This is another five-in-one catch-up post to cover what I hated the least about the last five weekdays’ work / study / commute routine. It’s getting increasingly difficult to think of what I hated the least, so I’m considering renaming the series into What I Hated the Most. Being a hateful person, I’d never run out of what to blog about.
I discovered with surprise and delight that I have an inbuilt autopilot function. It activates when my alarm rings in the morning (middle of the night, precisely) and deactivates when I get to class (sometimes it runs on even then until overridden by a strong stimulus).
On Monday my autopilot function was aborted earlier than usual. This error was caused by an irregular woman who sat next to me on the bus. I don’t notice fellow regular commuters because they also run on autopilot, so we make for a nice semi-conscious zombie flow in which we don’t disturb one another.
My neighbour on the bus was a first-time traveller. One could say so by her sheer enthusiasm over the bus’s functions. I take a privately owned bus line staffed with personnel who distribute for free newspapers, hot drinks and headphones to go with screens built in the backs of the seats.
Regulars ignore the stewardess stumbling to and fro along the aisle, bring their own earphones and reading devices and never accept hot drinks from the coffee machine, which they know to be disgusting. The woman happily received her poison in the form of hot chocolate, took the headphones and spent the whole trip fumbling with her screen. She also kept on dropping items and punching me with her elbows and knees. She has a long way to go yet to become an autopiloted zombie.
The lecturer of the IT course I’m taking—hence my commuting—is getting all worked up about the homework he assigned to us at the start of the three-week run. We are supposed to create from scratch a HTML/CSS site. The lecturer takes obscene pleasure in scaring us with the assignment and his reminders that we should be working on our projects are getting more frequent as the course progresses.
I haven’t started the project yet because I was busy doing other work—I’m unemployed and working harder than an employed person. This is beyond the lecturer’s cognitive faculties. I tried to explain, failed pathetically and was given a warning that I shouldn’t rest on laurels. I thought it unnecessary to play what I call the PhD Card—it consists in reminding your opponent in an argument that you have a doctorate while he hasn’t, so may he please shut up. I was inexplicably entertained by his warning. And I entertain the idea of actually starting to work on the project this weekend, unless I’m otherwise busy.
After three days of teaching us Photoshop, our lecturer came up with the brilliant idea of testing us. It was a surprise test which took everyone by surprise, including himself. We were presented with a set of shockingly poor-quality low-resolution images (and they call themselves the IT and Photography School) and a list of tasks of what to do with them.
I wasn’t particularly intense about Photoshop because I use Corel Paintshop and have no intention to spend my rent money on Photoshop only because Photoshop. I deem it highly overrated. I did try to get what we were being taught about it, but it didn’t work out very well. I performed about fifty percent on the test and wasn’t even upset. I’m sure the lecturer was well pleased to see that I was resting on laurels, as he predicted the day before. He got a nasty surprise in the folder with my test—I made sure to complete the tasks that I could do so that it would hurt his eyes as much as the pixelated images hurt mine.
The new teacher appears more competent and more resilient to my continuous curious questions. Unlike the old teacher, he also hasn’t brought us yet a list of things he taught us wrong, which makes me feel carefully hopeful about the quality of his teaching. Though I don’t hate him, during his JS class, I was feeling murderous. I kept on killing my code and at one point I thought I’d kill him and eat his brains to absorb his knowledge.
70/365: Street Life
The least hateworthy thing about commuting is the unlimited access to street life observation. I’m in awe and fear of the homeless, who offer the best views but whom I don’t dare take pictures of.
On Friday I got the funniest sight so far. There was a fat woman lying on the pavement on her back, wiggling like a bug when it topples over and can’t get back on its feet. I presume I should be horrified at the poor woman’s distress, but I found it difficult not to laugh at her anger.
It turned out that she wasn’t drunk, as I originally assumed, but fell over probably due the heaviness of her backpack. She used a signpost to hoist herself up, very awkwardly. I couldn’t stop laughing hysterically so that I nearly toppled over too. Feel free to judge me.