Manu's Half Day
On May 21st, Manu gets out of bed and sits at his desk. It’s grey outside, and has been for about the last six months. He doesn’t mind it, because it lowers his incentive to go outside and lets him concentrate on what he loves, which is looking at screens on digital objects. However, today is a different kind of grey day. Today, Manu opens Microsoft Teams, and navigates to the calendar function. He scrolls to the exact date, one month later. June 21st.
He hovers over the calendar slot labeled “8:30 AM.” He clicks the trackpad, and slides his finger down until the cursor hits 2:30 PM. A pop-up comes up to add more details to the event. In the title he writes, “Manu’s half day.” He then invites Alec, and Charlotte, Leanne and Megan, Reginald and Stephen. He invites Michael and Joanna, Mackenzie, Johnny, Cody, Dasha, Trisha, Avery, Janice, Camille, Asha, Trevor, Cathy, Frankie, Dana, Matt, Lynn, Leonard, Arie, Steven, Laura, Rob, Amy, Pete, and Sebin, which is everyone he works with plus a few others to keep everyone in the loop. A Microsoft Teams chat auto-generates for the meeting, and Manu types a message: Do not request anything from me on this date, June 21st, and do not request anything to deliver to me on this date, June 21st. This date, June 21st, is Manu’s half day.
Manu sends the message, and sits back at his desk, pleased. Then, Manu opens Microsoft Outlook, Asana, Adobe Premiere Pro, and After Effects. Because today is not Manu’s half day. Neither is tomorrow, or the day after, or any day for the rest of the week, or for the three weeks after that. Today, May 21st, is a full day. So Manu switches between these applications, clicking and dragging and dropping and cutting and hopping on a call and taking a first pass and a second and a third, until the sun peeks out from behind the clouds for about 30 minutes, during which, Manu closes his computer and stares directly outside his window. He watches the sun reach its greatest height, and then returns to his work, as the sun lowers itself to the ground, and the tree trunks outside his window burn orange. Manu works until the light streaming through his window comes from the moon instead. He closes a tab, another tab, an application, a tab and another, and a few more, and one after that, and finishes closing tabs and then opens and closes a few more. Manu brushes his teeth and goes to bed. He completes this routine all five days of the next week, and the week after that, and the week after that, occasionally doing another day on Saturday or Sunday, but never both. Four weeks and 3 days later, he stops.
On June 21st, at 8:30 AM, Manu gets out of bed and sits at his desk. The sky is grey again. He opens his laptop, and notifications pile in. An edit on a donation video, a new pass on a commercial spot. The music is too long on this social content and too loud for paid media. On any day of the last month, or the last year, or the last 4 years, Manu would’ve pulled up his applications and his tabs, turned on his monitors, calibrated his standing desk, and gotten to work. But today, Manu opens Microsoft Teams and sets his status to “Unavailable.” As he does so, his laptop begins incessantly dinging with another slew of notifications. But he closes his laptop, silencing it. Because today is Manu’s half day.
At 9:15 AM, after brushing his teeth, combing his hair, and putting on today’s favorite shirt, Manu walks outside the steps of his apartment and pulls out his phone, navigating to the group chat he shares with his parents. He hits the video call icon, and after a few seconds, a pixelated image of his mother comes up.
MANU’S MOTHER: I can’t see you.
MANU: I’m right here. I can see you.
MANU’S MOTHER: What’s all the noise?
MANU: That’s construction.
There is a lot of construction on Manu’s block.
MANU’S MOTHER: Why are you calling?
MANU: I took a half day today. I wanted to chat!
MANU’S MOTHER: I can’t hear you, there’s too much noise. Why do you live in such a bad neighborhood?
MANU: The construction means it’s a good neighborhood. They’re investing in it.
MANU’S MOTHER: Bro, you are so fucking poor.
MANU: I love my life and what it has done for me.
Manu hangs up. His mother is his favorite person in the world. But today is not a day for negativity. Today is Manu’s half day. And at 9:45 AM, Manu is sitting in traffic on the way to his favorite coffee shop.
There are 97 cars in a row lined up at the left turn lane, none have decided to move. From Manu’s position as the 96th car, he pulls out a pocket telescope and opens the window. Seeing all the way to the first car in the left turn lane, he notices they are on their phone, scrolling their Instagram explore page, which is full of rare plants and cool lamps. A symphony of honks erupt, and the driver of the first car suddenly becomes alert, and makes the turn, still watching their phone. Through the lens of Manu’s pocket telescope, the second car also makes the turn. Their Instagram explore page features Hydroflasks and rock climbing. The third car likes carpentry. The fourth car, baseball and airplanes; the fifth car, going out tops and facetune; the sixth car, cryptocurrencies and advice from people with generational wealth; the seventh car likes anime and the eighth car likes to recreate the leisure outfits of different US presidents over history. Manu catalogs the interests, peculiarities, and fascinations of each of the 95 cars ahead of him, until the growing line of cars behind him perform a second movement of the symphony of honks. Manu snaps to attention and throws his telescope away, floors the gas and barrels down the left turn lane as the green arrow turns yellow. He makes a hard turn left. The 97th car in line desperately tries to clear the turn before oncoming traffic begins, but it is too late. They collide with the pack in a horrific explosion, which Manu sees through his rearview mirror. He drives on, feeling responsible. But he brushes the thought away. Today is not a day for guilt and responsibility. Today is Manu’s half day.
At 11:00 AM, Manu takes a seat in the coffee shop. He has purchased the house drip coffee, the cheapest item on the menu, and a white chocolate chip / matcha muffin. He takes out his brown leather bag and rummages for his materials, looking to be productive on his personal projects. Unfortunately, he forgot to pack his bag in the morning, and thus does not have his editing computer or his hard drives, his personal laptop or journal. He has none of his pens, nor his headphones. Manu sits at the coffee shop, drinks his coffee, and bites into his muffin, searching for a task to put on his mind. He scans the other patrons, eavesdropping. Loud enough to hear from across the room, a group of teenage cinephiles discuss their interests.
TEEN 1: JENNA
Camille says she doesn’t have an AMC Stubs A-List membership because she can’t afford it, but she sees more than one movie a month, which would make it more economical to subscribe.
TEEN 2: STUART
Camille is vapid. If I didn’t have an A-list membership, I would not be able to see Asteroid City multiple times, which I believe I will likely need in order to appreciate the different levels of storytelling at play. Would you like to join for a second or third viewing? I must attend the first alone due to an impressive collection of insecurities.
JENNA: I hate Wes Anderson. Moonrise Kingdom is cringe-nation. When the children kiss I want to kill myself.
STUART: What’s stopping you?
JENNA: I need to catch up on Love Island.
Near this table is a writer turning their conversation into dialogue. Manu watches the writer, noting the ferocious staccato of her fingers on her keyboard, and her brow furrowed in concentration. She writes like she’s sparring, training a martial art. Her eyes flick back and forth, and finally she lifts her head, blinking aggressively, loosening her expression and rubbing her temples. She exits the page, ending her trip to another planet. Taking a sip from her coffee cup, the writer notes her return to a place she had meant to escape. She scrolls through her document, rereading her work. Closing her laptop and packing up her bag, the writer exits the coffee shop. Manu feels a sense of envy. His coffee and muffin have gone unattended. The teenagers are gone now, too. There is no one left to watch on Manu’s half day. The coffee is no longer warm, and he accidentally spills a bit on his pants. Then he spills the rest on purpose. He goes up to the counter, and asks for some napkins, and spends some time cleaning up the floor and blotting his trousers. Satisfied, he exits the coffee shop and gets back in his car.
At 11:59 PM, Manu is in traffic. The car to his right seats six people, but eight people are in it. On top of the car is a pile of sleeping bags and food containers, personal furnaces and approximately 40 disposable cameras. Manu can make out the faces of the driver and three other passengers on the left side of the car. Three are engaged in a riveting conversation that Manu cannot hear, because his windows are up. The fourth passenger on the left side of the car hangs halfway out of the window of the back seat, sulking. He the only member of the trip who is not part of the conversation. He is lost in thought. Manu and the passenger, now named Mark, make eye contact. Mark’s interest is piqued, he becomes quite focused on Manu. The light turns green, and the two cars pass through the intersection. Manu and Mark’s eyes are locked, Mark’s out of interest and Manu’s: a fear of looking away. The cars drive through the street, remaining perfectly parallel. Eventually, because Manu is not watching the road, his car starts to drift. The campers’ van drifts equally, staying parallel, and the traffic around them becomes mayhem. Now, the three other passengers in the eight-seated car are panicking, begging Mark to tell Manu to correct his course, so they can be parallel on a better path. Mark does not do this, but Manu finally sees their concern. He breaks eye contact and corrects his course. The camper van peels off, turning onto the highway. Mark is now being scolded by the other members of the camper van, but at least he is no longer sulking. The rest of the drivers on the road correct themselves slowly, and very few lives were lost.
12:47 PM. Manu arrives at his favorite restaurant in Los Angeles. There is a line, because these are some of the cheapest burritos in LA. Their work may or may not live up to the reputation that precedes them. Manu places his order for a chorizo chilaquiles burrito, and stands under the hot sun as it is prepared. The sun hasn’t shown in quite some time, and now that it has, he remembers how it feels to char the back of your neck. He is not ungrateful.
He takes the burrito to his favorite garden, where Jacaranda blooms overhead. Their fallen petals contrast lush grass bursting green with all the force of six months of rain. The garden is spotted with metal statues that look like wood. Manu sits in the grass without a blanket, and bites into his burrito. He continues ripping into it, salsa rushing across his tongue, chorizo crushed between his teeth, interrupted only by the firm crunch of baked tortilla. Manu winces as a bug bites his leg, and slaps the epicenter too late. He takes another bite and winces again. The bugs have come to defend his burrito, who they feel is their kin. They bite him again, and again, relishing the tear of his skin and the sugar in his blood.
MANU: You don’t understand! I’m cherishing my ‘rito! It was made to be consumed, enjoyed! We’re sharing in a lovely moment where every part of this burrito is fully appreciated by me- but I, a human being, wasn’t created for your consumption!
The bugs, feeling guilt over indulging their reactionary tendencies, leave Manu in peace; but the damage is done. His bites swell and grow itchy. Manu scratches them, reopening many small wounds. Around his ankle, intricate fountains of blood trickle down his leg. They flow onto his discarded burrito, where a hypocritical faction of bugs have decided to dine instead.
At 2:12 PM, Manu is caught in traffic. It is standstill, we do not move an inch. In his left wing mirror, he catches a glimpse of the driver in the car behind him. They are perfectly caught in generous sunlight. Manu cannot hear any noise from their car, but the driver is anything but silent. They perform an animated, passionate delivery of… something. He cannot tell what. Are they speaking or singing? Their face contorts between moments of desperation and exhaustion to those of serenity and relief. When they explode into more extreme expressions, he cannot tell if they are laughing or crying. The driver looks ahead, out the window, and sometimes directly to the right, so Manu cannot tell if they are alone, or with someone else. Does he intrude on a private moment or a private moment? He cannot tell if the driver of the car is a man or a woman. The life inside of his left wing mirror changes every second, but each frame is brutal, pristine honesty. If Manu didn’t know any better, he might think it was a masterpiece.
At 2:33 PM, Manu arrives back at his home, a little bit later than expected. He sits at his desk, his feet burying into the carpet, shedding flakes of dried blood. He opens his laptop to a flurry of notifications. About half the messages are requests: an edit on a donation video, a new pass on a commercial spot. The music is too long on this social content and too loud for paid media. The other half of the notifications are his team members wishing Manu a happy birthday. He responds to each message individually, which sparks conversation with each of his colleagues, that keeps him enraptured until 5pm. He tells each of them that he had a good call with his mother, and enjoyed breakfast at his favorite coffee shop. He got some work done on personal projects, and ate his favorite foods in his favorite places. He also spent a lot of time in traffic.
At 5:15 PM, Manu begins working, and does so until the sun starts to come down.
At 8:02 PM, he sits outside to watch the sun set. It takes longer than usual today, June 21st, the longest day of the year. He watches as the trees outside of his apartment and his own skin turn golden. He watches as they fade away.
When the sun has completely set, Manu returns to work. He works until moonlight streams through his window, and then he works some more. Because today was Manu’s half day. So he has some catching up to do.
