Upon walking to college this morning I had a spring in my step; walking to college, but not for college. Alas, there is but one lecture today from someone imparting their knowledge of the exciting world of public affairs. Beach and sunshine or public affairs? Beach or public affairs? Well, I think I'll just take my revision notes down to the beach.
Anyway, the reason for my walking to college was to do something for my dear mother. If you must know, I had to book her flight details so she could fly to Dublin to see her daughter's wedding dress being fitted. About 200 metres from the college building I suddenly recollected that I'd forgotten the damn piece of paper on which the passport numbers were written. An impromptu 'Fuck!' would serve the occasion well at such a point.
Luckily, my mummy knows me well. She has initiative. 'Don't forget your phone, Rob,' she calls out. 'Oh! Actually, take nan's, but don't lose it or else she'll skin you alive!" So when I arrive we have a little bit of correspondence. I put on my helpless son voice and she replies in a dark, menancing, fretful tone that only a mother with three bastardly children and 30 years of porridge-cold love could embrace.
I sit by a computer. 'Bing! Bing!' goes my phone. I saunter off to the counter phone-in-hand to request the borrowment of an ink-containing vessel for the implementation of hand-written type - a pen to you and me. However - and this is where the story gets juicy - the lady there has no interest in granting me this most perfunctory favour. 'I'm sorry but you're going to have to take that outside,' she says. 'But I need a pen and paper,' I reply. 'Well, I'm sorry but you can't take office equipment outside the library,' she says, much to my dismayance. 'For fuck sake!' I think. The thought expresses itself quite apparently across my face. 'Excuse me, but what am I to do?' I reply. 'I need to take this - it's important - but you won't give me a pen and paper,' I say.
Finally, my quandary is broken and shattered - along with her morning resolve - when she hands me my desired items and exhales in exasperation. She best find some other schmuck to try her office bureaucracy on this morning. I take down the passport numbers and walk back in. 'I'm sorry,' I say, as I hand her the pen. I throw her a little smile. She doesn't like the throwing of my little smile so she reflects it with an upside-down version of said smile.
I sit down again with a brief smug look before the following thought occurs: 'Shit! I'd best get back to finishing the damn flight document.'*
*I wrote this piece mostly in the present tense to convey the immediacy of the event. Sorry to you if you're a tense pedant but I shall flout the past-tense just this once. I should also let it be known - to avoid confusion and deliver my readers from unremitting suspense - that I attend City College in Brighton
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