I'm at a party. There's a lot of beer floating around along with some tequila.
Problem ? I'm not a party person and there's way too many people floating around too. Hence this post.
The anthro dept. chair has a nice office. Its spacious & has 2 large windows overlooking a plot of land attempting vainly to be mistaken for a garden. At the time of this story, the trees outside were decked rather prettily in a riotous bloom of red flowers. Very pleasant, on the whole for the spectators. I wasn't one.
The one anomaly in this otherwise normal room were a set of swing doors at the entrance. They were exactly like the ones you'd find in a saloon in the Old West complete with the wooden slats, extended creakiness and definitely having had seen better days. It may just be my imagination or my circumstances at the time, but every time I was about to enter that room, I felt like that insignificant desperado in the western flick who knows he's going to have his noggin blown off by Clint Eastwood at the start of the movie. It's all well and good for Clint, who proves 2 things with one bullet; the gun works & that he's the epitome of 'cool'. The desperado on the other hand...
In the afternoon of that fateful day, I went back to the dept. with the application fees and the necessary paperwork. I wouldn't go so far as to say there was a song in my heart and a tune on my lips and all that, but my spirits were definitely on the rise. The HOD, in a diabolical turn of events calmly announced that there were no seats available at the time. Down came the spirits. In fact, given that I became very familiar with the outside of those swing doors over the next month, all manner of spirits went down. Five times... I visited that dept. five times over the next month hoping to persuade the main man to admit me but to no avail. I found myself shown out of his office so fast each time that I almost met myself coming in.
To cut a long story short, in true filmy style, I told myself that the sixth time would be the last time... I had lost hope and run out of patience and alcohol. Outside those cursed doors, I took a deep breath, told the universe it owed me one and entered the room.
The HOD looked at me for the longest second possible and..... asked me to sit down.
The next day, I paid the semester fees and made my way to the dept. to check out my subjects for the 1st semester. On the notice board, I browsed through the time-table and noted with admiration that there were 10 different papers on offer for the 1st semester itself. "Not bad" I thought, "there's so much variety and choice. This is an amazing dept.". I asked a professor who was passing by how were we to make our choices out of the 10 available. Casually and laconically she says - "there's no choice".
Eh ?? What ??
Next: George, Elvis and old world monkeys.