After a meeting with HR discussing my “leave of absence” and possible part-time work, I returned to my island desk. Bored, my thoughts traveled to a time when tears poured into my belly preventing infection and when chicken broth was the highlight of my day. The pain came in throbs with varied intensity. I tried to keep my saline solution to myself.
Sitting at my desk, a new kind of infection, I tried to reenact the emotion with a series of sad online video clips. I wanted to cry at work. I saw it as a self-mastery challenge. My attempts failed, so I went to lunch.
My favorite nearby Chinese restaurant accepts cash only, and I was clean out. I stopped at Kmart, bought some peppered beef jerky, and requested cash back. Alas, orange chicken warmed my belly. The fortune cookie read, “Two people shorten a road.” Of course, this can’t be true. A road is a defined length regardless of how many people travel its path. However, company makes the journey much more bearable.
Nov 6, 2009
Nov 5, 2009
An End in Sight
Today, I sat in a room with about twenty BYU-Idaho students and two professors, each student over-dressed and under relaxed (the men clean shaven, of course). Five Nielsen employees, all graduates of BYU-related schools (including me), sat on a panel and answered questions. After much discussion about TV ratings, technology, sample science, and other hoopla, a homely looking girl spoke. I think her name was Emma.
“What is your typical day like?” she said.
The most senior of the BYU-related Nielsen employees turned to me. “Chase, why don’t you take this one,” he said. My soul warmed with the thought of shocking these rigid Mormons and their professors with the truth about Nielsen. My lips turned up on one side, and I tried to hide the Machiavellianism in my eyes.
“Oh dear,” I said, “where do I start …”
I paused, looked at each student, brought my hand to my scruffy face, and looked into Bro. Warnick’s eyes. It was only two years ago when I sat in his Media Management class. He was regularly tardy and many times never showed up at all. The course curriculum was eerily similar to what I do now at work—nothing. He trained me well. At the conclusion of the semester, he asked each student to meet with him privately. I was called into his office. Said he, “Chase, I need to apologize. This class was unorganized this semester, but I know you still learned a lot. Because we didn’t have any graded assignments, I can only grade you on what I feel you deserve … B minus.” I disagreed and debated. Twenty minutes later, I left his office with an A. I made this private conversation public to my classmates. Suddenly, students were lining up at his office door. He did not mutter one audible word to me in New York City, but his eyes spoke.
“… while I do have some busy days, I spend the majority of my time—”
“What is your typical day like?” she said.
The most senior of the BYU-related Nielsen employees turned to me. “Chase, why don’t you take this one,” he said. My soul warmed with the thought of shocking these rigid Mormons and their professors with the truth about Nielsen. My lips turned up on one side, and I tried to hide the Machiavellianism in my eyes.
“Oh dear,” I said, “where do I start …”
I paused, looked at each student, brought my hand to my scruffy face, and looked into Bro. Warnick’s eyes. It was only two years ago when I sat in his Media Management class. He was regularly tardy and many times never showed up at all. The course curriculum was eerily similar to what I do now at work—nothing. He trained me well. At the conclusion of the semester, he asked each student to meet with him privately. I was called into his office. Said he, “Chase, I need to apologize. This class was unorganized this semester, but I know you still learned a lot. Because we didn’t have any graded assignments, I can only grade you on what I feel you deserve … B minus.” I disagreed and debated. Twenty minutes later, I left his office with an A. I made this private conversation public to my classmates. Suddenly, students were lining up at his office door. He did not mutter one audible word to me in New York City, but his eyes spoke.
“… while I do have some busy days, I spend the majority of my time—”
Nov 3, 2009
Fair in Height 2’12”
“Life is not fair,” this is a common and widely accepted phrase. As pictured, mankind is not entirely equal. People are born with different unalterable genes. On the other hand, regardless of size and color, skin is the greatest physical commonality man shares.
Any dermatologist will tell you that annoying people get under the skin and reside within the dermis. A histologist will advise that digging them out is pointless; they must be absolved.
Above the people in the dermis is a different layer, the epidermis. It records life one mark at a time. Each scar journals another story. The deepest scars often lie below the epidermis and underneath the dermis. These scars, within the hypodermis, tell a different tale and eventually dissolve into the bloodstream. This is how blood boils.
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