Time For Something A Bit Different
Student life is typically eclectic, eccentric, disorganised
and exciting, tempered with just the right amount of responsibility. It is
never surprising because it is all expected. Parties, pranks, complaints and
that bubbling resentment that lives beneath the surface in an environment where
strangers are expected to tolerate each other. This is the average student flat
you could say. You could say that, if you didn’t know any better.
There are five bedrooms and a communal area, peppered with mouldering plates and the occasional family sized bottle of Strongbow cider. The two bathrooms are divided thus; the smallest for the messiest flatmate, the largest for the four who don’t want to pick her hair from the plug hole in order to drain the shower stall.
There is the standard weekly fire drill that runs for a few noisy seconds (Monday morning at 9am). There are also the fortnightly visits from the fire department because that flat of geniuses burnt the toast again, just to keep us on our toes.
There are rules and regulations printed on notice boards and the numbers of who to call in the case of an emergency because mummy and daddy are at the other end of the country.
There are kitchen bins and wheelie bins and recycling bins that overflow on a weekly basis and limits on the electricity you may use and fines if you put posters on the walls and ringing buzzers at four in the morning before a day of 9 to 5 classes.
We are even a normal array of students: three musicians (dedicated, talented and occasional), three gamers (shooter, RPG and treasure hunter), varying degrees of cooking ability, the one who works the most, the one who sleeps the least, the one who plays the loudest music... The list goes on.
It’s the world outside this flat that is really interesting. The world we see from our kitchen window. If you were ever to visit our humble abode and glance momentarily out of our window you might dismiss that view. It is neither spectacular nor picturesque. But it is interesting.
We have a view of marble walls and clean glass that is never any brighter than grey. To the far left we can see lifts that look like they’re modelled on that one scene in ‘The Matrix’ where everything is black marble for cinematic effect. A little less left are the main offices; floors of cubicles populated by sad suits, sighing into expensive phones. In the centre of our view is the main stairwell, clearly visible because they are those stairs with no backs so that the craftier zombies are free to grab at your ankles as you flee the main horde. Next are the conference rooms; rarely do we observe anyone sitting at those over polished tables. And finally, on the far right of our interesting view, the nicer offices: slightly bigger with signs of vegetation (the extra oxygen produced by the pot plants clearly a plot to maximise brain power).
We watch because we can and the oven is very slow to heat. Mostly it is a depressing view; the much hated bankers working long past normal office hours. It is frequently said in our flat that ‘I couldn’t do that’. I wonder why they stay so late. What could possibly be so important in their tiny little lives? From our window the glass sided structure is a doll house; open for our viewing, a toy for grown-ups really (look but don’t touch).
That is how things are done.
A few weeks after beginning university life we had observed the primary patterns of their working lives and received friendly waves from the office cleaners for our watching.
The Tuesday before last, three of us watched ‘Them’; one of the many horror films consumed by this flat. It was nearly nine in the evening and the sky was dark when the final bombshell was dropped. We had our customary revelation moment and briefly discussed the finer plot points so that the DVD owner could impart his expert opinion. It was during this recycled conversation that one of my flatmates observed the first interesting event seen from our window. In the nicer offices of the building a cleaner (one I clearly remembered from our distant interaction) rummaged through the drawers of a desk. The three of us watched, entranced, as he moved methodically through the fourth floor offices, repeating the process many times before disappearing from view.
The next night the TV was blank and the lights off as I sat in the window. I do not know how long I sat or what I was looking for. I only know that I did not see it. My skin prickled as I turned away from our view.
I repeated my vigil for unknown periods over the next two nights, occasionally joined by curious flatmates. I knew it was pointless to watch on the weekend but still my eyes were drawn constantly to the window.
This Monday we watched another DVD, Sherlock this time; deductive detecting skills rather than an after school killing spree. I know the program backwards and before the final show down my attention was drawn back to the lives of our neighbourly office workers. From my seat I watched a businesswoman trot confidently into a top floor lift. My skin began to itch as the seconds ticked by and as the TV launched into the tense finale of my favourite drama, I found myself standing. On the ground floor the lift doors opened and I held my breath. No one stepped out.
On Tuesday my flatmate took to sitting in the window sill. At 8.14pm he came rushing into my room saying a woman had fallen down half a flight of stairs and wasn’t moving. We were ready to call an ambulance but when we returned to the window the stairwell was empty except for a scattering of papers. Small comfort, but he promised there hadn’t been any zombie involvement.
On Wednesday none of us witnessed it but we congregated in the kitchen at the sound of sirens directly below our window. There had been a disagreement and one of office workers had attempted to remove his manager’s eyeball with a letter opener.
Thursday was a quiet evening. We laughed at the man sleeping on the conference table. Next morning they took his body away.
Today is Friday and I’m hurrying home. Everyone will watch the doll house tonight.
There are five bedrooms and a communal area, peppered with mouldering plates and the occasional family sized bottle of Strongbow cider. The two bathrooms are divided thus; the smallest for the messiest flatmate, the largest for the four who don’t want to pick her hair from the plug hole in order to drain the shower stall.
There is the standard weekly fire drill that runs for a few noisy seconds (Monday morning at 9am). There are also the fortnightly visits from the fire department because that flat of geniuses burnt the toast again, just to keep us on our toes.
There are rules and regulations printed on notice boards and the numbers of who to call in the case of an emergency because mummy and daddy are at the other end of the country.
There are kitchen bins and wheelie bins and recycling bins that overflow on a weekly basis and limits on the electricity you may use and fines if you put posters on the walls and ringing buzzers at four in the morning before a day of 9 to 5 classes.
We are even a normal array of students: three musicians (dedicated, talented and occasional), three gamers (shooter, RPG and treasure hunter), varying degrees of cooking ability, the one who works the most, the one who sleeps the least, the one who plays the loudest music... The list goes on.
It’s the world outside this flat that is really interesting. The world we see from our kitchen window. If you were ever to visit our humble abode and glance momentarily out of our window you might dismiss that view. It is neither spectacular nor picturesque. But it is interesting.
We have a view of marble walls and clean glass that is never any brighter than grey. To the far left we can see lifts that look like they’re modelled on that one scene in ‘The Matrix’ where everything is black marble for cinematic effect. A little less left are the main offices; floors of cubicles populated by sad suits, sighing into expensive phones. In the centre of our view is the main stairwell, clearly visible because they are those stairs with no backs so that the craftier zombies are free to grab at your ankles as you flee the main horde. Next are the conference rooms; rarely do we observe anyone sitting at those over polished tables. And finally, on the far right of our interesting view, the nicer offices: slightly bigger with signs of vegetation (the extra oxygen produced by the pot plants clearly a plot to maximise brain power).
We watch because we can and the oven is very slow to heat. Mostly it is a depressing view; the much hated bankers working long past normal office hours. It is frequently said in our flat that ‘I couldn’t do that’. I wonder why they stay so late. What could possibly be so important in their tiny little lives? From our window the glass sided structure is a doll house; open for our viewing, a toy for grown-ups really (look but don’t touch).
That is how things are done.
A few weeks after beginning university life we had observed the primary patterns of their working lives and received friendly waves from the office cleaners for our watching.
The Tuesday before last, three of us watched ‘Them’; one of the many horror films consumed by this flat. It was nearly nine in the evening and the sky was dark when the final bombshell was dropped. We had our customary revelation moment and briefly discussed the finer plot points so that the DVD owner could impart his expert opinion. It was during this recycled conversation that one of my flatmates observed the first interesting event seen from our window. In the nicer offices of the building a cleaner (one I clearly remembered from our distant interaction) rummaged through the drawers of a desk. The three of us watched, entranced, as he moved methodically through the fourth floor offices, repeating the process many times before disappearing from view.
The next night the TV was blank and the lights off as I sat in the window. I do not know how long I sat or what I was looking for. I only know that I did not see it. My skin prickled as I turned away from our view.
I repeated my vigil for unknown periods over the next two nights, occasionally joined by curious flatmates. I knew it was pointless to watch on the weekend but still my eyes were drawn constantly to the window.
This Monday we watched another DVD, Sherlock this time; deductive detecting skills rather than an after school killing spree. I know the program backwards and before the final show down my attention was drawn back to the lives of our neighbourly office workers. From my seat I watched a businesswoman trot confidently into a top floor lift. My skin began to itch as the seconds ticked by and as the TV launched into the tense finale of my favourite drama, I found myself standing. On the ground floor the lift doors opened and I held my breath. No one stepped out.
On Tuesday my flatmate took to sitting in the window sill. At 8.14pm he came rushing into my room saying a woman had fallen down half a flight of stairs and wasn’t moving. We were ready to call an ambulance but when we returned to the window the stairwell was empty except for a scattering of papers. Small comfort, but he promised there hadn’t been any zombie involvement.
On Wednesday none of us witnessed it but we congregated in the kitchen at the sound of sirens directly below our window. There had been a disagreement and one of office workers had attempted to remove his manager’s eyeball with a letter opener.
Thursday was a quiet evening. We laughed at the man sleeping on the conference table. Next morning they took his body away.
Today is Friday and I’m hurrying home. Everyone will watch the doll house tonight.