i'd tell you, but you wouldn't believe me
it started off feeling like a day full of possibility. yesterday, monday, a day of the week when things happen, would happen.
i dressed for a marginally important meeting in my best office-office getup.wore the £15 discount boots, the m&s trousers a svelte black shirt and i looked thin. thin and pro. first positive.
at the 'main mall', which is not a mall but a pedestrian high street, i found the beady trinket i'd been looking for, two of them. while walking down the main mall wearing this stylisation of the botswana flag around my neck, i had one of those 'i feel good ta ra ra ra ra ra ra' moments. second positive.
then when i got to the meeting, somehow my cool confident professional avatar took over, and the dude i had come to sound out for job offers was actually trying to convince me to stay. i was persuaded to attend a 4th year undergrad architecture jury. and i was handed one of those folders with names and briefs and little boxes for marks. the kind of pink governmenty card folders which shaped my life for 6 years of architecture school. i was on the other side of a design review! well, i sat around, feeling a tad fraudulent but enjoying it to the hilt. made a bitchy comment, then dazzled the student with my perfect smile.. you see where this is going.. total ego trip. (no, but i was very fair. i've suffered too much at the hands of bad examiners. in fact, i see now that all design jurors worldwide come from the same mould of 3 or 4 characters. the middle aged commercially succesful hotshot, who tries to heckle you and then tears your design apart because you used very thick lines for a/c ducts; the old fart who tries to resolve the structure as you stand there sweating; the young disgruntled disillusioned architect who sees clearly that these old dudes are getting technical and not asking the Vital questions about flow, public space, resolution and responsibility [these architects are often sexy]; and the random sleeper who jumps up and hits you when you are down with nothing new to say, or when your jury's going well, says 'but did you think of the possibilities if you turned this entire plan by 90 degrees?'.) after that bit of spleen - i was the mysterious guest juror who had cool things to say, and who disappeared just when people were beginning to ask each other - who's She? third positive.
i disappeared because i had to go get paid at my erstwhile office that i help out now and again. by this time, i was on a roll. i didn't bat an eyelid when the dude paid me double what i expected, but only swept out of there with a devastating smile and a half-backward glance. you could hear the populace fall thud to the ground as i passed them by. fourth positive.
and then, when i got home, the little white bubble flashed red, email, click, firefox, oooopen... at last! the long awaited confirmation that britain indeed had realised how indispensable i was to their urban future, they had invited me back with open arms and a piece of immigration document. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! well you know the count by now.
it was the best day anyone could have had. and it was very welcome in my humdrum life of the last two months. so i came over all worshipful, convinced that there was a 'force', something beyond the rites of paper and ink, food and drink. something that watched, and sometimes held. i came over all worshipful, quite conveniently on a day when my mum couldn't make it to the temple. so i proxied, gladly for once, had conversations with stone figures, smelt the garlands and rang bells. i had a grateful heart.
what's this? another email? it's on it's way to you. we sent it to this address. great.. wait.. is that.. naaah.. is it? really? what?? wrong address??? aaaagh!
quite unbelievable no? now my precious snailmail is on its way to postal loss oblivion, and i think in awe of the force, the supernatural, the agency-above-all, which watches, tweaks, rubs its hands, giggles. it has a naaaasty sense of humour.
i dressed for a marginally important meeting in my best office-office getup.wore the £15 discount boots, the m&s trousers a svelte black shirt and i looked thin. thin and pro. first positive.
at the 'main mall', which is not a mall but a pedestrian high street, i found the beady trinket i'd been looking for, two of them. while walking down the main mall wearing this stylisation of the botswana flag around my neck, i had one of those 'i feel good ta ra ra ra ra ra ra' moments. second positive.
then when i got to the meeting, somehow my cool confident professional avatar took over, and the dude i had come to sound out for job offers was actually trying to convince me to stay. i was persuaded to attend a 4th year undergrad architecture jury. and i was handed one of those folders with names and briefs and little boxes for marks. the kind of pink governmenty card folders which shaped my life for 6 years of architecture school. i was on the other side of a design review! well, i sat around, feeling a tad fraudulent but enjoying it to the hilt. made a bitchy comment, then dazzled the student with my perfect smile.. you see where this is going.. total ego trip. (no, but i was very fair. i've suffered too much at the hands of bad examiners. in fact, i see now that all design jurors worldwide come from the same mould of 3 or 4 characters. the middle aged commercially succesful hotshot, who tries to heckle you and then tears your design apart because you used very thick lines for a/c ducts; the old fart who tries to resolve the structure as you stand there sweating; the young disgruntled disillusioned architect who sees clearly that these old dudes are getting technical and not asking the Vital questions about flow, public space, resolution and responsibility [these architects are often sexy]; and the random sleeper who jumps up and hits you when you are down with nothing new to say, or when your jury's going well, says 'but did you think of the possibilities if you turned this entire plan by 90 degrees?'.) after that bit of spleen - i was the mysterious guest juror who had cool things to say, and who disappeared just when people were beginning to ask each other - who's She? third positive.
i disappeared because i had to go get paid at my erstwhile office that i help out now and again. by this time, i was on a roll. i didn't bat an eyelid when the dude paid me double what i expected, but only swept out of there with a devastating smile and a half-backward glance. you could hear the populace fall thud to the ground as i passed them by. fourth positive.
and then, when i got home, the little white bubble flashed red, email, click, firefox, oooopen... at last! the long awaited confirmation that britain indeed had realised how indispensable i was to their urban future, they had invited me back with open arms and a piece of immigration document. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! well you know the count by now.
it was the best day anyone could have had. and it was very welcome in my humdrum life of the last two months. so i came over all worshipful, convinced that there was a 'force', something beyond the rites of paper and ink, food and drink. something that watched, and sometimes held. i came over all worshipful, quite conveniently on a day when my mum couldn't make it to the temple. so i proxied, gladly for once, had conversations with stone figures, smelt the garlands and rang bells. i had a grateful heart.
what's this? another email? it's on it's way to you. we sent it to this address. great.. wait.. is that.. naaah.. is it? really? what?? wrong address??? aaaagh!
quite unbelievable no? now my precious snailmail is on its way to postal loss oblivion, and i think in awe of the force, the supernatural, the agency-above-all, which watches, tweaks, rubs its hands, giggles. it has a naaaasty sense of humour.
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