Cockeyed: A Memoir by Ryan Knighton

Author:Ryan Knighton [Knighton, Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780143051855
Google: 7D_ypl7m5qgC
Publisher: Penguin Canada
Published: 2006-11-15T00:31:29.607551+00:00

Missing

The moment Tracy and I returned from Pusan, we set out to rediscover our affections and repair our strained bond the only way possible. We separated. Within days of landing in Vancouver, Tracy booked a flight to Saskatchewan. She wanted to see her family. “A couple of weeks,” she said. “I just need a couple of weeks.”

Four weeks later, I flew to the prairies for a visit, hoping to size up the situation. I needed to find where Tracy’s head and heart were at. Both were staying put in Saskatchewan. “Maybe another month,” she said, truly uncertain where she wanted to be or what she wanted to do, other than not be in Vancouver with me.

I waited some more, but when an email of hers mentioned a job in a clothing store, I knew I had to evaluate my own direction. I’d lived for the past month in a basement suite roughly the size of my left lung. Take a deep breath, and my subterranean digs emptied of oxygen. And mildew spores. Cash was running low, so I’d applied for a job as an administrative assistant for a nonprofit arts group. Without question, my organizational skills were as sharp as my vision, and I had no office experience to speak of. Luckily for me, none of this surfaced during the interview.

“Ryan, pretend it’s a rough morning for a sec. Handle this situation for me. When you arrive at work to open the arts resource centre, several people are already at the door. Two clients want immediate help with grant applications—you know those artists, they just can’t wait!—and a third wants to use our library, which isn’t open till noon. Entering the office, you hear the phone is ringing and see the message light is blinking. The fax machine looks jammed again, and we’re expecting an important document. Among the people waiting is a courier with a package you need to sign for. Think about it, though. The lights haven’t been turned on yet, and the sign put out front. The alarm needs the code within a minute, too. So, wow, rough morning. I’d like to know what you’d do first.”

“First I’d tell everybody how weird this is. I’m in the same test situation from my job interview. What are the chances?”

I started the next day.

I’m still surprised how easily offices fall apart. Within a month, what hadn’t emerged during the interview began to show. My filing system, for one thing, exhibited terminal signs of stress. My system involved three piles of paper: the first for “Things That Need Attention,” the second for “Things That Also Need Attention,” and the third for “Things That Probably Matter But I Don’t Know What To Do With.” The third pile towered. Throughout my days I accomplished close to nil, despite putting in a solid eight hours. My ability to read print and find documents in filing cabinets was so slow that it pained even me. The only positive was that I always appeared to be reading or looking for files.

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