Friday 5: October 30, 2009

This is going to be short because I am tired and exhausted from my day job. Not nice news.

Random Words:

1. damned
2. artful
3. terrible
4. spin-off
5. toneless

There was a stairway to Heaven and it was pearly and white, and everyone knew about it and everyone knew that once you got in (if your application was good) there were all sorts of activities to be had, such as reading, watching TV series spin-offs, drinking G&Ts, and of course the ice-skating rink. Heaven was the Ivy League of Destinations. But without a good transcript, a form rejection letter eventually came along in the mail, and you would be forced to go with your second, or third choice.

There was no stairway to Hell, really, just a ramp... Made of concrete, nothing terrible, hard on one side, lit by a series of flourescent lamps that vibrate and buzz tonelessly and give you that tiny bit of nausea that you can't quite place. The paint on the cold hand-rail has been chipped by the number of cold, defeated hands that had gripped it, heads hanging, thinking "Well, now that I'm here, I might as well make the best of it."

Then there's the waiting room with the abstract paintings artfully strung about, at varying heights so anyone can see at eye-level. This one's an apple, this one's a serpent, this one's an autographed photo of Elizabeth Hurley from Bedazzled wearing nothing but a red, sequined bikini-top. There's a counter at the front, you get a clip-board with the walk-in application. You sit in an uncomfortable chair and wish you had gotten in somewhere else, so your mother, your father, your uncle, your grandparents -- so someone would be proud. So you could say you did. You sit there and fill out hardly enough information to judge whether you should be admitted -- no references, no essay, no statement of interest. You sit there and fill out the application with only the most basic of information, then you place the pen under the clip, bounce your knee and wait.

And wait.

And wait.