Leaving Messages
He walks into the flat and drops the leather briefcase against the table. His keys go in the bowl full of spare change, frequently plundered for parking meter quarters. The light on the answering machine is blinking and he hits the button as he walks into the kitchen, tugging the knot of his tie out and away from his neck and undoing the top buttons.
"Mike, its your Dad" he hears as he reaches into the fridge for some OJ. "Wondered if you saw the game. What poor defending, eh? There were more offsides than... well. Give me a call son, I'm thinking about you. Wondering what you want for Christmas. Talk to you soon. Bye."
BEEP
"Hi Mike, its me, Sophie... well of course its me, who else would it be? I didn't get the role but don't worry, the bastards won't grind me down, I'll get right back out there and find another. My shift is nine till two tonight so you'll need to make your own dinner. Aarnon says they're casting for the next Spiderman and I could maybe make it as someone called Gwen Stacy, is that good? Does she have a good back-story? See you later hon."
BEEP
"Mike. Mike... pick up Mike. Mike? Mike, stop being a dick and pick up. Okay, either you're still pissed or you're not there. Are you still pissed? Pick up. Stop being so damned immature and... look, if you're there you're being a pissy little immature kid about this whole thing. If you're not... call me when you get this message, k? See you at the next game? I swear you can have the spare tickets next game. Next game, promise, k? Bye."
BEEP
"Mike, its D, I realise we haven't spoken in something like four months, not since you skipped the pond and set up in New York. Hope things are going well for you, I don't see you around anymore buddy, guessing you're okay and just, y'know, adjusting to new life and settling in and making your way in the world and looking for that special bar where everyone's gonna know your name. Life's different without you. Caught the Tim Burton movie in Camden last night and thought of you. Anyway, well, you're probably busy with life and everything so I won't bug you any longer. Oh, and by the way, you left me the login to your site."
On navigation "You need to take a right on Tenth and Aardvark, then go down two blocks to Baddabing Square, where you can catch the 2, 9, -5.2 or µ lines to West Oblong Street. There, you can change to the A, Ø, or ß local lines going south by southeasterly, unless you want the express, in which case you have to do a small dance invoking the spirit of Loki while showering the platform with fresh jasmine. Then you take the XX (between 6.16am and 6.27am) or XY (all other times) lines to Nixon/Agnew. Leave the station by levitating then walk about nineteen blocks to Weltanschauung Plaza. I'll see you there in about 15 minutes, yeah?"
On departure, arrival and points between 22 hours awake may still be playing havoc with my system (mainly mental, it has to be admitted), but considering I'm operating in two time zones simultaneously and I can't do even the most basic arithmetic, I am judging this to be a 'not-too-bad' show on my part. For those who like post-match analysis: here we go, sports fans.
0500 UK Wake, pack, call for cab.
0700 UK Stand in line at VAT refunds desk.
0800 UK Get to VAT refunds desk to be told that there will be no money for me today. Curse silently under breath.
1015 UK Get on flight, having endured two searches, one statistical survey on behalf of BAA, and having opened up my computer to prove that it is, after all, a computer and not some new kind of portable global killer-death-ray machine.
1016 UK Realise that although I will be tired, I will also not be able to sleep at all. A small infant in first class, a few seats in front of us, decides to underline my sleeplessness by choosing sporadic and seemingly random moments to cry incredibly loudly.
1845 UK Land at JFK.
1346 US Adjust watch.
1500 US Wait in line for cab, having sailed successfully through passport control and their cunning "press your index finger here, press your other index finger here, press your third index finger here - gotcha!" tests.
1545 US Get to new apartment. Look at it. Really look at it. Wait for a moment. Decide that I really do quite like it.
1600 US Go to Bloomingdales for pillowcases. Realise that there are more floors here than at my old company's office building. This takes me aback.
1630 US Fatigue beginning to creep over me, combined with a renewed annoyance that all US banknotes/bills are the same size and colour/color.
1700 US Discover where local grocery store is located. Discover that there is a bar nearby. Consider carefully which is more urgent. Go to bar.
1830 US Leave bar, having watched Jeopardy! for no good reason.
1900 US Go to grocery store. Wander aisles trying to work out what all the strange names actually mean, while searching in vain for Ariel, Fairy Liquid or any other product I have previously heard of. Fail, miserably.
1910 US Hear female UK accent for first time in NYC. Turn around to see that it is Rosamund Pike, an actress who appeared in the last Bond film. For unknown reason, this seems to me to be more exciting than moving country. Quickly reassess priorities.
2000 US Unpack shopping, wander around new apartment building to discover the gym. Mentally erase gym's location from memory, as it will never be needed.
2100 US Go to local Italian restaurant for dinner and wine.
2101 US Realise that body functions and limbs are currently shutting down one by one in a random order.
2102 US Have wine. Body responds keenly to alcholic stimulus. Close call.
On how moving house adversely affects the intellect Me: "Have you seen the labels on the sides of the packing boxes?" Not Me: "Yes, why?" Me: "Did you read them?" Not Me: "Yes, why?" Me: "Well, they read 'SEA to NYC', don't they?" Not Me: "Yes." Me: "Does that mean Seattle?" Not Me: "No." Me: "Well, what does 'SEA' stand for? Super-expedited airfreight?" Not Me: (staring in disbelief) Me: "Okay, then, what do the letters mean?" Not Me: "They are going by sea." Me: "Oh." Not Me: (continued stares of disbelief)
On patience, and the potential reward gained Or how I learned to just sit down and shut up.
0729 Blink awake, just before alarm sounds. Wonder who, what and where I am. When answer begins to form slowly, alarm sounds, sending my into state of existential panic. Try to get self together.
0731 First cigarette of day. Consider making coffee. Dismiss, because sounds too much like hard work. Breakfast news on TV. Ignoring it.
0737 Shave carefully. Still cut myself. Damn. Ouch.
0747 Second cigarette. Wonder exactly where Marlboro County is located and wonder if smoking is mandatory by law there.
0748 Run around panicking that paperwork has not been completed. Read paperwork for the 3,756th time. Calm down slightly.
0801 Leave flat, withdraw life savings from bank to pay for application processing. Wait for bus.
0802 Get fed up waiting for bus and hail cab.
0835 Arrive at embassy, get out of cab, have half a cigarette. Show passport to lady controlling the queue, show passport to security guard, show passport to metal detector guy, show passport to bag X-ray guy, show passport to desk clerk, show passport to small blackbird who landed on the steps. Realise that I am not a person, I am a nine-digit number and an appointment time. Strangely, this does not depress me beyond measure.
0842 Take number. I am 158. They are currently calling number 004. "I may be some time."
0900 My appointment is in 15 minutes time. They have reached number 016. Reach into bag for iPod, only to be reminded that no electronic equipment is permitted in this area. As well as no smoking, no thinking, no talking and limited breathing (if approved by officials). Embassies are no fun.
0915 Appointment time. Only kidding. Back to The Complete Sherlock Holmes. Could do with a cigarette.
0948 Several alarms bells start ringing. All the embassy tellers close their counters and move I suppose to their reinforced bunker deep underground. None of the applicants budge an inch. Several of them remain asleep through all the alarm noise.
1113 Think they just called my name. Go to counter 13. Lady standing in front of me. Turns out it wasn't my name. Not even close. Walk back to the waiting area debating to self about the pitfalls of wishful thinking. Could really, really do with a cigarette.
1149 Wonder if Dr Watson treated any patients at all and how he didn't go out of business. Think about whether he could have been the Coroner for Marlboro County. Realise I am merging Sherlock Holmes stories, CSI and a cigarette advertisement into one. Think about pitching new TV show. Then realise it's rubbish.
1151 They call 158. I bound up to the counter. Embassy official asks questions. I answer them. I put my left index finger, then my right index finger on the scanner. It doesn't make any of the cool noises I associate with fingerprint scanners in the movies. We end up talking about the first Matrix movie. Faintly bizarre.
1154 Interview over, visa granted, told to pay money at the accounts desk. Then told to get out.
1159 Back on the street. Fourth cigarette. Think about booking flights. Think about breakfast. Quickly prioritise. Wait for bus back home.
On being prepared for an important interview Thank you for attending. There are just a few ground rules I think we need to establish before you go for your interview. Standard things, really, nothing to worry about. Firstly, remember to wear a suit and tie. And shoes. And underwear. Socks are good too, as is a shirt. Basically, go fully dressed. The embassy are less likely to approve your request if you arrive in states of semi-dress, partial dress or, indeed, full undress. Especially as they will have nowhere to clip your security pass that you would want a security pass to be clipped to. Those safety pins can sting, you know.
We've asked around your office, for background information about you, and we were wondering if you could be a little bit less well, you. We're not saying that you should lie in your interview, at least not factually, but you should perhaps be aware that when you answer questions, you should resist any urges you might have to overelaborate.
A good start is to give your name properly when asked to do so at the beginning of the interview. We have a list of answers to this seemingly simple question which the embassy do not regard as legitimate responses:
Who the man? Me the man.
Whoever you want me to be, baby.
Who am I? Who the hell are you?
King Zog of Albania
I am woman, hear me roar.
Please resist the temptation to give these or any other of the prohibited answers. We'll give you the list when you leave. Now this next point applies to all of the questions you will be asked. Answer directly, simply and honestly, without attempting to bring your personality, such as it is, into the matter. For example, how would you answer the question, "Have you ever been involved in terrorism?"
(muffled response)
You see, that's precisely the sort of thing we need to cut out. Embassy officials do not have any sense of humour, at least not one officially recognised by the State Department or by Her Majesty's Foreign and Commonwealth Office. They will not appreciate a water-shooting flower in your lapel, they will look unkindly upon a concealed electric buzzer in your palm when you shake their hand and they especially dislike stink bombs. Or any other bombs. In fact, all other bombs.
You may be under the impression that your sarcasm will be interpreted as wit, perhaps charm, perhaps even the self-deprecating and worldly-wise bon mots of a subtle, dry satirist. This impression is wrong. Whatever amusement you intend will be heard only as "I am annoying, please reject my application". At best, they will attribute your verbal incontinence as evidence of nervousness, at worst it will be decided that you are trying to hide something, be it state secrets, a murky and troubled past, or possibly explosives concealed around your person.
A further note about your answers. Please remember that at no point during the interview should you question the patriotism of the embassy officials. They do not appreciate being called Communists. They dislike this quite intensely.
(muffled enquiry)
No, you are expressly forbidden from stating, as you put it, 'You, sir, are not a patriot'.
(muffled response)
Expressly forbidden.
As to other matters, you should remember that your bag will be searched as you enter the building and you may be asked to show the contents of your bag at any time during your wait there. It would be advisable for you to clear out any, shall we say, materials of an unusual or sensitive nature before you attend. We have a prohibited list for you to take away and read; sorry for the cigarette burn in the corner, that was made by one of our less successful candidates.
Body language in your interview is very important, as the consular officers will be watching you for any sign of misplaced stress, nerves, or even major psychological disorders. Flapping your arms around your face to rid yourself from the invisible flies in front of you will not create a good impression. Speaking in tongues is likewise ill-advised, as is any attempt to convert your interviewer to any new religion where you are the godhead.
One last point to recall is that Marines will be stationed at the embassy and they have orders to shoot first, shoot second, consider some more shooting and then fax Washington, DC for permission to hire someone who will ask a question at a future time to be decided, all while shooting. They should be addressed as 'sir' at all times.
On the absurdity of filling out long, long forms Question 38. Pursuant to Section F.2.d(iii) of the attached Compliance Form 9AA/12, notwithstanding Sub-sections 4, 5, 7, 14(b) and 18, except when waiver forms NV376, NV421, NV 421i or NV422 are applied, all applicants must read and check the appropriate box for each item below.
Is any of the following applicable:
Have you ever been arrested or convicted for any offense or crime while wearing inappropriately bright clothing that was (a) not yours, (b) stolen, (c) in need of a hot wash cycle, (d) belonging to a member of the opposite sex, (e) Burberry?
Have you ever wondered if humanity is alone in the universe? (Note: please use additional page to detail any conclusions reached.)
Have you ever unlawfully distributed propaganda deemed by the US Secretary of State to be inciting penguins to rise up and overthrow the shackles of their masters through all means necessary, violent or otherwise? (Note: incitement of walruses should not be included please use form NV419.)
Have you ever been refused permission in class to go to the bathroom, despite the fact that you really, really needed to?
Do you remember the first time?
Have you ever been the subject of a short film, whether drama, comedy or documentary, where the budget for said film exceeded USD 28,000 (EUR 23,000, GBP 16,000 or other currency equivalent) and where the First Assistant Director was in fact the camera guy's girlfriend from college? (Note: animated short films do not qualify for an exemption.)
Have you ever participated in the teasing of a vole, mole, shrew, otter, weasel, fieldmouse or badger between the months of April and July?
Have you ever lost your passport, had your passport stolen, been party to the loss, theft or forgery of a passport, forged a passport, forged your passport, forged someone else's passport, lost someone else's passport, thefted a passforge, passed a theft port, ported a forge pass or watched that cool bit with the passports in either (a) The Day of the Jackal or (b) The Bourne Identity?
Are you a Nazi? (Note: the response "Ja, Herr Oberst" may invalidate this application.)
Have you ever unlawfully distributed or sold controlled substances, narcotics or drugs or participated in the procurement of prostitutes? Because, dude, you gotta! It totally blows your mind!
Do you seek to enter this country to engage in seditious behavior, salacious behavior, suspicious behavior or any other behavior which would present a clear and present danger to the chances of your mother ever calling you on your birthday ever again?
"Ain't life grand?" Discuss.
Have you ever been afflicted by a disease, physical or mental, which would present a threat to the public health? How did you get it? Really? We promise we won't tell anyone, you dirty dog, you.
Are you going to Scarborough Fair? (Note: if response is 'Yes', please attach travel itinerary and estimated value of items for purchase or sale, remembering to keep all receipts.)
Have you ever been a recipient of housing benefits, social security, disability benefits, jobseekers allowance, weekly allowance, pocket money, loans, lottery wins, Premium Bonds wins, or have you ever found a five pound note (or other currency equivalent) in the back pocket of a pair of jeans which you had meant to wash but left on the bedroom floor for a month until you realised that nothing else was clean? (Note: answering yes to any of these will require a separate and completed Customs Service and Revenue statement.)
What time is love? (Note: please provide GMT, Pacific, Mountain, Central and Eastern times and indicate whether Daylight Savings has been applied.)
General note: While answering 'Yes' to any of these questions does not automatically signify your ineligibility, any 'Yes' answer may require you to attend a very long meeting with several consular officers and a large man named Vinnie who "don't like your face, pretty boy". A fee of USD 20.00 will be payable for each additional beating. Accepted payment methods include American Express, Visa, Mastercard and a first-born child nominated by you or your significant other.
Contrasts I just want to extend my sympathies to the families of those killed and those who have been injured in today's awful, awful events.
While the radio, TV and internet detail the chaos, I look outside at Victoria and although the rail station is closed, there is little evidence to show that this little corner of London has been a victim. Yesterday and today have shown a contrast which is quite terrible.
Ken Livingstone spoke eloquently today about those responsible:
"They seek to divide London, they seek Londoners to turn against each other this city of London is the greatest in the world because everybody lives side by side in harmony. Londoners will not be divided by this cowardly attack."
Elevation The lift doors take a final breath before closing and Jason's fingers slip from their edges, cracking the nail on his index finger in the process. Almost mockingly, the lift remains on the floor for a few more seconds, allowing Jason to look, to stare unashamedly through the metal-framed glass door through at Poppy before the lift bears her down towards the ground. Her eyes are looking up as the lift descends and he wonders what's going through her mind. Jason starts to walk back along the corridor until a thought, a voice, an insistence stops him.
Slowed down, Jason's thought process could bear scrutiny, as instincts of which he is scarcely aware stir and combine to move him into action. He runs across the walkway towards the main doors, fumbling for his security pass to get back into his office. Halfway across, he skids to a stop and leans over the balcony to look down for other lifts. All are on the ground floor, none moving, none rising to meet him and bring hope. He turns back and runs towards the main doors.
Security pass in hand, he swipes it past the electronic slate which beeps a denial. Gritting his teeth to prevent himself from swearing overloudly, Jason swipes the card again. This time the small light flickers from amber to green and he can hear the small thunk of magnets releasing. He grabs hold of the door, swings it open and heads towards a corner staircase. The staircases in the building, four of them, all need to be accessed with a swipe card and Jason is rejected by the building's electronic caretakers once more. Again presses the card to the pad, again he is accepted the second time.
The advertised opulence of the company reception is thrown into desperate relief by the spartan stairwell which Jason runs down, one hand on the speckled and cut handrail, the other hand flailing for balance as he navigates each predictable yet sudden corner. There are no signs to tell him which floor he has reached, or which half-floor, no way of assessing his progress as he bounds down the stairs, taking them two at a time, leaping the final three to the halfway landing and grabbing the wall partition for support, as a fulcrum, to twist himself round the next point, gaining momentum, striding longer, moving faster, urgent. Until he falls.
Poppy leaves the lift at the ground floor and walks towards the reception desk, remembering that she has to hand in her visitor pass. A two-hour meeting passed without event as usual, as her two hour meetings on Wednesdays in this building usually do. She considers whether to have a coffee despite the fact that she isn't sure whether she wants one. She looks around, as though someone is watching her, as though there are questions about her presence, her eligibility to be in this place at this time. She goes over to the cafe and orders, remembering that the servers are slow. There is a lingering impulse in her mind to remain.
Placed on the counter, the mere presence of coffee wakes her up. Poppy murmurs thanks to the girl behind the counter then moves over to a free table. To complete the pretence of belonging, she withdraws her notebook and begins to read the notes from the last meeting, countering the overriding compulsion to look back at the lifts. She flips the pages of her notebook back to the beginning, justifying this as an overview of the entire project, realising that it is an excuse to stay for longer, wondering whether she has invented something in her own mind that doesn't exist, outwardly calm and efficient.
A few minutes pass and she realises that she has been moving the pages, turn by turn, without reading any of them. Her gaze has been steady, at a midpoint between her notes and the edge of the table; waiting, hoping, anticipating. A glance at her watch confirms what Poppy already knows, that this is time borrowed and that she has to leave. She doesn't bother to drink any more from the coffee she has only sipped as she picks up the notebook and packs it into her briefcase, making slow motions. She hands in her security pass at reception and walks beyond the security gates. Leaving the building, turning to walk to the station, she allows herself a brief backwards glance.
While he hopes that the bruise will reduce and fade in time, Jason knows that he has no time to think about this. First impressions are past regrets and there is no place for them as he hopes that he has replaced everything from his pockets and bounds down the final steps to the ground floor. He barges into the doors with his shoulder, forgetting the necessity for his security pass, and is rewarded by falling back on the floor. For the first time today, his pass is accepted without query and he throws open the door into the broad, open space of the building's ground floor. He looks towards the entry/exit gates. He looks towards the lifts. He runs over to the reception area and looks out onto the street.
Jason runs out onto the street, already defeated when he leaves the final doors. He stops, pauses, gives up. Head hanging, he starts to turn when a hand restrains him. Looking up, he sees Poppy, concerned and vulnerable: porcelain. Looking up at her, he doesn't know what to say; looking at her as he stands up properly and ready, he doesn't know what he was doing other than the fact that it was right. Poppy stands there, wondering why she had the instinct to return, wondering how she had the nerve to reach over and touch him. She doesn't know what he's going to say and she's terrified, mortified, waiting for the inevitable rejection, the horror that could ensue after building up something so much in her head.
He looks around, as if further inspiration is needed, and stays silent. Her hand still rests on his forearm. He doesn't know what to say and neither does she. He takes the initiative and holds her hand. He clasps it for a moment before telling her that he'll see her at the next meeting, or words to that purpose. He relinquishes her hand and goes back through the glass doors into the building. Staring, unbelieving, Poppy remains. For a moment, for a heartbeat, she remains where she is, considering the past few minutes, considering the spectrum of emotions she has coloured, considering everything she might have felt or possibly still does.
As he reaches the security gates, the receptionist beckons him over. informing him that he needs to wait for a moment. He asks if there is a problem with his pass. She says no. He asks whether there is a problem with the gates, perhaps they are defective and aren't allowing people access to the building. She says no. He is about to ask another question when the girl behind the desk points behind him, through the glass, through those transparent doors and into the street. Poppy stands there, perhaps on the verge of tears, perhaps considering coming back into the building.
The girl at reception leans in towards Jason and details his attempts to get from the fourth floor to the ground. She provides the narrative of Poppy's timewasting on the ground floor. She advises him that she won't readmit him to the building until she sees that the girl outside is ready to leave, one way or another. Jason starts to walk out when he sees Poppy walking in back in. They meet between glass doors. Standing apart, they stare and hear the magnetic locks between the doors slowly close. Poppy admits that she waited for him. Jason admits that he ran down the stairwells to reach her. Poppy admits, Jason admits.
They talk for a few minutes or so before the receptionist unlocks the doors.
25 things
i was born in 1977 and lived in mill hill until the tender age of 17, whereupon I went up to oxford for my degree. two years of varying success later, i left (degreeless) and wandered the tide of mediocre jobs while living in, variously, new marston, brixton, finsbury park, camden town, notting hill and greenwich village. i'm six foot tall, thin, i wear glasses, i work in an office, i drink in nyc and i live in hope.