“You bought the wrong ticket” He scowled. Obviously I was no Parisian. It took two moments to translate his statement in my head. “Zone 2?” I asked, tentatively. Prior to this I had considered myself a cosmopolitan man. My wife clenching my elbow in near panicked morse code. “No.” he paused, shaking his head and then Passed his card over the machine. Alleluia. The gate lifted and he bid us good day. I wish we had stayed.
The row on row of IBM Selectrics clacking the smell is still with me hanging like the memory of disappointment 3rd period typing. The dot com bubble still a decade or more away why the hell would I want to learn to type? I wanted to be a boss not a slave. To be young again.
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