Number 14: Monks

The strangest thing I saw last Friday was a monk with a Louis Vuitton bag and a cell phone. Well, I suppose he was a monk. After all, if you're bald and wearing an orange robe you're certainly dressed liked one. Anyway, it was him and his monk friend. They looked like characters out of a Chris Farley movie, one of them older and presumably wiser while the other was younger, much bigger and presumably an unenlightened monk-in-training. Both of them were, of course, bald. The older, wiser one was seated directly in front of me. He was facing me but, of course, not looking at me as he was involved in what I assumed was some sort of meditation. His eyes were closed, his hands were clasped and I suspected he might begin to levitate at any moment, although I must admit that part of me feared he might light himself on fire in some sort of protest. If this were to happen, my proximity to him would surely be a problem and as I had nothing in particular to protest and so did not see myself joining him, I considered moving. But I did not. I had been sitting there, minding my own business of course, when I noticed the bag and looked up from what had been the focus of my own meditation, In Search of J.D. Salinger by Ian Hamilton. Hamilton had set out to write a biography about the author-in-hiding and as I happen to share his admiration and perhaps slight feeling of ownership of Salinger's work it was with great interest that I had begun reading the book and with great sadness that, upon reaching its conclusion, I realized that Salinger would probably hate me for having done so. To my left was what appeared to be a college student reading James Joyce's Ulysses and behind him another pseudo-intellectual reading Joseph Heller's Catch-22. For a moment, I debated in my mind if either of them got it. I doubted it and wished I had gotten coffee at the Starbucks before coming to the terminal. In any event, I figured the flight would be relatively peaceful what with the monks being there and all. Perhaps there presence would silence or at least calm the shrieking baby which was certain to be seated in front of me. Or maybe they would distract the passengers behind me and at least temporarily postpone their discussion of various issues of National Geographic which they had read. Probably not though. A plane is an efficient method of travel but it is also a claustrophobic nightmare in which you find yourself trapped with every kind of annoyance, disruption, discomfort and northern accent imaginable. This flight was tolerable though and to be honest I did not give much thought to the monks during it. I slept and listened to Radiohead and neither activity allows for one to think of much else. However, as I got off the plane I saw the monks up ahead. One, the younger bigger one, waited outside the men's restroom, I assume waiting for his older, wiser counterpart. I realized that I had never encountered a monk in a restroom but I decided it would most likely be a humorous experience. As I walked past the monk I saw his Louis Vuitton bag and noticed that he was again talking on his cell phone. As you can imagine, I tried not to stare but I dare say that you would have shared my struggle. It is not everyday that you see a monk, especially one with a Luis Vuitton bag and a cell phone. It seemed to me a great contradiction and I half-wondered if there wasn't someone somewhere I should be reporting it to. Anyway, I concluded that it was really not my business if monks decided to live as walking contradictions, existing as mere caricatures of themselves and I continued to think on the matter as I walked toward baggage claim, stepping onto the moving sidewalk and putting the headphones of my iPod in.

Ah yes, Bob Dylan.