Craig, Felix, Myself, and Doug at The Presidents Dinner
Was it just the tiny office with no windows that made us crack? Or was there some bit of us, however small, that would have been friends regardless? We four were of the most peculiar creatures with naught in common. Craig was posh, Felix, gay, and Doug, nice. As for me? Well, I was American.
Twelve months gone, and we couldn’t be closer. That being said, two and a half square meters isn’t a lot of space. Just enough to accurately shoot a rubber band and hit target every time.
It was Presidents Dinner, one of those many end of year balls where they stuff you in suits, force feed you food and wash it down with a bath of free wine. Paid for by the tuition fees of yours truly. When I realized this was very nearly it. This was the beginning of the end of us, but less beginning and more end.
They’re an odd bunch. To be patronized is to meet Craig. Craig’s the type of guy you can’t say everything to all the time; however he can say anything he wants whenever he wants. But that might be on account of his first class degree, and how he’s already secured a job teaching physics in Edinburgh. Also, I’m sort of skating on thin ice after the mince pie incident. It’s nothing big, just that I lobbed a mince pie across the office at Craig for some reason or another, and it hit him in the eye. Anyone else would have probably just eaten the mince pie, Craig went to see a doctor, and later informed me that I’d scratched his cornea. I felt kind of bad about the cornea, but now he’s got moaning rights that he takes complete and utter advantage of to this day.
My own boyfriend has taken to calling Felix my “gay boyfriend,” not without a twinge of jealousy. Felix took me along shopping to find a suit for graduation, we were both standing in the aisles clueless staring at one another when he exclaims, “You’re a girl, you’re supposed to know all about this stuff!” to which I responded, “You’re gay, this is like your thing!” With the help of Mr. Sales Man, Felix got sorted with the smallest shirt they had, that ended up being only two sizes to big for him. A complication I quickly solved with a handful of safety pins and a precautionary advisement to keep his jacket on all evening. I remember the first time Felix called me one of his best friends, I was shocked- I’d thought he hated me. I think it’s that cool and collected German affection I’m still figuring out. It’s a bit different from my instinctive zealous excitement of OHMYGOD WE ARE GOING TO BE BEST FRIENDS FOR LIFE!!!!! That I tend to demonstrate. To everyone. Janitors included. Felix is a bit more, selective, with his friendship.
And Doug. Well, Doug’s just nice. That’s about it. This is Doug’s second degree, his father’s studying for a degree at Dundee University as well. They frequently meet up for coffee breaks, and study sessions. Because that’s the kind thing that nice people like Doug do. Doug also has a fierce ginger beard, and is more of a pushover than not. He’s a great person to be around when you’re fifty pence shy of a coffee.
Our office is decorated only with the momentous Wall of Fail. A tribute to each and every time we gaffed this year. Needless to say, it’s pretty crammed. There’s articles that sent an entire school of the university in uproar, denied permission to content references or images, our dissertations, our social lives, a picture of the union president wrapped only in cling film, numerous rubber ducks, and Campbell’s license plate fallen from the car he totaled from crashing into a bollard out front the union.
Hours, days, months, and innumerable chunks of time spend stuffed between those four walls. The afternoon Felix wanted us to come up with a new DUSA Media slogan was a particularly grueling one. He locked the office door and naught was allowed in or out until we came up with our slogan- marketing had made us posters that looked literally like black holes, so Felix took it upon his own small shoulders to sort out the world, or at least to get us better posters. Things got messy. I was a personal advocate for, ‘DUSA Media, better than Facebook, bigger than Jesus,’ but things don’t always go my way. Two hours later we were let out for a coffee break, and I made a run for it. We still don’t have a slogan to this day.
Come Dine With Media was our collaborated genius- a four night dinner party hosted amongst ourselves. Initially I was certain it’d be a continuous buffet of dry cereal and burnt water, but come mealtime I was shocked at how a little competitive spirit brings out the Jamie Oliver in us. From spaghetti bolognese, to a gooey ratatouille, and some (STORE BOUGHT) pigs in blanket -CRAIG. The episodes consisted of under-the-bed snooping, and behind the back bitching. Precisely what we do best. Ah right, forgot to mention that yours truly cooked up the winning feast (bacon cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate brownies -it’s all about knowing your audience) and we left Doug with the wooden spoon.
And that’s a long story kept short with so much kept out (mostly for the sake of my own dignity). Four unconventional best friends. One uncomfortable office. And some pretty top-notch banter.