Author: Steve Cavers

It’s difficult for me to think back to that fateful day. Such painful events are best left in the past, forgotten forever. Sometimes, however, they drift back from the dark shadows of memory to be relived again.

I don’t remember the exact date, but it happened many years ago, back when I was just starting out in university. The day was a chilly day in autumn, when leaves fell relentlessly to the ground and just sat there stubbornly until the rain soaked them through and they were trodden into a pulpy mess by the hundreds of students trudging from class to class under the protection of their umbrellas or purple Gore-Tex™ jackets. That was a very long sentence.

And “a very long sentence” was exactly how a great many of the students felt about their time spent as undergrads. For years on end, we suffered unrelenting study and unpleasant food made by irritable old ladies in the cafeterias.

On one particular wet, chilly day, I woke, dressed, grabbed my jacket, dashed out the door to the bus stop. It wasn’t until I arrived on campus that I happened to look down at what I was wearing. Colours clashed like armies fighting to the death. I stood in shock, just staring at the vicious contrast between the orange shirt and my purple jacket. With a trembling hand, I clasped the jacket tight at the neck, obscuring the orange completely.

I hid in the actors’ greenroom for hours. I even missed another philosophy lecture — although I have to admit, I was looking for a reason to miss it anyway. That’s when Catherine, an actress, entered and found me still clutching my jacket.

“What’s with the hand on the collar?” she asked, frowning.

“You don’t want to know,” I said.

“No, really, ” she prodded, “what is it?”

“I… I…,” I stammered and Catherine rolled her eyes. “I made a tragic mistake this morning, Catherine.” I opened the top two buttons, revealing the shameful orange underneath. Her eyes went wide in disbelief.

“Oh my god,” she smirked, “That’s truly awful, Steve. Here, let me help.” She rummaged in her bag for a moment and produced a ballpoint pen. Very carefully, she wrote on the back of my hand, which again clutched at my collar.

“There,” she grinned. “All fixed. See you in class.” She put away the pen and dashed upstairs to the classroom.

Tentatively, I read the back of my hand. It said, WARNING. FASHION FAUX-PAS COVERING HAND.

Never again will I wear an orange shirt with a purple jacket. Never again.

Most of us learn from our mistakes. I, on the other hand, am doomed to repeat my mistakes endlessly, because I keep forgetting what I learned. That’s why I’m compiling a list of Cubicle Dweller’s Stickynotes to Self. Although I’m sure some of these could apply to someone else, I’m writing these rules for myself. I don’t expect anyone else to consider following these.

Here they are…

• Be excellent to one another. I’m stealing this bit of wisdom from the most excellent Bill and Ted. (I suspect that they’re plagiarizing that Jesus guy, but they phrase it so well.)
• Never buy anything that you wouldn’t mind losing. I’m guilty of breaking this rule repeatedly, so it merits listing near the top. It applies to cars, televisions, computers, stereos, and any other cool gadgets that you don’t necessarily need. For example, don’t put yourself into debt to buy a sports car, if losing it will cripple you financially. Accidents (and car thieves) happen.
• Neither a borrower nor a lender be. It’s funny few people are aware that this line was spoken by an addle-brained old man in Hamlet. Nonetheless, it’s good advice. Feel free, however, to give away your money if you find a good charitable recipient, but look a gift horse in the mouth. A gift of money always has strings, be they extremely subtle ones.
• Don’t wear a purple jacket with an orange shirt. This happened to me only once over ten years ago and it left unforgettable scars.

I have a lot more stickynotes to myself. I’ll share them as I discover them.