In which our hero gives in to the temptation to recount her life as if narrating an art flick
I'm taking this class at U. of Chicago. The program is one nobody in my field has ever heard of and several people actively steered me away from. "Who ever heard of doing marketing at U of C? Why wouldn't you just go to Northwestern?" I dunno, because it costs literally 10 times as much? But let me tell you, for a program nobody's heard of, it is one hell of a lot of work. Five hours of class a week plus one whole Saturday, an entire textbook, six case studies and two papers with accompanying group presentations, plus a final exam. All in less than a month!
Last Monday I was giving a rather compelling presentation about how I would've marketed cyanoacrylate dispensing equipment in the 1980s, had I been interested in anything more subtle than maybe eating cyanoacrylates at that stage in my life, when my phone rang. So bad. I ran over to turn it off and recognized the number.
Turns out my friend from two jobs ago, who I will call Juan, quit said job for a new opportunity. He told me all about it as I was on my way home from class. I was happy for him and sad for the other people, because he knows everything about their computer system and they don't, so they are screwed.
Then I was riding on the train, looking out the window and I got all mopey and nostalgic. I wasn't sure why. Possibly it was a subconscious excuse to avoid reading Chapter 11, Distribution Strategies, in my textbook. But it may have been provoked because I was looking out the window and seeing two things. On the surface of the window was a washed-out reflection of the inside of the train. Beneath that was the dark city scenery sliding away. It felt like looking at the present and the past without being able to peel the two apart.
The next day I got a call from Juan's manager suggesting that I consider working for them full-time again. I don't know anything about their computer system either, so their problems could become mine too.
