ArchivedLogs:Two Kinds of Work

Two Kinds of Work
Dramatis Personae Corey, Doug
In Absentia	2013-04-17 Doug and Corey meet again.
Location <NYC> Tompkins Square Park - East Village
Small but popular, this tree-lined park is a perfect centerpiece to the eclectic neighborhood it resides in. Home to a number of playgrounds and courts from handball to basketball, it also houses a dog park and chess tables, providing excellent space for people watching -- especially during its frequent and often eccentric festivals, from Wigstock to its yearly Allen Ginsberg tribute Howl festival. It is a beautiful day in New York. Clear and sunny, with the high pushing up on 70 degrees, it is the kind of Wednesday that makes you hate the rest of the week. Fridays should be so nice. And, like on most nice days, Tompkins Square Park is enjoying an uptick in the number of people taking advantage of the nice weather. A group of children from a nearby daycare play in the small playground, their shrill screams of joy cutting through the still air and carrying to the street. In one turn of the path, an artist has set up her wares -- a series of violent-looking abstracts in dark purples and reds that are attracting little attention from the passers-by. Here and there, people sit on the benches, either taking in the sun while reading, or enjoying a quick snack from the hot dog cart rolling by. Doug is...none of these. He is among the few that are jogging along the path. Or rather, he might have been. Currently, he sits on a bench, dressed in a yellow t-shirt and blue rugby shorts. A black band around his bicep holds his iPhone, a thin cord attaching it to the earbuds in his ears. One leg is pulled up on the bench, the hem of his shorts hiked up so that he can inspect the yellow-black-blue bruise across his thigh. He does this critically, wrinkling his nose as he prods the surface with his thumb gently. Dressed for a good jog, Corey had on a tight black teeshirt, made of one of those new wicking materials, and a pair of jogging shorts in a mix of grey and white stripes. Moving along the side walk at a good clip, his gaze was continually drawn to the various subsections of park activities, slowing down a little as he passed through the dog park so as not to get much chasers, but picking up the pace again when he breaks the border. Doug is sitting near enough the dog park that he spies Corey as he exits. The blonde narrows his eyes thoughtfully as he tries to recall the guy's /name/. He did assault him with food, after all. Casey? Carey? "Corey!" He lifts his voice to call out, lifting a hand to wave as he jerks out the earbuds. "Hey, it's Corey, right?" Hearing his name, Corey slowed again to have a look around. Recognizing the fellow from Montague's the other day, he raised a hand in greeting before cooling down to a walk at Doug's bench. "Hey there, and yeah Corey. Good to see you, outside of attacks of gravity. How's it going?" Offering a hand to the sitting man, he had a smile on his face at least, until he saw the nasty bruise, and gave a wince. "Ah, well that's painful looking." Doug wrinkles his nose, pinkening just a bit at the reminder of their first meeting. "Oh, hey, yeah. Sorry again for that." He waves a hand. "I hope it didn't affect your interview too badly." There's a flash of teeth as he offers a wide grin. "Melinda seems pretty nice, though." Leaning back on the bench, he glances down at his bruise and nods. "It was painful, at first," he says. "Now it's just ugly. Especially with my pale-ass skin." He chuckles, and looks back up at the other man. "So, did you get the job?" "Yeah, she's a nice lady. I've got the job, at least as long as I get along with the other co-workers who have seniority." Nodding abit at that, he figured it shouldn't be too bad. Wiping sweat from his brow, he didn't seem to worse for wear from the exercise he'd done so far. Still, it wasn't too companionable to keep your conversation partner looking up more than usual, Corey gestured to the rest of bench and asked, "Mind if I sit?" "That doesn't sound too hard," Doug says cheerfully, sliding over to make some room so Corey can seat himself. "You seem like a pretty easy-going guy." He takes his foot off the bench, placing it on the ground and leaning back to drape his arms along the back of the bench as he looks the older man over slowly. "So, tell me about yourself," he says, smiling wide. "Where did you move here, from? You said you hadn't been in the city long." Lowering himself into the bench, Corey inclined his head in thanks as he smiled. "I try to be. No point stressing out over matters outside your control ya know?" Leaning against the bench back, he chuckled at the queries."Well, I've been moving up the east coast the past few years. I'd been in Philly last, but I came from Orlando originally." Sitting and relaxing, he was recovering pretty quickly, though he was moving his legs a little to keep loose. Mind you some of that energy was flowing out over Doug, but that was just how life went. "Oh, I don't know. There's stuff I can't control that I still worry about." Doug lifts a shoulder (sort of), and ducks his head. "I mean, I don't /stress/ about them, but I'm still concerned." He grins as he looks back up. "But I get your meaning. Yours is probably the better philosophy, for day-to-day stuff." He lifts his eyebrows. "Of course, you might have met the really /bad/ people there, yet. There may be someone who manages to push your buttons just right." He tilts his head as Corey explains his travels, and his grin goes a bit lop-sided. "I don't think I've ever met anyone /from/ Florida, before," he says. "I know a few people who live there, but I didn't think anyone was actually native." This might be a tease, the way the corners of his eyes are crinkled. "Well I haven't met the people in a work environment yet." Corey smiled, figuring he knew who was being alluded to at least. "Yeah I know, I know. Most of the Florida population, everyone assumes is from Cuba, or elderly New Yorkers. But yes, there are some people born and raised down there." Shaking his head abit, he did at least keep his smile as he looked to Doug. "What about you? What do you do when you aren't getting coffee?" Doug grins. "Well, good luck. I'm sure you'll do all right. And if they don't like you, that's their problem, yeah?" He chuckles, and holds up a hand. "Easy, tiger. I figured /some/ people must be born there. I've just never met any." He wrinkles his nose. "Well, I stood at a urinal next to Justin Timberlake at a thing, once, but I don't think that counts." He grins, and uses his lifted hand to wave at the air. "I'm a student," he answers the question. "At Columbia. Business and Computer Science. I also do freelance computer work. Mostly web design, but I do a bit of IT now and then." "Thats pretty cool. They say everything's all going to be computerized in a few years, so you're probably going to be set pretty well. Or blamed horribly when the Machines rise up." Grinning to him, Corey leaned his head back looking to the sky. "I keep wondering if I should go back to school. But once you go through college once, going through a second time and admitting you made the wrong choices the first time hurts. Like, what if I tried to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or something. Of course then I remember how miserable half of em are, then I feel a bit better." "Oh, I plan on hedging my bets," Doug says with a wide grin. "I'm working for both the humans /and/ the machines. That way, I remain blameless." He closes one eye solemnly. "Double agent, dude. Totally the way to go." He listens in sympathetic silence as Corey continues, and nods. "Well, don't look at it as making the wrong choice the first time around," he suggests. "Think of it as...broadening your scope. Widening your field of expertise." He shrugs. "I mean, if you want to go, and your current degree isn't getting you where you want, what's really stopping you?" "Honestly? Time, money, and motivation. Like, its amazing the stuff Micah is doing, but that was probably going through all sorts of medical school. Doesn't that take like eight years minimum? And I don't think I'd even want to be a doctor to begin with." Corey gave a shrug at that. "I'm sorta doing the Kung Fu thing. Where the guy was walking the earth, learning his place in it. Except without the fighting, or funky tattoos." Chuckling at his own little joke, he shook his head. "So, I need to figure out what to do, before figuring out all those other little things" Doug's eyebrows shoot up near his hairline when Corey explains, then fall into a mild furrow. "You know Micah?" he asks, wrinkling his nose. "Zedner? Does limb-replacement tech?" He seems surprised by this fact, and he shifts a bit uncomfortably. "I think he probably had more motivation than most," he says, lifting a shoulder. "But, yeah. Figuring out what you want to do is probably a good start. And who knows?" he says, letting his gaze rake over the older man again. "You might rock some funky tattoos." "Yep that one. And yeah, I know he's got the built in motivation there. I don't really have anything I'm really missing in my life, aside from inspiration. Money for the sake of money just seems kinda silly." Corey, zen master. Chuckling at the gaze, he shook his head at Doug. "Nah, I've never had anything meaningful enough to really stick on me forever. Henna is pretty nice though, you get the pretty designs and then they just fade away over time." Drumming fingers against the bench, he let out a sigh. "I like people though. Maybe I should do one of those career day tests and see where it would put me. Maybe it'll tell me I'm destined to be President or something." "Hey, they've got those aptitude tests you can take online," Doug says helpfully, although his gaze remains on the exposed skin of Corey's arm. Maybe he's imagining henna tattoos. "Like, Monster.com and stuff have those things that help you connect with better jobs. Maybe you /should/ be President." He reaches out to nudge the older man, ducking his head. "I'd vote for you." He looks up. glancing out over the park and watching a woman walking her yappie Yorkie towards the dog park. "But it's worth a shot. What's that saying? 'There are two kinds of work -- the kind a man likes, and the kind he does best. And it the two are the same, then he is truly blessed.'" He scrunches his nose. "That might not be quite right. I don't even know who said it." "Its one of those old sayings, even if you find someone its attributed to, it will have an older source." Shaking his head, Corey smiled still at the nudge. "The President has to make hard calls, make sure that the country is okay and all. I don't think I'd be willing to nuke anyone, whether it actually Was necessary or not. Besides, they'd crucify me as a bleeding heart liberal, and they'd be right. I want the homeless helped, I want people to have rights and be treated with decency. But that doesn't get you elected when people are terrified, or angry, or any other emotional responses that are happening right now. The world's changing around them, and they aren't ready." Glancing over towards the yappy dog going past, he chuckled. "Who knows, /Maybe/ philosophy wasn't completely useless." "I think most people want those things," Doug says with a grin. "Although, most people would want someone else to pay for it. I mean, going by what you see on the news and stuff." He grins, and stretches, reaching his arms up over his head and causing his shirt to ride up and bare a flash of his stomach. "Still. You have a point. You might score big in the blue states, but the red ones would eat your sack lunch." He drops his arms, scratching at his jaw thoughtfully. "You should talk to my neighbor," he says. "He does a ton of volunteer work with homeless shelters and LGBT youth and stuff. I bet he knows of some places that need full-time staff." Nodding at the offer, Corey rose up off the bench with a smile. "I'll think about it. Between the volunteering I'm doing with Micah, and the connections that Melinda has with the other volunteer organizations, I think I'll have plenty of options in doing good deeds if nothing else." Stretching out like he was about to start jogging again, he gave Doug a grin. "Theres got to be something that will fill that purpose in, even if its just what I do on the side. It was good seeing you again Doug. Hope your leg feels better." Turning to head back down the way, he gave the young man a wave, as he continued his jog, taking the healing wave with him. Doug's leg /does/ feel better, he realizes when Corey mentions it, and the bruise is definitely less angry-looking. "I'll see you around, Corey," he says. "Micah's got my number if you want to give me a call, sometime." Then he's watching Corey jog away. Because he appreciates a nice view.