Max Riffner

The Parlor

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Speed

Everyone seems to have a carrot up their ass lately, which explains the need, the need for speed. People around the office haul past my area so fast that papers sometimes rustle off my desk. Some of these people even go to the bathroom so quickly and efficiently that they must either be on the pure fiber diet or have some mechanical iris-apparatus installed for easy disposal of waste.

It doesn’t stop there. I’ll get smoked by some weekend warrior on the trail during my run, only to pass their huffing and gasping doubled over body a mile later. Sometimes I even pass them twice when I turn around. When I walk with some friends, their natural gait makes me turn into Robert Patrick in Terminator 2 to keep up (Have you seen this boy?). What’s the rush?

I was wound tight (still am in some aspects) as a kid, and I always walked to class with the efficiency of a robot. The change came when this other kid recognized me by my tight ass walk as he rode his bike up behind me on the trail. He bagged on my walk, which admittedly must have looked like a nerd rushing to the 1st Annual Topless Stripper Science Fair, and told me to slow down. Nothing was worth getting there that fast. This philosophy was reinforced by my cautious father while I was learning to drive, and it stuck. I drive like a grandpa; I savor each drink, each bite. I walk slow and enjoy it. I don’t care.

Wherever I’m going, those bastards can wait…

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