As I try to exit, the barriers make that off-key beep.....the 'you don't have enough money' beep so I go over to the assitance counter, no one's there. I knock on the window but it's made out of that triple thick plastic so my knock is barely audible to me let alone the tickets operator. I conclude that my voice would be far more appropriate in this situation so I say 'Excuse me' - using my grown up voice - no answer, I wait 23 seconds (not that I was counting or anything) then I shout 'EXCUSE ME!'........it works. I yield and part with 2 pounds to top-up my oyster card, I don't need to ask the operator 'why the beep?'; the barriers gave me the 'you don't have enough money' beep because I was cutting corners. I storm out of the station onto Mile End road and head for the Lab, I'm running a tiny bit late.
The week prior the lift was broken, so as I enter the building I pray to the gods that it has been fixed. It hasn't, after cursing son of a bitch and the like I decide to make the herculean journey to the 5th floor. After the first two flights of stairs I'm already worn out, I admit it I'm very, very unfit.......but do I really deserve to be tortured for it. Note to self: make offering to gods so that the damn lift can be fixed. I get to the 4th floor gasping for air while resting all my weight on the railing, I proceed down the corridor towards another flight of stairs and then Fly Lab, Valhalla for the unfit. Eleanor calls wondering where I am at 10.02 am, she's looking for any reason not to be in the lab with him, Stanewsky, I tell her I'm on the 4th floor and we curse the school for not fixing the lift.
As I approach the lab doors, which we finally have access to after 4weeks of phone calls (on my supervisor's part) and waiting, Eleanor opens the door and tells me that Stan's there and he's grumpy. What the hell is he doing here, he's not supposed to be in on Fridays I say, she agrees. We decide it a safer bet to sit on the couch (the brown, old but surprisingly comfortable couch) than to sit in the lab all alone with him unable to speak. We have a chinwag about tennis and Wii, blah, blah....one of the scientists who makes the Drosophila feed (haven't learned her name yet) tells us that she'll stop our experiment for us so we go with her to do all that - pretty boring stuff really. She is really helpful so I kinda feel bad for not knowing her name. We go back to the couch because he's still there, then my supervisor comes up (always late) this time she has a smokers cough so we hear her before we see her - doesn't sound good. We do some more Biology stuff and she tells us to wait so we go back to the couch, this is all around the time he (that's how Stan will be referred to from here on out) decides to go back to the office. As he walks past I see a special glint in his eye, he can't resist: 'nice to see someone making good use of the couch' he says, he smiles so I smile (it's a bad habit, I smile stupidly like that all the time). I turn to look at Eleanor and we look out the window then back at each other, no words are necessary. He just made a 'sarcy' (sarcastic) comment!!! Was there any need? NO. He just couldn't help himself, from that we can tell that we are in his bad books and there's nothing we can do about it. We resign ourselves to not making eye contact with him to 'provoke' him.
After putting our flies into the fridge to make them sleep we head over to the office to analyze our data, get out as early as possible and stay out of his way - that's the plan. It works for a little while. The office is small and there are at least 6 people coming or going at a given time. We find ourselves a little corner and begin the analyses, all is going well when he walks in....we're on alert. He heads over to the corner they have set up as the canteen, which happens to be exactly where I'm set up and wastes no time in seizing the opportunity to remark. I don't mind what he says, it's how he says it; he tells us to move up so as not to obscure the canteen, that's fine. And then he shoos us away, the way you shoo a pet away from your food, as though we are beneath him and need to be shooed as opposed to being told. If you could see the way the professor scoffs up his food you would understand that the canteen means a lot to him (it's kind of surprising considering he's a thin, wiry specimen of a man). We move, what else are we supposed to do? A while later the office fills up, people are eating and talking, I might add, and he is oblivious......when it suits him; he doesn't tell them that this is a place of work and not chatting. Eleanor realises that we are not gonna leave before 3pm so it would be best to go get lunch, we tell our supervisor, take our money and we are on our way.
Eleanor takes me to this secluded restaurant called The Jasmine Kitchen, the place is great because it's like a secret - only known to a select few. The staff are friendly and the food is good, I forget the name of what I ordered but I know it's chicken with rice and broccoli (I love broccoli because they look like little trees) and carrots and crispy fried golden shallots and Coke. After we lick the bowls clean (not really) we head back with heavy feet. When we get back to the office everyone's back to work, thank god, and so we get back to our work.
The hours drag on, Eleanor goes to pee and I carry on creating PDF's of my analyses. He walks in again and he's getting something at the canteen, again, and I try to honour the promise I made with Eleanor when he shooed us away: 'don't make any eye contact whatsoever'. I try to keep my eyes on the computer whilst I am urging, willing the Adobe to get it over and done with. I can feel his eyes borrowing a hole into my head, he's wondering why I'm not typing....ehh 'because I'm waiting for Adobe to make the PDF file!!!!!' I resist the urge to shout, no bark that at him, instead I avert my eyes trying to look interested at anything else in the room. It works and he leaves when his food/drink is ready......phew. We work until 7 pm doing little bits and pieces.
As we walk to the station it feels like we're 7 year olds, just let out of school for home-time. We talk about the day and how funny our supervisor can be consciously and unconsciously, how much worse he's gotten. We head home not to think about the professor ever again.............until Monday that is.
No comments:
Post a Comment