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Fellas and fellettes, here’s a little story. According to the event details, it was upon the fictional day of Tuesday 9th March 2017, not the actual date Tuesday 7th, that a small group of creative writers were invited to come to a special lecture by student-turned-author David Owen, after being assigned to do a presentation on his book. This class may have been for MA students, but we were permitted to come along.
We went, we sat and we waited. MA students flood in, no big deal; it’s their class after all. 10 minutes pass, a woman stands and says ‘let’s do the register’… where’s David Owen? Of course, he must be making a dramatic entrance in a minute. The register ends… “So today, we will be looking at editing for your projects” ..Oh no, this is just a regular MA class that the five of us second-years are now sat in the middle of, whilst all the mature students are clearly thinking “who the shitting hell are you?”, but are too awkward themselves to say a word. What’s happened to the David Owen lecture?… 5 minutes pass – one of us makes a move and dives out the class.. no one notices; lucky bastard!
15 minutes pass; we are still there. We don’t know what to do. This lecture/seminar could well be three hours long; we have to get out! But how? We’ll have to not only admit to an audience of MAs, which is so large she hasn’t realised we’re not supposed to be there, that we have come to their seminar for no reason, but now after silently sitting there in discomfort for 15 minutes…
And that’s exactly what happened. Of course it wasn’t me – my social anxiety was so high at this point, I would’ve probably sat there for an hour after the seminar had finished. Apologies said, we slowly and shamefully made our way across the lecture room to the exit, surrounded by the blending of minor chuckles and the quiet of people embarrassed for us. Except for one of us, who found the seminar so interesting that she just gave up dignity and stayed. Good for them!
And what of David Owen? Well folks, according to the service that has currently sent me into over 20 grand of debt, Tuesday 9th March 2017 is the fictional name of Tuesday 14th March 2017… You can see the easily made typo there, can’t you?
Following this wincingly harrowing cringe-cluster-bucket disaster-fest, I made my way home and ate an absolute fuck-tonne of burritos.
Then I wrote this.. The end.
Horsey out x
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