GOING FAR
"Maybe it's because of my two Russian girlfriends", answers the company director in response to my poor flattery regarding his more European accent. "Yes, that might be it", I hastily added. It was only after his self-congratulating chuckle that he paused for a while before connecting eyes – "I was joking, I don't have two Russian girlfriends".
"Where are their offices?", interrupted my father while discussing the result on the phone. "Where are the offices again?", I asked my friend – forgetting the name. I was reminded of the district, "...it's very close your father's place" they added. "It's in this district", I inform my father, "that's very close to my place", he hastily responds.
Somewhere between this revelation and the end of my call my father managed to confirm his unconditional love for me. "So you can stay at your grandmother's while in Tehran, you'll be cooked for washed after, yes, I think that's a good idea!". I thought it was a good sale's pitch. His sincerity was met with such poetry, for, not only has he recently taken over my place (in the neighbouring city he works) but he'd preempted the possibility of returning my hospitality.
"Eat this", she demands, "Don't eat that". "Wear this", she instructs, "Don't wear that". "See these people", she begs, "Don't see those". Unfortunately the extra distance between my grandmother's house and my newly found work seems to be proportional to the distance in her judgment. My father informs me that this is my grandmother's way of showing love and with each word I write it is showering upon me.
It seems it won't only be at work that I'll be sucking it in.
And so, I got the job – I now, unquestionably, suck corporate [religiously cut]
This wasn't one of the highlights of my tenuous 3rd interview with one of Iran's larger advertising agencies. Nevertheless my equally as startled responses to their business practice seemed to have made up for any ground lost in flattery. And so, I got the job – I now, unquestionably, suck corporate [religiously cut]."Where are their offices?", interrupted my father while discussing the result on the phone. "Where are the offices again?", I asked my friend – forgetting the name. I was reminded of the district, "...it's very close your father's place" they added. "It's in this district", I inform my father, "that's very close to my place", he hastily responds.
Somewhere between this revelation and the end of my call my father managed to confirm his unconditional love for me. "So you can stay at your grandmother's while in Tehran, you'll be cooked for washed after, yes, I think that's a good idea!". I thought it was a good sale's pitch. His sincerity was met with such poetry, for, not only has he recently taken over my place (in the neighbouring city he works) but he'd preempted the possibility of returning my hospitality.
"Eat this", she demands, "Don't eat that". "Wear this", she instructs, "Don't wear that". "See these people", she begs, "Don't see those". Unfortunately the extra distance between my grandmother's house and my newly found work seems to be proportional to the distance in her judgment. My father informs me that this is my grandmother's way of showing love and with each word I write it is showering upon me.
It seems it won't only be at work that I'll be sucking it in.
Posted by ddmmyyyy at
10:58 PM
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