|
< over my shoulder a piano falls | posted at 9:07 pm on March 23, 2004 > yesterday i went to a little film q+a thingy that my ex-boss was interviewing at, that was good fun. she was speaking to a certain person in front of whom i embarrassed myself royally two years ago by telling him (jokingly) that i would sleep with him for industry connections. unfortunately he thought i was serious. so here i am, trotting along to this q+a to see my ex-boss in action, and i've ended up in the second row, scared to death that he'd see me and recognise me. i hope to god he didn't. i hope to god noone else remembers the godawful occasion, but, hell, what can i do about it now? i could've sworn he's glanced at me when the conversation turned to 'the wrong way to network', but it could be paranoia.anyway, it was in glebe, and i started walking home (it takes about 15 mins)... decided to cut through broadway shopping centre to get to my place... anyway since it was too late i couldn't cut through the actual centre, so i ended up on the second floor of a carpark, trying to get back to street level and find my way home. carparks are so goddamn hard to find your way around and damn scary at 11.30pm at night. so. i think, well, how am i going to get back to ground? i see a fire exit. answer! it's a fire exit, right? they don't lock the doors - that just defeats the purpose, right? wrong. i got stuck in that fire exit. tried all the doors, they were all locked, i screamed, pounded and yelled for help, and seriously thought i was going to spend the night in this dank, smelly, grey flight of stairs. ok, the most panicked and claustrophobic 10 minutes of my life. so i've called directory assistance and got through to broadway security, and had to explain in detail where i was - because, as mr friendly security guard explained, there are heaps of fire exits - and then he's figured it out and is sending someone to let me out. and then i think, ok, well, i'll just try that little door there - the one marked 'LG' for lower ground - and i get out. god-fucking-dammit. those last five |