Meaning of Life

Last Thursday was one of those Panic Days at work. A fresh new co-worker was supposed to finalise and send off a proposal to the European Commission, and I was meant to help out. At the same time, London-boy M who had worked at the institute last summer was in Berlin and planned to have beers with the Popular Chilean and me before catching his plane back to London. He had to leave for the airport at half past seven.

The proposal was disastrous, the content weak, nothing was going right, and at half past seven I was still trying to correct the English, not get too depressed by the obvious lack of credibility of the proposal, copy the necessary number of copies and bind them up with our broken binding device, find envelopes that are big enough (there were none) and answer Popular Chilean's pressing phone calls from the bar across the block.

Eventually I decided that this project proposal to the European Commission was too shitty to waste my time on, so I told the poor new co-worker how to use the binding machine for the last copy that needed to be bound, wished her good luck, and sprinted out of the building and towards the bar. I ran and ran, London Boy should already have been on his way to the airport and I didn't know whether I would still get to see him at all. While I was rushing up the street, a candid looking young man who obviously lacked all ability to read people's states of mind tried to stop me.
- Sorry? Entschuldigung?
- no, I'm sorry, I've no time

He looked like a fervent mormon or any other religious type who would want to talk to me about the bible, talk to everybody about the bible, and how God is Great, and how wonderful it is to feel the Love of God guide his life in his heart. I squeezed past him and threw myself on the door of the bar - the worst bar imagineable, for sports' fans - but lost time pushing the door instead of pulling. The guy behind me didn't give up.

- excuse me? What do you think the meaning of life is?
- ... no, really, no time.. what?? the meaning of life?

I was struggling with the door, with short time, with all the thoughts that come up to me when I think of the meaning of life. I had to answer his question, but there was London Boy, his plane, my lateness... I had to find the short version. Was this guy really asking passers by for the meaning of life? He looked like he'd arrived in Berlin that day, and so boringly innocent.

- The meaning of life? It's, it's... to be happy, I tentatively threw in his direction as I hushed inside the sports' fan bar.
With "Happy" I meant: be strong, live according to what you think is right, emancipate yourself from any form of authority, question, be nomadic, communicate, have close ties with humans, take time to reflect, be indenpendent, look for your utopia, be good, learn what you want to learn...
Before the door closed, I heard him utter a "thank you, that's what I think too". He probably came to the conclusion that my understanding of happiness was to rush into sports' fans' bars to get totally pissed after work.

London Boy was still there. We accompanied him on part of his trip to the airport. An hour later, he called to say he'd missed his plane. We made him come back to the city and went out until I remembered shortly after 3am that I was meant to be at work at 9am. Three hours of sleep, alcohol mix, work at 9 - followed by six or seven hours spent at my place with my learning group discussing democracy theories. I was exhausted, but it was all worth it, as they say.