I think lunch breaks are the worst. You have an hour to eat and then get back to work for another 4 hours. It is always the same routine. Around 12:40 you start getting ready for the break. At 1 pm everyone rushes to leave the building so you are waiting for ages for an elevator and when it finally arrives, it is packed. Then you hurry to a nearby fast food restaurant to eat some junk food and then hurry back so you can chip in by 2 pm. You are always surrounded by the same people. although that is not true just for lunch break. You have a miserable lunch, gossip a bit with the same group of people about the same people all the time. All you see around you are grey buildings and people in grey coats always hurrying somewhere. Everything is grey. You also feel grey. It is all so depressing.
It is raining today, which makes all of this grayness even worse. Umbrellas everywhere. Sad, gloomy, grey umbrellas. People in grey coats in a hurry to get somewhere, who knows where.
I slowly exit the building at 1:12 pm. I slowly make my way to my sanctuary, small and cozy brown-hued coffee shop. It is only 7 min walk from the building. I am tired. Not physically because I did much. I am just tired. Exhausted. I need a break.
I order espresso and a croissant and walk to a small round table in the farthest corner of the shop. I sit and take my small black notebook out. I inhale. And exhale. And inhale.
What if I become a writer? Imagine that life. No 8am-4pm work every day. No chipping in and chipping out. No traffic jams. No fake people in grey business suits. No boring and tedious tasks. No regular lunch breaks. Just imagine how great that would be.
I could come to this small coffee shop and just write. Let my imagination out. Let the kid take charge and enjoy the ride. I could observe people walking by and imagine their lives. Why are they in a hurry? Where are they rushing to? Who are they talking to on the phone? Why are they in a grey suit? Are they enjoying their jobs? Probably not. I know I am not. Not this one.
I exhale and take a sip of my espresso. It is 1:40 pm already. I should get back. But I don’t want to. I want to buy a train ticket to somewhere, far away from here, and just travel. Never stop travelling. Never stop writing. Never stop travelling.
With this thought in my mind, I get up and slowly make my way back to my cubicle. It is raining. I hate lunch breaks. I think they are the worst.