Today I purchased food at the American Club using the chit system. A chit being the term for a small token, in this case a piece of paper, that represents monetary value. I bought a book of chits worth $11. Why do they sell in books of $11? To make money, of course. One dollar for every ten dollars worth of chits you buy. I may have mentioned before that I have a lot of useless information in my head. Every now and then some action during the day brings forth some of this useless information that I learned years ago. In this case, it was the chit that did it. There was a Hindi movie from the 70’s that I watched during summers in Naperville, IL. It was called Shaan or Namak Halaal or something. In one scene, a few unamed baddies try to knock off our hero Vinod Khanna or Amitabh. They of course fail, and our hero beats one of them silly and starts to interrogate him. It went something like this:(dubbed)
Amitabh: “Who sent you? Who?”
(A shot rings out. The baddie takes a bullet in the chest to keep him silent, but before he dies…)
Dying baddie: “Chitty. Chitty”
Of course, Amitabh realizes that the man has a scrap of paper, an above-mentioned chit in his pocket. The chit has the name of the man who wanted Amitabh dead.
So all day, I’m f–king mumbling “chitty, chitty” exactly the way the baddie said it, over and over like some autistic child. And I start to wonder about the people in life who are like the baddie —- most of us are him. Most of us are just unnamed, uncredited bit players that no one remembers unless someone comes along who is messed up enough to tell our tale. None of us are famous, and we die unmagnificent lives.
Thanks American Club. Thanks for the chits.