By Lawrence Parmenter
There’s a really dirty air vent in the corner of the room me and Nathan sit in.
This terrifies me.
It stresses me out.
Other people are scared their ideas might run out, or that they are frauds.
Not me. I’m just scared about dying from substandard air quality.
Whilst other people are thinking about the quality of their work and portfolios – I am thinking about about the potential fungal infection my lungs could suffer whilst I breathe this air.
While others are scared they might not find a job, I am more concerned that I might not live many more days as my ability to breathe will be hampered by poisonous spores.
Whilst other people are losing perspective on the wonder of purely being alive, I sit under a daily reminder of it.
Maybe there is a way I could use my creativity to innovate out of this problem.
I could strap a few found objects together to reach the dirt.
But if I dislodged the dirt it would spread in to the air and pollute the atmosphere of the whole room.
Maybe the dirty air vent is a subliminal nudge to stop people printing so much, positioned as it is over the printer.
If the dirty air vent was cleaned maybe I’d be less conscious of my own mortality, of how I have to enjoy each day, maybe I’d be more crazed and obsessed and stressed about small things.
Maybe, if it was clean, I’d start talking a lot about work instead of just doing it.
Maybe, if there was no risk of developing respiratory problems, I’d stop enjoying and absorbing culture with the same gusto.
Maybe, if there was no risk of death, I’d be more stressed out and Marc’s sandal-wearing get in touch with yourself exercises would have more importance in my life.
This is why I want a job. So I can stop sitting in such a poorly ventilated room.
Please give me a job.
Think of my lungs.