But too much of the actual writing was cookie-cutter.
5 paragraph themed papers. Teacher usually gave you the theme.
When I understood that I was going to college, I decided I would go the math and science route.
Figured I would be done with English.
Senior year of high school, they actually offered us a college-level English course as a substitute for Honors or AP.
Best part was you got 6 college credits and would not need to take Freshman English in college.
Relief.
Done with English class (which I keep capitalizing, not sure if I need to).
Except I found myself joining the Honors program at my college.
And, you guessed it.
You had to take their Honors English class. Two more semesters of English.
During which the teacher revealed that my writing style was incompatible with his class.
D's on my first few papers. But given the option to rewrite them in HIS style.
Worked out.
Why all that background?
Despite all of those English classes, I'd never heard of Franz Kafka.
Then I saw the term Kafkaesque twice this past week.
Once in the book I am reading.
Once in an online news article.
Looked him up.
This Kafka guy writes some crazy stuff.
Here's a few short stories available online.
Today I had my Juneathon Kafkaesque experience.
It has nothing to do with running.
At work.
Needed to get into a secured building.
Security department drives me over. Unlocks the door. Lets me in.
The door has a basic deadbolt.
Security guy says to call when I am leaving.
He'll lock the door and give me a ride back.
Cool.
Do my little bit of computer maintenance.
Go to leave.
Door is locked. Deadbolted. From the outside.
Um.
Call security.
"Yeah, uh, dude locked me in the building."
They'll send over a car right away.
I wait.
About 15 minutes.
A van rolls up about 30 yards away.
Looks like a security van.
Guy is glued to the driver's seat, looking at the front door, which I am trapped behind.
There is a tree obstructing his view. He can't really see me.
I walk into the next room which has some big windows.
I see clearly that dude is getting frustrated that I'm not coming out.
I open and close the blinds to get his attention.
It works.
He is now looking right at me.
I open the blinds.
Gesture that he needs to come over to the building.
He gestures back.
"Slit your throat" gesture.
Um.
Oh. Do I want to cancel the transportation request?
No.
I gesture - "I cannot open the door."
He does not understand.
I feel like I'm trying to speak underwater.
This is useless.
He drives away.
Ha.
I call Security again.
Explain the situation. Rather, re-explain.
They'll send someone right away.
I wait another 15 minutes.
Get wrapped up in a NY Times article on my phone.
Decide to seek alternate options.
Find a side door and leave.
Call Security again to update them. Decline the ride back.
Anyway, that all seemed weird enough to me to warrant "Kafkaesque" in the title.
In Kafka's defense, my story had a happy ending.
Which brings up my Juneathonesque efforts today.
High intensity swim in the AM.
I don't suck air.
I was sucking air.
On the bike in the PM, hill workout.
Good ride.
Got back home and jumped right back out for a 2 mile run.
Wish I had time for more.
Ended the night biking in circles with the kids until dark.
And lubing my bike because it was squeaking.
It's not squeaking anymore.
Long bike ride tomorrow morning followed by, I hope, that much sought-after 5 mile brick run.
Pending permission from my kiddos.
2 comments:
I was pretty nervous there for a minute that we might not be able to be friends anymore. My degree is in English. We're ok though. I'm sure you are relieved.
Isn't it frustrating when security rescue just doesn't get you?
AP English. I remember it well. Kafka. The Metamorphosis. My first love in high school swore the bug ate Gregor. Kafka was a twisted son-of-a-gun. You'd like him :-)
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