World gone mad
Milk money
I woke up this morning and the world was different. Like different in a bad trip kind of way. So, I’d had a late night last night. My own little design up start Idiosyncrasies (yep, I said up start) was to remain independent and not merge with a much larger design counterpart. The prospect of Idio’s merging still makes me snigger...
And that’s the way it ought to be. Idio’s like me, is much more defined as an individual rather than as part of something else. It was all worth celebrating. But never had the morning after been so...
... weird.
To my horror Idiosyncrasies had grown overnight into a mega multinational design conglomerate of some sort.
W-w-what?
Before I could contemplate, much less react to, this predicament though, I realised I was in the middle of a pathetically meaningless conversation with someone called Jimmy.
“Excuse me, are you one of the design clones, here?” he asked. “Excuse me, not only am I a design clone, I also happen to own this... company,” I told him. “In that case, you could probably help me, are you in charge of the milk?” he said.
In charge of the milk? “Yes, I’m an admin clone and responsible for delivering the correct allocation of milk to your department,” Jimmy said.
These double TLAs really do my head in
“Well deliver the milk, and go about your business,” I snapped at him, still trying to comprehend my situation. “It’s not that simple sir, you see I need to know what your department’s milk order is, so the accounts office can produce an equation to ensure you are correctly charged...” I started to walk away, this conversation was beginning to really annoy me.
“Talk to that person over there,” I said pointing at no one in particular, as I wandered off to explore more of this nightmare. The place resembled one of those high rise city concrete office blocks, the kind that give people building sickness. All around me were medium height partitions housing more clones’ working spaces.
But these areas were more than working spaces; they were little worlds unto themselves. Actually some were rather highly evolved, I noticed. “Ah Jyhrus, there you are,” said someone behind me.
I turned around to see another administrator rapidly approaching me. “You’re late for the SSPPPPP meeting,” he said to me sternly. Clearly my dalliance was causing him grave concern, and possibly some sort of life crisis, by the looks of things. “What’s SSPPPPP?” I asked him.
“The Self Service Progressive Peer Problem aPpraisal Program, of course,” he told me, now looking very grim.
“And the FMELC meeting is straight after that,” he said in a clipped, concise, tone.
A room with a view
I was not going to be as stupid to ask what that one might mean. I’d do as any self-respecting employee would, and feign compliance. “What about the design committee meeting?” I asked. “Excuse me?” he replied, looking confused.
“Yes, you know the design function, the core activity of this enterprise, what about that, or doesn’t anyone do any real work here?” I snapped at him.
He was looking very blank at the proposition that the company actually had an overriding and defined goal. Give me his name and I’ll sack him right now.
But Sarah had a question for me. “Describe what you can see,” she was saying. To my relief I realised that I was now in Cafe Bohemia. Home. The nightmare seemed to be over.
“Well, it’s like I’m sitting in a chair that’s nailed up on the wall, and I’m looking down on us, having this conversation,” I told her.
Sarah smiled. “That’s some bad shit you got there boy, is the sky like purple and the grass blue?” she asked. “I think it might have been outside, but it’s ok in here,” I said.
You could always depend on Cafe Bohemia to use the colour safe palette.
Wanna be the song in your head...
Steve, one of the waiters walked over to the table. “Oh, by the way Jyhrus, Katrina called you from Nairobi, she wants you to phone back as soon as,” he said. “Whose Katrina?” I asked.
Sarah shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Um, Jy, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but Katrina is your wife,” she said.
Say what? Since when had I been married to the light of my life? How could something like that have possibly happened? Sure Katrina had been my high school sweet heart and soul mate, but I had not seen her since she mysteriously vanished after we left high school.
“I guess it was meant to be,” suggested Sarah.
Nothing is ever meant to be. Things just happen. Sometimes we can control them, usually we can’t, but hell, nothing is ever preordained. Thankfully. That’s my story anyway, and I’ll stick to it for as long as I can.
“Ok, so sorry Jy, I was talking metaphorically, I’m saying I’m happy you guys made it, you’re into her, right?” Sarah said. That was the unfortunate truth however. I hadn’t seen Katrina in years but was still into her. It was sad really, but then life is never going to be prefect.
Whatever was going on, this effect thing, must still be happening, because I am not married to Katrina. Yet even Sarah seemed to think I was.
Purple Haze
I decided to walk back to my studio, the fresh air would help clear my head, I thought. As I left Bohemia a guy walking in said, “See you in a minute mate, just having a quick coffee first.”
I had no idea who he was, or why I’d be seeing him later. On the way back to the studio I stopped by the travel agent and grabbed a few brochures. I was thinking of going to India for a holiday.
I was relieved to find the Idiosyncrasies studio as it always had been, when I arrived there.
That is, it had apparently morphed back into my version of reality. At least something had. There was a knock on the window of the studio, and I turned around to see the guy who had been at Bohemia, outside. “Here mate, I’ve got the tiles for you,” he said. “Say what, I don’t want any tiles,” I replied.
“Well this is a tile shop, isn’t it?” he asked looking puzzled. Fair point. The shop space Idiosyncrasies now occupies used to be a tile shop. In fact some of the old shop’s fittings and display feaures remain; I like to think they add to the studio’s eclectic atmosphere.
It does confuse people though, even after two years.
Too much traffic?
“I’m a web designer,” I said, “this is where I work, the tile shop closed years ago.” He was beginning to understand. I think. “But you web people dress all the same, don’t you?” he said, “you don’t look like a designer.”
“Well, you see...” I said, proceeding to launch into my only dead fish go with the flow spiel, when he spotted the travel brochures in my hand. “Going away then are you?” he said. “Hopefully,” I replied. He was shaking his head though. “Overseas, huh?” he said sternly, “don’t like it over there myself.”
“Too much bloody traffic for my liking,” he said, tut-tutting. “Where exactly?” I asked, annoyed by his attitude. “Went to France once, never going back, too much traffic...” he said. Being reasonably well travelled myself, I couldn’t say the traffic in France was better or worse compared to anywhere else, but who am I to say?
“So you don’t want the tiles, then?” he said. I shook my head.
He walked out the door, and climbed into his truck, turned to his work companion and said, “Nah, they don’t want ’em, stopped doing tiles years ago...” I stood in the doorway as he started the truck. “What did you say you did again, mate?” he said, shouting over the roar of the truck engine.
“I’m a web designer,” I said.
He looked at me again, still shaking his head. “Did you hear that?” he said to his friend, “he’s a web designer, whatever the hell that means, I dunno, it’s a world gone mad...”
