extreme absurdity

This morning, after finishing my first two cups of coffee I decided to be efficient and fill up two job applications. After all I am only days away from graduation and there seems to be now job prospects in the near future.  I was half way through the first one, when my computer froze and then, refused to turn itself on again. I flipped. I only got a new laptop few months ago so it could not broke. I rushed to the nearest macstore, after having cursed my bad luck and miserable existence.

When I got to the store, an extremely annoying computer geek told me that the system had crashed and everything on my computer would have to be reinstalled and I would most likely lose all my files. But all I would have to do is to use the recovery disks I should have. Great. Firstly, all the disks were at my friend’s place because she had needed one programme and not to have things in different places I had given her the whole box. Stupid me. And she would be at work until late.

I came back home, devastated and while trying to figure out if I had my notes for my final exam saved anywhere but on my laptop, my mother phoned to find out if I had desert spoons. Like really. She has, at some stage bought me a nice set of cutlery but no, no desert spoons. But quite honestly, I didn’t really care. In no time I would not only be homeless and hence also kitchenless because I have no job and now had also no ways of applying for one, so whether I have desert spoons was not of utmost importance. And I told her this in a rather rude manner.

So while my mother was shopping for spoons, that will undoubtedly end up in the same box as all my other the other things, which I am supposed to need if I ever turn into a proper, decent and responsible human being, but which are currently residing in my parent’s garage, I got a velib to the other side of Paris. Or almost. As I was going around Republic my phone rang. A Finnish number. To find out if I would be interested in working for one of the MPs. In Finland. Puzzled by this out-of-the-blue enquiry I said “yes, possibly” but that it was not really a good time to talk about this as I was about to be crashed into by cars coming from different directions. They promised to send me the person’s phone number. Excellent.

I got to work in a rather confused state. Whilst sitting down, enjoying my dinner, my phone rang again. A UK number. I picked the phone up. I was asked to go to London in two weeks for a job interview. For a job I had applied for because it sounded like something I would like to do in the far future. But they had shortlisted me now. Right. I said I would be there. The lady on the other end of the line expected me to be taking the Eurostar that morning and hence proposed the 14h slot. I think I said yes. And yes, I think I must take the Eurostar in the morning, because as she pointed out I do live in Paris. Right.

Finally, my disks arrived. Progress. I gave the whole pile with my laptop to the guy at the end of the bar. He had been warned already earlier about my little crisis and was prepared to attack the trouble with a glass of red wine. Throughout my shift I kept looking at his direction, too scared to go over and see what was going on. Until he called me. He did it. He fixed my laptop and made it like new again. And not only did it now work but our summer cottage was looking at me from the screen again and so were my files. The disaster had been avoided.

So it looks like I might need those desert spoons after all.