Experimenting at the Arboretum

Don’t worry, it’s not as sexual as it sounds. (I left those bits out.)

The Other here shall remain unnamed and referred to only by the first letter of their name - N. Sorry for the elusiveness, which I dislike, but it’s necessary here for reasons that shall remain unarticulated. 

As we were eating our staff dinner after work on Saturday night (hand made tagliatelle - reminded me of dad’s, but thinner = more skilful. Sorry dad, I prefer yours, but in objective pasta-making criteria, thinner sheets are more highly regarded), AS we were eating (sorry - my sentences meander too much), one of my coworkers suggested we go out for drinks. Now, despite the anxiety it would have caused me, I would have gone, just to challenge myself, and because he happens to be very attractive. But alas (not really alas), I had already arranged to see N after work. And while a part of me was like, damn, missed opportunity to expand my narrow-ass social circle, the reality is I would far prefer to see N. So I crossed Northbourne Avenue (aware of the raised eyebrows of boss and coworkers alike - that is Not Sa’s Way Home), and got into their car, which had been waiting for me. 

I had expected that, as usual, we would go back to my room and hang out there and talk. Usually, I took my dinner home and ate it in my room in N’s company, but I had eaten at work that day because I had asked for my tips and my boss takes forever to assemble them (is he trying to decide how much to leave out?). Anyway, I had already eaten, and N parked outside my college as usual. Then they said, “I have to go test something at the Arboretum. You don’t have to come.” Before I knew them as I do now, I would have been hurt, thinking that they were trying to get rid of me. In fact, I remember being so embarrassed, leaving their car at 12:30am one night, because they had said “you should probably go to sleep instead of wasting your time talking to me.” I’ve since learnt that these dismissive remarks are in fact directed towards themself; a protective mechanism, being as they are dis-orientingly unconfident. The day after, I stayed in their car till 3. And so, I knew by this point that “I have to go test something at the Arboretum. You don’t have to come.” means, “Do you want to come test something at the Arboretum with me?” 

(Oh god, I hope I’m right. They’re going to read this. Imagine if they WERE actually, all these times, trying to get rid of me.)

So, as I have learnt to do, I invited myself. We went upstairs briefly to grab my film camera (yes, mock me, it was pitch black outside. We’ll see who’s laughing when the film’s developed.) And we drove to the Arboretum, where I’ve never been. I know - 3 years in Canberra, including many ANU formal events, and I’d never been. I’d admired the tiny little trees, like the plastic figurines of a train set, while driving past, and that was all I had needed.

The first experiment, the original intent, was not explained to me up until after it had failed. N drove up to a fenced area and punched some elusive numbers into a pad. They tried many times. It did not work. We drove off. I was still very confused. I knew they were withholding explanation deliberately. Eventually, they told me: years ago, they had been given the code to the private function area of the arboretum because their band was playing there. They couldn’t figure out if they’d changed the passcode, or if he’d remembered it wrong. Neither was very helpful. An underwhelming experiment. Nevertheless, we got out and peered in: something strange was going on, including a man in white military dress and a woman in full kimono. 

So much for that. They then drove us up to the top of Dairy Farmer’s Hill and we watched the lights. Cars, as they drove further through the road, looked like they were pushing a power bar lower and lower. There was a lot of gold. (Thought: maybe “I have to go test something at the Arboretum. You don’t have to come.” doesn’t mean “Do you want to come test something at the Arboretum with me?” but, “I want to take you to the Arboretum but I’m too shy to not use an excuse”. I think I’m probably overanalysing).

The second set of experiments occurred driving back down the hill later on. N was explaining ABS to me, and comparing it to the old braking system (how N knows so much about everything, from cars to wine to music, is a mystery to me, and something that I aim towards). So we decided we would test it out. They had tested it before (they like to test things, in case you haven’t noticed), so it was more just for my sake, but exciting nevertheless. They accelerated down Dairy Farmer’s Hill fast, and I held on to their right leg (the foot of which was under the brake). I was scared. I felt the whiplash and the scary noise and the shuddering of the brake pedal through the vibrations in their leg (like the vibration of mattress springs travelling from their mouth to our ears against the bed). 

The emergency brake system was tested about three times, and then, as we drove through ANU back to my college, they parked in a random carpark and we commenced experiment 3. This one was more vulnerably-borne. N had mentioned that they often gets self-conscious at red lights, worried that the cars next to them or the pedestrians walking in front of them can hear their music playing from inside the car and think it obnoxious, and, of course, worried about the vulnerability that comes from people knowing the music you listen to. (N plays me songs from their library, but never lets me scroll through - and I’d die before I let them do the same to me). I proposed this experiment: I’d get out of the car, close the door, and N would crescendo the song from silent until I indicated that I could audibly hear the song. It didn’t take long; it didn’t take much volume. N was aghast. I was thinking about whether the same was true of my car - their anxiety had never occurred to me. An anxiety not occurring to me is a novelty.

I suppose a fourth experiment could have been my experimenting with shutter speed and makeshift lighting in the dark. But, other than that, that is all that is relevant to this blog posts’s title. I find myself insecure that this post is boring and lame - which, let’s be real, it probably is. But I’ve typed this all out now (on the plane from Dubai to Milan - ooh foreshadowing!) so I may as well post it. This algorithmic millenium favours output (so far).