"Yes. I had moved here for another job, but it was unavailable when I arrived. One of your drivers gave me a ride from the airport. He was so courteous and professional, it just seemed to me that this company would be a good place to work." Yes, a lie, but alas, within all lies, is there not a grain of truth?
"Well, it is." Kevin's smiled, and I noticed a bright twinkle in his eyes. As the Americans say, I had pushed the correct button. "Hey, being a worker-owned-and-operated cooperative makes a big difference in an industry known for its corruption and exploitation. Co-op Cab is probably one of the best cab companies to work for in the whole country."
Co-op Cab. Of course, a cooperative! No wonder this Kevin fellow was so sloppily dressed. No wonder they allow that lout to work. The commoners take over, winning the right to languish in their own mediocrity, just like the collective farms ofEastern Europe . "I have never worked for a cooperative," I said.
"Well, they can be a real challenge. Hell, a real pain in the ass sometimes, but they're worthwhile." Kevin made a show of shuffling through a pile of papers on his desk, and I knew I was occupying too much of his time.
"I will study the city's geography," I said, rising from my seat. "Then I will return and pass your test."
"You betcha." Kevin stood and shook my hand warmly. "Look forward to seeing you again, Al. Nice meeting you."
"My pleasure. I will return in one week." I pulled my hand away, turned and left, wondering exactly what kind of challenges a cooperative could possibly present, and wondering how I, Count Farkus, always Lord and Master, might respond to a place where the serfs are also the masters of the estate.
I redoubled my efforts, attacking the available geographic resources with ferocious ferality, pouring over city and campus maps, utilizing mnemonic techniques learned long ago, stacking associations upon associations to memorize locations of each and every "point of interest" as designated by a tourist map, then weaving the Toyota in a tight tapestry of closely overlapping circles, grateful that Bob had selected a vehicle that burns petrol so efficiently. I drove to West Towne, South Towne andEast Towne . By the four winds of Hades, what determinations will future archaeologists make when they unearth the ruins of this society only to find shopping malls?
I would pass that map test.
In the interim, my books and recordings arrived - old friends able to provide solace to a lonely soul. Moliere, Shakespeare, Camus, Dante, Bizet, Mozart, Brahms, Bach, Beethoven, Miles Davis, Charlie Parker and Art Pepper. Alas, why cannot today spawn such giants?
With the arrival of the weekend, it seemed time to once again exploreState Street .
State Street is a bridge connecting the twin pinnacles ofMadison 's power and influence. At the east end, the Capitol erupts, piercing the night with its brilliance. Bascom Hill marks the other end, defining the center of the campus - the epicenter - for upon the top of this glacial blister sits one of the oldest buildings on campus, which houses the university's chancellor. A professor would later tell me there is a secret tunnel that runs underneath Bascom Hill, leading to an elevator that opens within the chancellor's office. However, only tenured professors know about the tunnel and elevator, or so he had said, though this puffery was most assuredly a jest.
On street level, between these icy spires of elitism, the common revelers reside. My previous foray being on a Tuesday, the street was relatively quiet, certainly not betraying the carnival atmosphere of this Saturday night, the bars overflowing, the broad sidewalks dotted with jugglers and troubadours, Christmas wreaths hanging from each and every light post.
Late November, the night was clear and still, the sky a tapestry of twinkling flowers. It was chilly, but obviously not as cold as it would be, though I am no expert on relative temperature; my wardrobe decisions are based on fashion, not utility. This early in the winter, my thin, black leather jacket did not cause me to stand out among legions of heavily bundled, shivering people all dreaming of a warm hearth. The other street inhabitants were dressed in much the same manner as I, hardy folk that they were, well accustomed to the raw clime.
One would think a world renowned university would create a somewhat cosmopolitan atmosphere. Strolling very slowly, letting people course past me, the