Babies are overrated
By: Salim Hjiej
Tags: Novel Writing, Humor, Storytelling, Funny, Fun

Photo by Colin Maynard on Unsplash

With its eyes wide open, Karbouche’s baby was looking at me as if it was trying to tell me something. Then it started crying. His dad came running:

“Oh-oh, okay, give it to me. It’s alright, don’t cry, little thing, daddy’s here.”

I thought to myself that this was my chance to leave that place.

I got up and started moving around in Kharbouche’s home, avoiding all the people that gathered to celebrate the sixth month anniversary of his son. Ghabi, a friend that I didn’t see from high-school, assumed this was the perfect moment to resurrect our long-dead friendship:

- Oh hey, long time no see, how are you doing? - I’m alright. I’m sorry I need some fresh air, there are too many people here. - Don’t tell me that you’re leaving because of the baby? Do you still hate babies? - Oh, shut up.

As I left the apartment, I didn’t want to wait for the elevator, so I took the stairs. As I reached the bottom floor and left the building, I took a right, straight to the little residential park.

It was a sunny Sunday, and many people were enjoying their afternoon in the square. An old man was helping a little kid ride a bicycle. Some couples were having picnics, and few kids were playing next to the pound. I sat on a bench and relaxed while looking around, sorry that I couldn’t feed the birds that seemed to wait for something.

As I was enjoying some calm, I heard someone coming and sitting next to me. I opened my eyes to find Sara staring at me:

- What are you doing here all alone? - Karbouche’s home is too hot, and I needed some fresh air. How did you find me? - Well, Ghabi told me you left. He also added something weird. - What is that? - He told me you left because of the baby. Because you hate babies. I thought it was funny. Is it true, though? - Well, I don’t hate them. I think they’re overrated. They’re not as cute as we say they are, they smell bad, they’re vulnerable, and they can’t do shit on their own. - Larbi, are you high? - Yes, but it doesn’t change anything to what I am trying to say. Until humans are five or six years olds, they’re useless. How are you supposed to survive in the jungle with kids? - Well, first we don’t live in jungles anymore. Also, humans learn fast, so the first years’ vulnerability is probably worth it. A 5-year-old kid can probably use tools, make fire, and hunt if you teach him. - Fair enough. - Forget about babies. Tell me where you are with your job research. - I paid for premium on Linkedin, but I still think it’s a joke. It feels like there only are job seekers flexing on one another. I hate that fake happy atmosphere. Everyone is pretending to care, but no one gives a shit. It’s almost like our party today to see Kharbouche’s baby. Who gives a fuck ?

Sara stared at me, disappointed:

- You’re the one vibing negatively, Larbi. You should be happy for them! And Karma, man! Karma is real. You can’t spend your day hating on people. - Haha, well, I don’t care. I don’t believe in Karma. -I got up and added- Anyway, I’ve got to go. I have to prepare for tomorrow’s interview. - Oh wow! Why didn’t you tell me that from the beginning? Which company is it? - It’s in investment banking. They have a solid key account manager position. I have already passed 3 interviews, and this is the last one. It’s supposed to be with the country manager. I got this position through a friend. I still can’t believe it.

She smiled at me:

- Oh my god, I’m so happy for you. - Well, don’t be, there is still this last interview. - I’m not worried about you. But be careful with the karma thing. - Haha, I will still hate babies, and Kharbouche’s son is ugly.

I think I annoyed her as she hit me with a “Oh shut up !” before I left.

The next morning, I woke up, ready to tackle the big day. After I shaved, dressed, and overdosed on coffee, I looked up at myself in the mirror and thought I was pretty fly for a white guy.

As I entered the bank’s lobby, the managing assistant asked me to wait and offered a cup of coffee.

That was my fourth cup of coffee of the day, but I couldn’t refuse it. As I drank the thing, my heart started pounding as if I was going to fight Mike Tyson. I thought that If I died at that moment, the amount of caffeine in my blood could probably be enough to start a small car.

The assistant came back and asked that I follow him. When we arrived at the country’s manager’s door, he told me to knock twice and get into the room. With the stress building up, I saw myself hitting the door, almost shattering it down.

And then, I opened it, into the biggest shock of my life. I couldn’t walk anymore. I was stuck at the entrance of the room. I felt so weak I fell to my knees.

In front of me, sitting in a tiny baby chair, the bank’s manager was staring at me. He had small glasses, a tiny tuxedo, and was putting his pen down. It was Karbouche’s baby. He stared at me for a while and then said, in a small little voice: Oh hello Larbi, I was waiting for you.

Karma.