So, word reaches me, working out loud (#WOLyo!) under the stairs at work, from two separate sources within minutes of each other – surely a meaning to this then – that Wes Craven has been here years before me, in the 1991 movie The People Under The Stairs.
According to IMDb,
“Two adults and a juvenile burglar break into a house occupied by a brother and sister and their stolen children and can’t escape.”
Well, here I am, and there are escape routes left and right, but I’m hanging in there. Day one was very tiring because the spot light feels on, non-stop. It was also highly nurturing. Day two has been more muted, those people who were simply intrigued can go back to work; it is for the intrepid to return under the stairs, to renegotiate the terrain.
A tagline from the movie reads:
In every neighborhood there is one house that adults whisper about and children cross the street to avoid.
Is that my house, under the stairs, with me calling out plaintively, “Working out loud, sharing my knowledge, who will join me, hello? Hello?!”
Maybe. Still, another hotdesk friend, at least two conversations – rich and direct – that would not otherwise occur, plenty of sharing and laughing through two pecha kucha presentations. I practiced my craft, in perpetual beta. I talked about work at a meta level with some colleagues. It is good to reflect.
Without paranoia, I suddenly wonder: are people taking the elevator to avoid what goes on….under the stairs? <insert a ghostly monotone here, kick in the smoke machine…>
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