Meetings and Flicks

For the last few days, I’ve been doing a lot of things that have made me more productive overall.

It’s really weird to say this, but I believe I’ve done more in these last few days than the last month when I still had the internet. It’s taken me a while to settle down into a routine, but I’ve finally done it. I’m even getting stuff done while I’m doing my routine. A lot of things are becoming clear to me since I’ve become disconnected from the world.

Correction: It seems as though I’m disconnected from the world, but I’m actually not. I’ve become closer to the world around me in various ways, including conversations, human interactions, and, most of all, my attention to detail.

My routine has morphed into something I now do religiously, even after only a few days. I’m even planning my days better, which is weird for me simply because everything was tied to the internet through my Google Calendar.

This calendar has been indispensable to me. I thought that I’d be wandering misfit if I didn’t have it to remind me of events, meetings, and appointments. I’ve been taking voice notes on a recorder that I listen to at night before I go to bed. Instead of focusing on the event’s date and time, I’m beginning to focus more on the meeting itself. What will the meeting be about, and how can we make it the best it can possibly be? What questions could be asked that would provide possible solutions? Now, whenever there’s a meeting, I feel like I’ve slept for a million years, and my brain is set up and ready. People check emails secretly, under the table, or tweet some clever jokes while I babble away, making sure my points are thoughtful and clear.

My first meeting offline isn’t a good one, however. I don’t have any warning about what the meeting will be about since the notes were emailed the day before. It details various budget needs for my employer. Around the conference table sit all sorts of executives with years of experience ahead of me. They’re all distracted in one way or another. Some are swiping to see the next tweet, and some are frantically tapping out short replies to emails, possibly explaining that they’re in a meeting and that they’ll get back to their contacts later.

The topic turns to our salaries as freelancers. The paper has lost funding, so freelancers (myself included) will no longer get paychecks and will soon be released, discharged, or whatever you want to say to make being laid off sound nice. Either people don’t understand what this means right away, or they don’t absorb it fully because their reaction isn’t as big as I thought it would be. Everyone seems to dig deeper into the phones in their laps. I don’t have a choice, so I look at the main editor across from me. My eyes bore into him like tractor beams. I want to hold his gaze to test his validity. The people around me are still texting, emailing, and even surfing the Web. I can hear the sounds of links opening on iPhones, emails, and even the occasional notifications. I, however, am the most productive because I am just sitting here with my tractor-beam eyes.

“What? You’re kidding, right?” I ask, incredulous.

Finally, people look up from the information superhighway to stare at me as if I were performing radical open-heart surgery for the press.

“You think I’m joking?” the head editor asks. He sounds as if I’ve just told him it’s scientifically possible to pour all water into a single cup.

“Yeah. You’re kidding, right?” I don’t really care if I’m being professional. My paycheck had been taken away in a single sentence without even the courtesy of a private conversation.

“No.” He speaks to me as if I need an extra explanation. “I’m not kidding. Our budget has been cut significantly. We’re in a real crisis, and advertising isn’t biting at all. More people are subscribing, but that isn’t enough to offset the costs of freelancers.” He looks directly at me. His hands are folded on the table. Then he adds, “I’m sorry.”

As if to highlight my isolation in confronting him, an iPhone keyboard clicks before I hear the sound of an email being sent. How bizarre that the people sitting next to me are still connected to whatever they’ve been doing. I’m not the only one in this room who’s just lost a position. I don’t even know what to do or say. I just sit here with my mouth open. I want, more than ever, to escape to YouTube, answer an email, or even just reply to a tweet. At this moment, I think the reason I want these things is to express my current thoughts, but as I write this account, I realize I wanted to feel anything other than what I was feeling. I wanted to send a text with “LOL” at the end, but I didn’t have any connected device to sink my feelings into.

“But I’ve been here two years!” I complain, unsure why I’m even complaining. My fate has been decided for me.

“I know. You’ve done really, really well —- even better than some of my other staff members in a few cases. But I just don’t have any more room for staff positions at the moment, and I’m not sure if I’ll have a new opening anytime soon.”

This is definitely not how I expected this meeting to go. But now that it has turned out this way, I don’t even know how to fight for a staff position. The meeting swerves onto other matters, but it’s clear that this meeting will be my last. Ironically, it’s the one I’ve paid the most attention to.

Usually, when I’d go to meetings, my mind wouldn’t be so present. I’d think about how many links I’d surf when I got out, how many downloads I’d get within a day, and how many emails I’d read and reply to late that night. Sure, I’d pay attention to the meeting, but my thoughts were always connected to some point later in the day, such as what video I’d watch. I received a ton of YouTube notifications from people who uploaded videos, which I’d watch instantly. I didn’t subscribe to many people, but the people I did subscribe to updated often, so I always had something to entertain me, educate me, or ease my mind. I’d know, with each notification, that I’d watch this video after I got home from work or school. I rode the internet like a surfer to keep away from the things I didn’t want to do and to help with the things I did want to do.

For my new, sudden job search, I have to resort to repeatedly dialing Directory Assistance only to look for companies in Chicago with the word advertising in their names. I don’t get very far, mainly because the people I call don’t take me seriously due to my stutter. Hurriedly, they give me email addresses and then hang up.

Although I don’t have an active internet connection, I write emails to these addresses and queue them all, setting Thunderbird to start sending them on November 1.

Aside from attending more meetings than the president, I do something I haven’t done in years —- not since sites started showing movies for free that are still in theaters. I go to a movie theater. Without streaming services, I have to step into this long-forgotten land of tickets and headsets for audio description. I don’t regret this decision one bit.

For someone like me, who’s used to scouring the internet for exactly what they want, I think the idea seems silly. Why go to a theater when a little Google digging can come up with a movie that costs less and saves on transportation costs? I’m this kind of person. To me, a movie theater was just a very quick way to get your cash out of your pocket. Why would I do something so costly as going to a theater when I could have the same experience at home for less?

I had thought that others had the same experiences. Sure, I’d gone to several movie theaters, but it had been years since my last adventure. Now, a group of blind friends and I want to see The Equalizer. We all have very different reasons; I’m hoping to see a shirtless Denzel and hear an audio description of his surely epic body, and others are after some adrenaline-pumping.

Making sure we get to a showing with an audio description is harder than necessary without the internet. I volunteer to call the two theaters in Chicago that offer audio descriptions to see when the movie will be playing. With the internet, I’d just have to log onto the website, but instead, I navigate through long menus and patiently eat crackers while I wait on hold for more than twenty minutes.

“Hello!” announced a voice that could be the spokesperson for sugar. “And welcome to the AMC movie theater in Chicago. And how may I help you today?” She punctuates her killer introduction with a giggle that makes me crack a grin.

“How many times have you practiced that?” I ask.

“Oh, my god, sugar, you have no idea! I’ve been doing it for ages! Tee-hee!”

Her nickname for me is not lost on me, but I let it go. “Totally wicked. Anyway, I’m calling about the movie that’s showing on Sunday at twelve. Can you see if it has an audio description?”

“Audio description?” she asks. She sounds as if I’ve just said, Can you please check to see if there will be any giraffes in the theater that day? I’m allergic!

“Yes, audio description, not closed captioning. It’s for the blind.”

“Audio description?” she repeats.

“Yes, audio description. It’s for the blind.”

“So, you didn’t mean closed captions?”

“No. Audio description. For the blind.” I wish, more than ever, for the internet. I wouldn’t have to perform this song and dance.

“Okay. I don’t know what that is at all; let me look it up.”

I’m on hold again for a good while. Finally, she returns with a cheer that could pump up a football team. “Okay, so, great! I Googled it. And closed captions, too, and the movie, and then I looked at our own accessibility page. I didn’t know this even existed! Yes, this showing does have an audio description. You’d have to pay extra, I think.”

“No, it’s free. I just need to know at what showings it’s available.”

After some convincing, she agrees, and soon she confirms. I call up my buddies, and things are all set. We’ll be going to the movies!

If you watch a movie online, usually, you’ll do so in the lone comfort of your apartment. Perhaps it’s late at night, and the sounds of the outside world occasionally drift in and out. The apartment might be empty except for someone watching the movie with you. Still, something would be missing, that sense of companionship.

I believe we’re sorely missing this sense of connection today. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m close to the mark. Maybe I have the right idea but the wrong explanation. All I’m sure of at the theater is that people around me are sharing these emotions with me. The fact that I know there are people around makes it okay to exclaim “whoa!” out loud at an epic scene.

When I watch movies alone, I have minimal reactions. I feel the emotion of the flick, but I don’t feel the need to express it by laughing out loud at a funny part. I merely chuckle because I think it would be silly to laugh out loud in an empty room.

Sitting in the theater, watching the movie with others and a working headset —- something that’s never been available in my previous ventures —- I feel a sense of harmony. We are all experiencing emotions at the same time, so whenever one of us laughs, the feeling is contagious. Soon, we all feel as if we’re doing the right thing by laughing at the same moment. My feelings are validated. We don’t have to be self-conscious about what we’re experiencing. Here, with all these epic friends surrounding me, I feel like I’m right where I need to be. In a way, this place is like a home away from home, in the company of friends. I can’t believe I’d abandoned this experience so easily.

We are all chattering as we leave the theater. Our moods are lifting each other.

“Oh, my god. Did you see the part where he tricked that guy with a hammer?” I’m utterly gleeful.

“Yeah, man!” my friend Eric replies. “I don’t think Denzel has ever made a bad movie.”

“I don’t think so either!” I gush, still giddy from the action scenes. The movie was so good.

Even on the way home, we remain effusive about the film. I felt more involved in the last two hours than I ever have when watching a movie. The cost was definitely worth it.