 kilometers again for his girlfriend. Nonetheless, at a day's end, he's content.
[Second Report]
Sometimes he wonders, in this shabby place made of bits and parts glued together under the name of a single man, a tender body veiled often by beach pants and slippers, what propels this truckload of otherwise commonplace men to move forward? There must be something, something special about that man! His imprudence in making a decision and his firmness in fulfilling it! The way he leads! He neither subordinates nor negotiates. He merely talks, using his rationality to sell and to convince almost wholeheartedly the minds of skeptics like him. His annoyances are consistent but only mild, his derangement is severe but never consequential. He readily shatters, rives, and tosses what he and the rest of the comrades take as believes, faiths, and principles without it let known, and miraculously squeezes out new rules, new forms and new creeds under which they smilingly bask. Towards the end, therefore, he gives up fighting; he even gives up preserving what is left of him; he flows willingly and inexorably along.
All of these though, has an underlying premise - he will not bet a dime on his boss if one day the boss fails to turn that dime into more, and the other guys share a similar view - that to be revealingly frank, the only things that matter are the dimes - there simply is no other reason, be it to compete, to control, to like or to emphasize, for nobody, the boss himself included, feels a sense of mission in the tasks being carried out. After all, he agrees, this industry exists only in the crevice, of aspirant, wealthy parents' uncontrollable urge to send their sons and daughters to schools that are not necessarily excellent, but nevertheless elite. It is under this integrated culture of essential indifference that they preserve themselves.
And it never occurred to him that he would need to find another person to help. It was only after that the amount of work borders on the unmanageable that he, casual and nonchalant, reached out to various universities for manpower. He recalls most vividly, when he sifted through so many applications of an unvarying butt-shaking eagerness, the despicable ease with which he picks and decides - these people, who spent years and years in school, in turn, get to work for him and his boss - it all seems ludicrously surreal.
Yet it isn't that he intends to mistreat these young people. Once they are onboard they instantly become like him - to take orders from the boss, to begin to function, and to get paid according to the hours they work. There are only four people, and there isn't much to be said. It is even better, sometimes, for the boss to be the one to make the cuts - it is infinitely easier to obey than to confront over the decisions which nobody feels sure about. Hence, perfect! Sehr perfect! To be able to work like this he thinks, with his job as an extension of life rather than as a part of it.
P: Five reports were originally intended for the Organizational Narrative Project. However, the last three reports have been canceled due to "academic inaptness". And the boss in the reports was me.
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Blessing gravely thrice the sofa, I wandered about and placed my buttocks on the bar stool. Quite sensibly the feet went on the table beside the fridge that never seemed full - the red Coca-Cola paint on the edge was even a bit cocked up. But it was no matter. I came only to shack up for a moment, and then I would have to leave as well.
After these mystically few months I finally got to peek out, from this giant array of buildings and the fences around them. Yet I did not feel a sense of liberation - the momentum of having been an inmate makes me almost suspicious of the world outside - back in my constrained and thus leisurely days I simply whammed and whistled on the mattress, seeking not to amplify but rather, to allay - the life in flesh and Eden was ever so anciently peaceful, like a rhyme hummed by the oldest words, that it had become vital for me to make it appear less so.
Actually there wasn’t anything particular about the room I was in - it was one of those places patronized only by people in need. I had watched movie while lying on the couch at the rightmost corner of the room. Then Alin was often around and seemed fairly energized by a youthful upkeep which he didn't manage to maintain, and Husain still unquestioning and glad - since, though not entirely certain, after the movie he could always come down one stair with me and enter the room opposite of mine that was, after all, legitimately his.
And all of sudden I felt concerned, almost apprehended - like how watchfully I would listen to a piece of music as the melody tapered - so scraggy was the sound that it could fall and break. Though why did it matter if after several sonatas either I got bored by its repetition or it eventually came to an end not fully expressed but nonetheless conclusive I didn't know. Just that, while I was thinking about it, I intuitively pressed every button on my touchscreen keyboard stronger, so the characters manufactured seemed more convincing:
"Do remember to take care; always ask for a blanket before the cabin gets cold."
I viewed these letters individually as they piecemeal formed, making sure that the font was well-spoken and that I did use the correct punctuation. I always had a standpoint that by having a flawless style in one's writing, things will somehow become smoother - such that I mawkishly persevered in the road I had chosen to destine.
It was, if I had remembered correctly, around noon. I was sleep-deprived and unusually thrilled - the familiarity of it all, the clean awareness of where exactly I was, the conviction that when strolling here I was dispensed with the need to defend, the cheer and terror I keepsake for its possible loss, felt startlingly alien. I was like an upcoming whoremaster who for some unkempt reason became attached to the brothel he never felt the need to visit, let alone to stay, and of which, he had gradually realized and regretted.
Fine. Anyways, I was about to finish up. I had already bought the ticket, folded my outfit into the suitcase, and sprayed deodorant. I could've waited a bit longer but there was no need - the blazing sun was high in the sky; the fast food restaurant was there one last time for a box of beef rice with noodles - a little reluctance was normal and appreciated.
So I packed up, chewed the last wad of Dextro from the servery, wiped my hand, wreathed a smile, and turned away.
-
Sometimes being a human means to deceive oneself, especially for those who haven't had the privilege to lead a life that isn't entirely fulfilling. I, however, am among those people who are supposed to cheat and forget yet who couldn't take the courage to really do so. I reason, while unfortunate and vulgar, my life isn't without commendable moments to remember, and profound changes to rethink, and therefore, it is not proper to discard all of them indiscriminately, though it might be quite easy and reassuring.
