White Matter

First Day

Day 1

I arrived early for my first day. Once again I took the bus, though the powder-blue suit was back in its closet and I was dressed instead in an open-neck shirt over which I had put on my most presentable hoodie. Pretty much the standard uniform, these days, for the non-customer-facing professional.

I also carried a man-bag thing, the closest I have to a briefcase. It was empty, but it showed I was prepared. I felt freshly hatched into this new world of employment and wanted no hint of the artist's shamble of my life-before.

Arriving with a good half hour to spare, I found a coffee shop across the office park from the SD building. Now that I was an earner again, I could afford to pay good money for decent coffee. In this case, a large latte that could double as breakfast. The Asian girl who served me seemed unnaturally cheerful for the time of day. A discreet logo on her beige uniform told me that, despite the café's No Label artisan chic, I was safely in the maw of a warm and cuddly chain franchise, could expect lowest-common-denominated products delivered with MacDonald's-like levels of uniformity.

I smiled at her to convey just how good I felt to be out and about with good reason on this chill morning – not just wandering alone and aimless in an excuse to get out of the house, my life over the last few months. Acknowledging my gesture with a demure dip of the head, she turned away to serve the next customer.

Choosing a seat with a view of the courtyard, I pulled out my phone and began to tap my thoughts. I had started a diary, a private journal. A resolution to myself: if I am going to make a go of this writing thing, then I am going to do it properly.

My thoughts were a little slow in coming. Instead I let my attention wander. The courtyard appeared occupied by an unusual number of the casually and idiosyncratically dressed, my favourite being a man in Buddhist robes printed in a khaki camouflage pattern instead of the customary saffron. Of course, I didn't know what normal was for this neighbourhood, at this time of day. Perhaps the high-tech office park offered a superior class of park bench. Perhaps there was a Greenpeace office nearby. A free Hari Krishna kitchen? Still, there was a cleanliness to them that argued against their being vagrants.

I noted, too, an unusual preponderance of facial hair. According to the signpost I had seen on my way in, The Cluster wasn't just an office park, it was also a "technology hub". So the presence of bearded engineers wasn't out of place. There was something about these courtyard loiterers, though, that didn't fit that mould. They belonged, I decided, to a different tribe. One thought followed another as I pondered what faculty it was in myself that allowed such fine distinctions to be detected from no more information than an idle glance. If I had understood correctly, this was what Spurious Developments was seeking to understand and decode, this ability for brains to perform pattern recognition (the term had come up several times in yesterday's visit). Despite my enthusiasm for the job, I wasn't sure I felt entirely comfortable with their project. The fragments of artist's soul that remained within me rebelled at the idea of some work of mine being put before a machine, its worth to be assessed.

My daydream was interrupted by the dregs of my coffee cup. It had been good coffee. Looking around at my immediate surroundings, I found myself favourably inclined toward the understated ambience of the café's interior, just as some focus group somewhere must once have predicted I would be. I used to be an artist, now I was to be a wage-earner. We all like to think of ourselves as individuals, but there are times when it's nice just to feel yourself slap-bang in the middle of the target demographic. When it came to caffeinated beverages at least, it seemed I was still an integral member of society.

I checked the time and saw that I needed to get to work. Too late now to write these observations into my journal, I left them to make their own way to posterity.