In an event I attended with some former colleagues about a year ago, I had the pleasure of being introduced to a man who worked as a film subtitle writer. His name escapes me now, but I can still vividly remember how the thirty-something fellow, with much aplomb, described his job for our benefit.
The hubbub and crampness of the venue did not hinder him from taking his sweet time, and he demanded our full attention. With much detail he told us about how an entire day's work produces only thirty minutes worth of subtitled film. He paused after saying this, allowing the gravity of the statement to sink in. Thirty glorious minutes. Wow. When we have oohed and ahhed, he continued his story. His every day is spent watching movies and television series, he said, pausing every so often to jot the actors' dialogue down. He described the strenuous task of looking unfamiliar words up on the Internet to make sure everything is correctly spelled. He enumerated a couple of medical terms from television show Grey's Anatomy. He looked around the table. "It is important that you spell them correctly," he said gravely, and 24's Jack Bauer came to my mind. He proceeded to talk about how, because he spends so much time doing what he does, his dreams at night now come with subtitles as well. Such is the price one must pay when one chooses such a career path, he explained.
I remember that while listening to him, I was in utter disbelief at how he delivered that bit of information with much hauteur and ill-concealed arrogance. He was simply sparkling with exuberance. Here's a stenographer to an inanimate entity, a person whose days are just about completely devoid of any form of social contact, and who, at thirty-something years, has seemed to reach an impasse career-wise-- and he regarded his job as a Nobel Prize winner would his life work. Here is a man who is content, I remember thinking. And then, I remember being suddenly inundated with feelings of jealousy.
Contentment is so elusive.
No comments:
Post a Comment