OCD, Meeting and Film

No one invited him, the scruffy man with the two-day beard and large, black glasses. He finds his seat, his regular seat, no matter how many people have already claimed the aluminum tables at the rear, and begins. He ignores us, dressed in suits, not smelling at all like him or his belongings, and much more flowery than the brewing coffee and baked goods.

He leans to one side to slide his hand into his fatigue jacket pocket and pulls out his prize: a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He shakes three, four, five times close to his ear. Yes, it’s still quite full. He prepares as if for a magic act, stretching out his arms so his sleeves will pull up a little, showing us he has nothing to hide. But it’s more than that. It’s the ritual that will pacify him, but only temporarily.

He holds his head tall, throws back his shoulders, and with one quick movement releases the cap and pours a liberal amount of the transparent gel into his hand. Then, without pause, he briskly applies the gel between the palms of his hands, the insides of his fingers, the back of his hands, and then between, in masterful movements that are smooth and virile like a conductor in front of his symphony during a particularly energetic piece, lyrically allegro and forte.

Then, the final measure: he quickly presses his folded hands against his nose and takes in a deep breath that drowns out the steaming and frothing of milk, and takes in the perfumed alcohol and collapses giddily into his chair.

Now, he can take another bite of his yogurt, but only after stirring it robustly, letting the spoon clank against the white stoneware bowl at least fifteen times before taking the overflowing spoon into his mouth and sighing, “Aaah”, because it is a wonderful tang and he licks his lips to get every droplet of nourishment from it. We ignore his little grunts and his occasional laughter at something none of us heard. We ignore how he opens his banana, so unlike anything we’ve ever seen – from the middle.

He clears his throat when one in our party hits a particularly dry patch in the conversation, sounding just like him. But we never look at him. We ignore his repeated rituals, his joyous play with the two wooden sticks he keeps close by or folds into his hands when doing nothing else but thinking. We ignore his multiple gulps of water after every sip of coffee and his many trips to the trash. We ignore the many times he looks through his old man’s sun glasses, black and wide, and cleans them in his shirt. We ignore the flipping of his hat, releasing the stale air beneath it, and out of our periphery catch how he quickly crushes it back down on his head.

But at the end of the meeting when all rise and say farewell and “thank you for your time”, “it was so nice to meet you”, the man finishes his ninety minute rigid breakfast ritual and clears his throat in a most persistent manner, mumbling his services as well, asking for our card.

It’s Entandem’s meeting with the Fresno Film and Entertainment Commissioner completed and we’ve learned much from a fascinating and elegant man with much experience. Fresno has such a wonderfully enticing future and we can’t wait to delve into it! Thursday we launch our documentary…