Flashback (part 3)
It’s time for another flashback kids! I know I have posted these elsewhere online in the past as well. However, since this is going to be my “place of writing” I thought it to be fitting to post this one here as well. This is something I wrote some time in October 2010, right after I received my Masters degree in Latin American & Caribbean studies. There was still a lot of doubt on what I would do with my life afterwards, not that this has disappeared or anything since I’m currently trapped in the “circle of experience”, which means that I currently don’t possess the working experience in order to work to gain that experience needed to work.
This is basically a form of circular reasoning, when looking at the picture below, please replace “circular reasoning works” with “you don’t have sufficient working experience”:
But I’m already deviating too much from what I wanted to post here:
“Congratulations, your intellectual life has now officially come to an end”, around me various parental figures, coital connections and blood-kin are clapping their hands in celebration. “May you prosper in your future endeavours”, once again the brought along loved ones are clapping. I can’t help but ponder what this event would have been like under the influence of large quantities of alcohol.
The glorification of graduation commenced too early and has now entered its final stage. The final stage of graduation is the reason to show up at these places (and to a certain extend it could thus be seen as a reason to study!), it is during this moment that free alcohol is served. Large quantities of wine are poured all around us and the people are happy. Our termination of the intellectual path was different. Due to a too early start, it was argued that it would have been too premature to serve alcohol. I stare into my cup of orange juice and wonder if one of the underpaid catering people might have a bottle of vodka hidden somewhere. As I contemplate whether this thought would make me an alcoholic an older man approaches me. I guess he was one of the parental figures; he kept talking about his daughter who used to live in Peru. The man tells me how he and his offspring got robbed one time when they were walking around in Chorillos. I can already imagine how it happened: The gringos (don’t be offended gringo, in Peru the word is used to describe a white and/or foreign person, not just a North American) were probably wearing very “touristically correct” clothing. Some light brown/beige pants with side pockets that could have been stuffed with wallets, mobile phones, keys and whatever they managed to get their hands on. The daughter would probably have been wearing some white shirt, showing a bit of cleavage, interesting enough for the men around her but still decent enough to be daddy’s little girl. The gringo would be wearing some shirt that was meant to be funny, one of those shirts you can buy at the airport for $20 that would either have a picture of some North American film but with guinea pigs and Incas portraying the characters rather than actors, or perhaps a some text like “I’ve been to Peru and I loved it there”. Both of them would be walking around in some sort of sturdy and durable shoe with which you could hike through the Andes for several years without them getting damaged, in other words: shoes that only gringos would wear. Both of them would have had interesting accessories, the father probably had some big camera with a really fancy lens, with which he could take pictures of the moon from where we would be standing right now that would be that detailed that you could see the cigarette buds that the first astronauts (or taikonauts or cosmonauts, depending where you are from) dropped there. Furthermore he would be carrying a wallet filled with US dollars and maybe even be arrogant enough to walk around with some Euros, assuming that everybody seems to love that gringo currency. The dearest daughter would be wearing some sort of little necklace, maybe some gift from her boyfriend back home (on who she probably would be cheating on, falling for some very cliché and lame approach by a Peruvian boy), very subtle so that they won’t distract the viewer’s attention on the breast area. In front of their crotches they, well most likely the father, the daughter would be a bit smarter (?), would wear the black leather pouches filled with really important stuff such as passports, extra money, insurance papers, tissues, contraceptives (daddy won’t know of course!), some mints and maybe even small amounts of plasma just in case. In short the gringos’ appearance said the following: “We are idiots, please rob/rape us!” And guess what? That was exactly what happened, the gringos got robbed whilst walking around in a semi-safe part of town.
The man continues to tell me how they got robbed. One of the perpetrators hit him on the back of the head whilst another one grabbed the girl. A third one grabbed all their valuables while the girl was begging them not to hurt her dad. “I know you did a research on this sort of stuff. I get it that people are scared of becoming victims, the rest of the time I spent in Lima I got very anxious every time I saw small groups of young men”, he goes on while looking at me quite intensely, as if I could provide him some sort of answer that would give meaning to all this. I tell him he should be glad that he and his daughter weren’t drugged and kidnapped, waking up somewhere just outside of Lima only to find out that some of their vital organs have gone missing. He gave me a frightened look, “does that happen a lot?” I tell him that organ trading is a very lucrative business; a heart could be worth $60,000. His hands a shaking a little bit, the man is probably thinking why in his deity’s name he ever allowed his precious little girl, the continuation of his bloodline, to move to such a place. I can’t help but feel some sort of arrogant satisfaction by the shock I caused this man. If a single man’s temporary shock could cause this short moment of content, what kind of thrill would the traumatisation of an entire society bring me?
“Your intellectual life has ended! Welcome to your new reality! Aren’t you in the slightest bit excited?” Welcome to the Career Fair 2010: if you can’t plan your entire future here you are a complete moron! Small stands and posters surround me. Young, hip and clean-cut boys and girls are everywhere. They all wear suits, which supposed to mean that they are good and responsible people, good people for your good company. They have all used multiple facial and hair creams in order to give you the impression that they always look that good. Their language has been reduced to acronyms so that they would not waste any valuable time on saying entire words. Furthermore, every once in a while they spurt out some word they probably read the night before when they were trying to study for some sort of exam. This in combination with the acronyms makes the suited people believe themselves to be smarter than they actually are. Loud music dominates the event; some contemporary popular song blasts through the amps. The acronym people are laughing at each others’ jokes whilst drinking light beers together and trying to move their upper bodies a bit in something they would probably call “dancing”.
I stare at some government-supplied flyers; apparently they are in need of all sorts of people with all sorts of educations with all sorts of experiences. If that were the case, why did I receive a dozen rejection letters from these same government institutions? One of the pseudo dancing slick people approaches me; he is not as pretty as the other ones. Whilst his hair does contain multiple creams and gels and his facial skin looks like that of a baby, he facial features lack that fine quality the others of his kind seem to have. Don’t waste a pretty one trying to lure in the Master of Science with frizzy hair. The man pushes some flyers in my hands and starts babbling about working for the government. While he is practically ejaculating all this information I can’t but help to notice his eyes. Besides the inferior facial features, this man also possesses inferior eyes. Inside the blue/grey irises the pupils seem to be almost spilling over his irises, like some slimy discharge that hit the wall and is slowly dripping onto the floor.
I quickly take his flyers and try to escape, no need to make this man suffer any more. All the information he tells me could be read on the flyer, furthermore I could no longer cause this man discomfort by letting him continue to speak in complete words, better let him return to his own kind where he could once again speak in acronyms and random scientific words they picked up from the introductions and conclusions of the chapters they had to read for school.
I look in one of the flyers; it’s about doing some sort of internship for the state. The perpetrator would be deployed in various departments during this internship and learn all sorts of things. All very useful things that could probably be pronounced in acronyms; if it can’t be reduced to an acronym it is not important enough to exist! I’m almost tempted to do the internship if it weren’t for two things. Firstly the new internships would start in September, meaning I would have to wait another year. I am not in the mood to wait a year only to have a big chance of being rejected because I don’t speak Douche. Secondly all potential interns are to undergo extensive psychological testing. This includes online testing that the wannabe worker could do at home and various tests at their offices to make sure that maybe office servants are not lying on their online tests. I can’t but help and sense the irony in this. A world with a complete social, economical and political that is based on lies and deceit wants to make sure that their professional liars don’t lie on their psychological evaluations.
My intellectual life seems to have ended; now I need to learn Acronym.