KG Christopher
Basic
You know how it is, early morning, your mind's elsewhere, rushing down some random cul de sac of thought - then a chance event snaps you back to reality - It so did happen to myself one morning last week, and I would love to share the tale.
It was my morning commute. Train and bus from Nyon to Geneva. It had been snowing, so the usual scenes were framed in a whitish tinge. The crunch in my ear distracted me, and I stopped thinking of the children slushing through puddles and returned to observing my more immediate surroundings. The crunch continued, my neighbour ate his croissant with gusto. A particularly crunchy croissant, causing crumbs to cascade onto his jacket and jump the chasm to my own jacket.
I moved away, thinking of my own breakfast, a croissant? Plain or Croissant Aux Almondes? A bagel - yes a Raclette bagel with salty cheese, that was the choice. And now, for a second time, I was snapped back to the here and now. The bus screeched to a halt, we all swayed, croissants were crushed, coffee perturbed and the breakfast thinking mass descended wearely into the slush.
I was lucky, I could move more freely, I wasn’t getting off at the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation (Bill and Belinda sounds better) in Geneva, it was the next stop for me. I brushed the crumbs of croissant off my jacket, and then I saw it - a book on the floor of the bus.
I picked it up, looked around, holding it aloft, no reaction - they must have gotten off - crumbs - I jammed my foot in the door of the bus, just in time and I jumped out into a puddle. The line of commuters stretched in front of me, spread out, treading through the slush as if it was a viscous goo, or more to my sentiment that morning a gooey cheesy fondue (do be doo).
‘Hello - Is This Yours’ - a shrug, i walked on a bit ‘Do you know who’s book this is? ‘ no reaction, the line stretched on, and I paused. The building is next to mine, I’ll send an email when I am in my office, that’s the most I can do. I can’t leave it here, and I am not killing myself to run after that lot.
I sent the email to the HR in the Mel and William building, ‘ Found a book -- blah blah -- here’s my email -- blah blah’, and that was it. I missed my breakfast. So, do I start work? Surf? Listen to the brexit show? I looked at the book on my dask.
It was called ‘Telling True Stories’ published by the Harvard nieman Foundation. A guide on how to interview real people in real situations, it was fascinating, each page was marked with the readers scrawl, there were sections with fruity coloured tabs, and each chapter was written by famous authors - Tom Wolfe and Gay Talese to name but a few. It was great. I honestly learned a lot. I read an interview in the book, it was based on an old women, who was in prison, being tried for the crime of witchcraft in 1600 Germany, and it was setup as an example of good journalism - I really felt like I was there in the prison cell.
‘Ping’
You’ve got mail.
‘Wow you have my book, I was so disappointed thinking I lost it, then I thought I left it at home. Then I thought - no I was trying to read it on the bus - but you know how it is - I was thinking of my breakfast - so maybe I wasn’t reading it on the bus...when can I pick it up? Ok, lunch time. See you’.
I was so disappointed, but looking at the contents of the book, it was well loved and well used. The owner was a Spanish Journalist. She took it everywhere with her, she *swore* buy it.
I dutifully handed over the much loved book, I practiced some Spanish, and I had the wonderful insight of a 10 minute conversation with a wonderful journalist who works all over africa and showcases life stories of people who seldom have a stage.
So fellow Lilliputians, three questions.
It was my morning commute. Train and bus from Nyon to Geneva. It had been snowing, so the usual scenes were framed in a whitish tinge. The crunch in my ear distracted me, and I stopped thinking of the children slushing through puddles and returned to observing my more immediate surroundings. The crunch continued, my neighbour ate his croissant with gusto. A particularly crunchy croissant, causing crumbs to cascade onto his jacket and jump the chasm to my own jacket.
I moved away, thinking of my own breakfast, a croissant? Plain or Croissant Aux Almondes? A bagel - yes a Raclette bagel with salty cheese, that was the choice. And now, for a second time, I was snapped back to the here and now. The bus screeched to a halt, we all swayed, croissants were crushed, coffee perturbed and the breakfast thinking mass descended wearely into the slush.
I was lucky, I could move more freely, I wasn’t getting off at the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation (Bill and Belinda sounds better) in Geneva, it was the next stop for me. I brushed the crumbs of croissant off my jacket, and then I saw it - a book on the floor of the bus.
I picked it up, looked around, holding it aloft, no reaction - they must have gotten off - crumbs - I jammed my foot in the door of the bus, just in time and I jumped out into a puddle. The line of commuters stretched in front of me, spread out, treading through the slush as if it was a viscous goo, or more to my sentiment that morning a gooey cheesy fondue (do be doo).
‘Hello - Is This Yours’ - a shrug, i walked on a bit ‘Do you know who’s book this is? ‘ no reaction, the line stretched on, and I paused. The building is next to mine, I’ll send an email when I am in my office, that’s the most I can do. I can’t leave it here, and I am not killing myself to run after that lot.
I sent the email to the HR in the Mel and William building, ‘ Found a book -- blah blah -- here’s my email -- blah blah’, and that was it. I missed my breakfast. So, do I start work? Surf? Listen to the brexit show? I looked at the book on my dask.
It was called ‘Telling True Stories’ published by the Harvard nieman Foundation. A guide on how to interview real people in real situations, it was fascinating, each page was marked with the readers scrawl, there were sections with fruity coloured tabs, and each chapter was written by famous authors - Tom Wolfe and Gay Talese to name but a few. It was great. I honestly learned a lot. I read an interview in the book, it was based on an old women, who was in prison, being tried for the crime of witchcraft in 1600 Germany, and it was setup as an example of good journalism - I really felt like I was there in the prison cell.
‘Ping’
You’ve got mail.
‘Wow you have my book, I was so disappointed thinking I lost it, then I thought I left it at home. Then I thought - no I was trying to read it on the bus - but you know how it is - I was thinking of my breakfast - so maybe I wasn’t reading it on the bus...when can I pick it up? Ok, lunch time. See you’.
I was so disappointed, but looking at the contents of the book, it was well loved and well used. The owner was a Spanish Journalist. She took it everywhere with her, she *swore* buy it.
I dutifully handed over the much loved book, I practiced some Spanish, and I had the wonderful insight of a 10 minute conversation with a wonderful journalist who works all over africa and showcases life stories of people who seldom have a stage.
So fellow Lilliputians, three questions.
- What is you reference? Is there one book you return to time and time again for that insight? Something that will help you in the moment?
- How much of my story is real? Can you guess the embellishments?
- I was tempted to keep the book? but the scrawls pursuaded me otherwise, what would you have done?
