Whether or not this is tongue-in-cheek, I'll never know. (That's my customary pithy prefix out of the way) Half-fiction, half-truth, but which is which?

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If you can't do this, you're truly beyond hope, I told myself, but a second later I knew that I would be standing here an hour later with my head hung in shame. They're just children! You can talk to them!, the inner voice prompted, as though that would change things. I briefly flirted with the idea of actually doing this, but those old feelings came back, and I knew it was no use. They had put their foot down, nothing was going to happen, and I was going to stand there for an hour. Now convinced of my predicatement, I began to lament my situation. Oh God, I should've stopped this earlier, now look where I am. I had stood by mutely when I was somehow thrown into the situation; I was expecting something menial at the time, maybe lifting benches, setting up tables, all things I could handle to a certain extent. I was told however that it was something far easier. Great! I can get out of here soon, I happily thought to myself, eagerly waiting to be told what trivial activity we had to perform. "All you have to do is go around and talk to them, and tell them about your experiences here and what they should expect". I wish there were a way to capture the change in my inner-face when I realized just what was required; it's all so funny, really. I picked up snippets on what this was all about. "They're gifted students..interested in coming to this uni". I was rapidly seeking escape routes, at the same time telling myself Run away from this and you'll never live it down. At that point I realized that I was downright fed-up with the whole thing, and wished that I'd stayed at home. Hey, if I did, I could be listening to what Lou Reed thought of Andy Warhol.

I made several very calculated steps, trying to determine whether I could perhaps find someplace that would keep me out of sight of everyone else. Again, as I was thinking this, I was being told off; You're really scraping the bottom of the barrel here, you do realize. I surveyed these tiny enemies that had me surrounded, and hoped none of them noticed me standing there awkwardly. Luckily, they were all far too busy talking amongst themselves to notice someone nearly splitting in two from ludicrous nervousness. "Maybe talk about what goes on in an average day?", I think one piece of advice was. I imagined what such a conversation would go like, but it ended up with me explaining how I'd analyse Morrisey's lyrics and search for beauty in software design. Sure, these young 'uns would love talking to someone like me. Maybe I'd start off with a Proxy pattern and work my way up to one of Knuth's books. Oh lord, why was I not told before-hand? Why should it matter at all?, I was angrily asked. Of course it shouldn't, I angrily responded, But it just does. I can't simply will this away.

With these various mental excursions going on, I think a few minutes had somehow passed. It was at this stage that I began to believe that one the organizers was eyeing me curiously, wondering of course why I'd agreed to help, only to stand about with a glazed look in my eye. This was a royal bind; I performed a quick weighing, and decided that incurring the wrath of the people in charge would be a far worse fate than some trivial embarassment. Heck, I was used to the latter, so would one more make any difference? (I remembered at this stage what a jilted Morrisey had once asked)

There was no way out now, of course. I had to try to talk to some of them, making sure of course that a supervisor would see it - otherwise the fall would totally be in vain. I scanned the groups, looking at who seemed least likely to embarass me publicly. The smaller the better, I thought. They all seemed pretty big from where I was standing, but I tried to keep my cool. You've been through worse, I comforted myself. I saw one group that looked less intimidating than the others, and I marched slowly towards them. Get rid of the bag, they'll probably think you're some random student passing by. Too late for that, I couldn't just ditch it on the ground now. One of them noticed me approaching, and so I went into social mode. I remember how I first heard that line - Alice climbs into her human form. It seemed more appropriate somehow. A moderate beam and a pleasant "Hi" should do the trick. "Hey" was the response - Going good! Now let's just hope someone's making a note of this. I blundered through some polite questions, met with equally polite answers. Not a bad kid, I thought, trying to picture myself at his age. So many years ago... "So, I take it you like science?" I said, at this stage totally clueless as to how the exchange of pleasantries could proceed. "'Course not, it's boring", he replied with a matter-of-factness that I'd lost touch with over the years. Ah, right. Ok, see you fellas! I searched for a mild (yet witty) comeback, but offered a chuckle only. I asked whether he was more into business, economics, that sort of thing. "Nope". Probably too young to know what he wants to do; and why not? I haven't got a clue what I want to do, and I'm almost out of this place. I told him so, but he merely smiled with a puzzled look on his face. Poor kid, imagine having to come all the way here, only to talk to a classy person like me. A silence followed and the boy, clearly disinterested by this stage, proceeded to talk to his group about lord knows what. No doubt on whether the Stooges really were the first punk band, eh?

At least you tried, I said to myself, but it didn't help so much. Would it help if I tried again? What's the rush, I figured, and felt like I earned another five minutes of strolling aimlessly, pretending that I was doing something of worth. Oh lord, this was not going good. I glanced at my watch, and saw I had a good half-hour remaining. I saw a stairway that would take me far from the eyes of everyone, especially the supervisors, but I couldn't do it. Don't you even think about it, you maniac. I quietly looked out to the distance, and noticed pieces of glass lying indiscreetly in the field overlooking us. Everything has a story, doesn't it? I started to wonder whether I was a bad person. I didn't think so, but I wondered what the supervisor was thinking now. I caught her glancing in my general direction for a brief second, and imagined what she must be thinking. If she were polite, probably Useless. Half of me agreed, but the other half was growing angry and defiant, defending myself. I wasn't warned! You can't expect me to do something like this on the spot! More than all this, though, was a growing sense of boredeom with the whole thing. It would be over soon enough, and I could tuck it all away, and carry on as normal. There are no villains here, just circumstances, I feel like saying, but I'm not quite sure what that means.

"How did it go?", I think someone asked me an hour later. I had the nerve to say that it was ok, and then decided to move away as quickly as possible from the area. I knew that I would come back in a few weeks and feel nothing at all staring at the place, no ghosts to torment me, just the sound of people carrying out their everyday routine. Perhaps in a few years, some of them would be sitting there, remembering the precise moment they decided this place was for them. I very much suspect I will be there too, mulling about, itching to go home and think beside the books and dust.