Jet Lag Vision

I’ve managed to survive my first day back at work mainly nodding politely and looking concerned at my pc at the appropriate times. Apart from that I have been rendered incapable of doing little else. Jet lag tends to turn my brain into a giant empty drum with all vision becoming peri-scoped and subsequent sounds into Dolby surround reverberations. The effect is that everyone seems to sound like they’re talking under water in an IMAX production. I always dread coming back to work after a considerable break as I usually expect time bombs that I have overlooked to be fully exploded for all of management to see. Thankfully there never have been and today was another example. My assistant nonetheless had five thousand questions for me regarding dozens of matters to which I had a continually replayed response of “can we deal with that tomorrow?” That woman should be made a saint for her resilient tolerance of my entrenched vagueness.

The government agency I work for is moving to new premises in 2010 and today the executive staff of my team had a meeting with the architect to confirm our approval of the space we will occupy in the development. Not that it really matters whether we object or not, management will move us in regardless; it’s just another tick in the box. I was quite happy to go along though as watching an architect dressed in designer jeans and check shirt (why do architects always wear these items?) fluff around an office model was quite suited to my jetlagged state of mind. That was until I walked in the door.

Dressed in his check shirt and designer jeans was P……with gold necklace and a mince in his walk you couldn’t step over.

P : Oh my god Colin!.........(in a voice that would challenge Liberace’s in the battle for Camp God)

I recognised the voice straight away (a mute would) and bolted upright in my chair.

Colin: Hi….

I couldn’t remember his name but I did remember him. We met one very drunken night at Phoenix when I first moved to Sydney about 8 years ago. I’d like to say I was left stranded by friends in extreme inebriation. The truth is I had no friends at the time and was completely inebriated and completely on my own. I stumbled across P on the dance floor. Under the Phoenix lights like myself and many others, P looked like a god, in the harsh light of his mood lit apartment, he looked more like an understudy for Albin in La Cage aux Folles. He wore a brunch coat and cooked me breakfast. I wanted to escape but the sex was so good, I stayed all weekend.

He rang for me for weeks afterwards (this was before texts…when people actually did call each other) and I completely ignored him. He was great sex but I wasn’t going to date Ethel Merman. I had not seen him since until this afternoon which considering how small the scene is in Sydney is odd.

P: You’re a lawyer right? I remember you saying you were a lawyer.

As he is saying this, others from my team are milling into the meeting room trying to work out and no doubt cottoning onto how P and I know each other. I felt like a cat under a sprinkler.

P: Now that I know you are in this team, I will take special care to make sure everything is right.

There were more raised eyebrows in that room than a Bette Davis film.

If I hadn’t been on London time, in a tunnel, in an underwater imax conundrum, I may have been able to deal with it and cracked a couple of one liners to take the attention off the fact that most of my colleagues realized that I had shagged Mr Ethel Architect. All I could do though was smile politely and explain that I was still in Jetlag land.

I can’t wait for the emails tomorrow.

C