It was Dread... a Dread that I'd felt before.
by Joshua Bailey on Tuesday, June 16, 2009 at 1:15am
This whole thing was actually originally written in a fit of boredom in a note-binder, and subsequently posted to my site, Subtle Misdirection but I thought it was worth a repost as a note here, so that more people might consider reading it.
Getting away from the crowd was easy, everybody was busy milling around, waiting to learn when their little check up interview, just to make sure everything was on track, would be. Having previously concluded that I didn’t particularly care when I’d been booked, as I didn’t particularly care to go to any more meetings in a day than I could help, I felt free to wind my way ahead of the crowd to the stage that was somehow designated as our class. If worst came to worst, and somebody forcefully educated me on the matter of when I was to have a heart to heart talk, it was a simple matter to keep it short, and simply inform the interviewer that things were likely going as smoothly as they could imagine they could with me, which is to say about as smoothly as a bareback ride on a drunken rhino, and then let them use their imagination to fill in the blanks.
There’s always a downside to trying to be clever though, and it’s hardly ever one that’s easy to see before it happens. In general, when there’s not a mad epidemic of standing around waiting for nothing, I’m one of the last to arrive to class, it’s a good deal for somebody who doesn’t care to be called on, or even seen by the instructor, since it’s easy to find a place in the back of the room. Being the first to arrive I presumed that it would work the same way, setting up a chair far enough back in the room to allow for everybody else to fill in the gap and sit in their usual spots. Like most failing ideas, it all sounded very good in theory, but proved to be anything but successful in practice. I admit, meeting on a curtained stage does have its advantages every now and again, today it was that many of the drapes were pulled, and I found a spot between the main curtain and another shorter one that I presumed would garner me a bit of seclusion in what would soon become a fairly crowded space.
Soon, others began to ramble into the room, some taking places already set, some setting their own. To my utter horror, as I sat, content with my place, a neighbor began walking towards me, a smile on his face, a folding chair in his hand, and pocket full of good intentions, ready to take a seat next to me to keep me company. This comes from the odd presumption that people get when they see somebody they know sitting alone. The presumption being that somebody sitting alone in an out of the way spot is sitting there because they really want somebody to sit next to them. I’m sure that he thought he was doing me an imense favor as he jokingly referenced the newly created row as the “sleeping seats,” and with misplaced showmanship, swept back one of the curtains and set his chair uncomfortably close to mine. It wasn’t long before an entire row had developed to my left, with four or five people “keeping me company.” Generally a row isn’t an odd thing, but today was special. It was as if somebody had set an invisible elephant in the middle of the room, forbidding any from setting up a chair in the space it occupied.
Whatever the real reason, I soon found myself quite surrounded, with most of the class members seats focused around me, a smaller separate group sitting in the very front row, and a gaping circle of negative space in between. It was life’s little way of reminding me not to try and get ahead of it, using perfectly innocent and well meaning bystanders to make the point, and twist my plan against me. With a weary, but unsurprised, sigh, I reached for my bag, took out a pen and note binder, and began to write, “Getting away from the crowd was easy…”
Getting away from the crowd was easy, everybody was busy milling around, waiting to learn when their little check up interview, just to make sure everything was on track, would be. Having previously concluded that I didn’t particularly care when I’d been booked, as I didn’t particularly care to go to any more meetings in a day than I could help, I felt free to wind my way ahead of the crowd to the stage that was somehow designated as our class. If worst came to worst, and somebody forcefully educated me on the matter of when I was to have a heart to heart talk, it was a simple matter to keep it short, and simply inform the interviewer that things were likely going as smoothly as they could imagine they could with me, which is to say about as smoothly as a bareback ride on a drunken rhino, and then let them use their imagination to fill in the blanks.
There’s always a downside to trying to be clever though, and it’s hardly ever one that’s easy to see before it happens. In general, when there’s not a mad epidemic of standing around waiting for nothing, I’m one of the last to arrive to class, it’s a good deal for somebody who doesn’t care to be called on, or even seen by the instructor, since it’s easy to find a place in the back of the room. Being the first to arrive I presumed that it would work the same way, setting up a chair far enough back in the room to allow for everybody else to fill in the gap and sit in their usual spots. Like most failing ideas, it all sounded very good in theory, but proved to be anything but successful in practice. I admit, meeting on a curtained stage does have its advantages every now and again, today it was that many of the drapes were pulled, and I found a spot between the main curtain and another shorter one that I presumed would garner me a bit of seclusion in what would soon become a fairly crowded space.
Soon, others began to ramble into the room, some taking places already set, some setting their own. To my utter horror, as I sat, content with my place, a neighbor began walking towards me, a smile on his face, a folding chair in his hand, and pocket full of good intentions, ready to take a seat next to me to keep me company. This comes from the odd presumption that people get when they see somebody they know sitting alone. The presumption being that somebody sitting alone in an out of the way spot is sitting there because they really want somebody to sit next to them. I’m sure that he thought he was doing me an imense favor as he jokingly referenced the newly created row as the “sleeping seats,” and with misplaced showmanship, swept back one of the curtains and set his chair uncomfortably close to mine. It wasn’t long before an entire row had developed to my left, with four or five people “keeping me company.” Generally a row isn’t an odd thing, but today was special. It was as if somebody had set an invisible elephant in the middle of the room, forbidding any from setting up a chair in the space it occupied.
Whatever the real reason, I soon found myself quite surrounded, with most of the class members seats focused around me, a smaller separate group sitting in the very front row, and a gaping circle of negative space in between. It was life’s little way of reminding me not to try and get ahead of it, using perfectly innocent and well meaning bystanders to make the point, and twist my plan against me. With a weary, but unsurprised, sigh, I reached for my bag, took out a pen and note binder, and began to write, “Getting away from the crowd was easy…”
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