For a liberal paper.
So, it's like an assignment written to the deeds of TV Tropes, rather than Wikipedia. Is any good?
--
As a person who has seen and done many, many things; eaten many foods, drunk many drinks, associated with peoples that transcend culture, politics, religion and often common sense, I had a great deal of trouble trying to figure what would be a decent testing of my limits. The straining of my comfort, so to speak, and a way of forcing myself into a situation that I could yet recall and recover from.
After fifteen minutes of pointless pondering, I sat down and decided to use some actual brainpower. What, exactly, would be the point of this? What was meant by ‘unfamiliar’? What did unfamiliar mean to me?
To which I digressed to myself: Something is unfamiliar because it is a situation or an object to which I have not experienced (Or been able to reference to) in the course of my young life. Consider, then, why would this assignment ask me to write about it? I must write about it because the unfamiliar instils a new reaction, and not just a reaction but one unburdened by previous encounters or a foreknowledge of how to deal with it. So, which emotion should I strive towards?
Joy is remarkable in that it is difficult to search for (More being something found), so I decided to revert to introspection. What is, for me, the rawest of emotion, of reaction? Lust? Subsiding adolescent hormones and sundry encounters of the intimate kind has dulled that to a degree. Anger? The Internet took care of that, as did a personal philosophy. Sorrow? I left those years behind when I hit thirteen. And then it hit me: I was looking too high. There was only one biological imperative, to avoid destruction and to propagate due to the aforesaid.
The emotion was disclosed to me: Fear. I must enter a safe, liveable situation wherein I would be subjected to fear. But in a safe locale, fear is difficult for me due to the powers of human rationalization. I could not go to the zoo and be frightened of snakes behind glass, so I would have to find a less rational spectrum: Phobias.
For me, there are two major phobias: Bees and heights. As Manikau is some distance away (Eliminating the Bees for an option), I walked out of AUT slightly perplexed, checking my position using the ever-useful Sky Tower as a compass.
‘How far down are the supports?’ I asked of myself, “To stand so tall and so weighted and yet… and yet… so tall? So high? So accessible to a student with no day job and a low budget? Aha!’
And thus, the plan was laid out: I would spend three hours on the observation deck of the Sky Tower, as close to the edge as I could manage, and shave off some of my fears of potential energy suddenly having its fatal way with me.
It was a pleasant afternoon on the twelth of March, and my heart was both heavy with apprehension and cholesterol as I descended into the tunnel of tourist-trap souvenirs that led to the dreaded pillar of evil. Most people may say that I was overreacting, but even there my normal feelings of ennui turned into something that played the xylophone on my ribs.
I paid at the gate, received my ticket (Having realized that I required to take photos, I a) realized I’d forgotten my camera and b) Realized I didn’t have a camera to forget about bringing. I kept the ticket for verification purposes) and walked with no slight trepidation into the elevator. I was surprised how small it was, but continued to wait until the other two bound heveanwards walked in. The door closed, the little glass panel underneath my feet showed me just how far it was to the bottom, my stomach descended with the counterweight.
For the first ten seconds, I was confused. I had seen the elevator moving up the tower several times through the glass panels outside, but so far there was only concrete. Perhaps I had not seen close enough? Were they there simply in case the elevator stuck and had to be opened from the outside?
And then the glass panels heaved into view. At this point there are two differing opinions as to what happened upon reacting to the sudden knowledge that I was now 100M above sea level.
1) Opinion of the two other passengers: One Dale Ogden (Esquire) squealed like a little girl and turned to look downwards to conceal the view, whereupon he noticed the distance between him and the beginning of the elevator’s ascent through the glass panel. He squealed once more, gibbered slightly, and turned to face the back of the elevator with his eyes closed until the ride reached the observation deck. There was much mirth and merriment as he stumbled out of the lift, looking slightly green and very pale.
2) Opinion of one Dale Ogden (Esquire): Dale Ogden bellowed in outrage at the puny little world that stretched before him, loudly intoning that he would rule all he could see and put all dissenters to the sword. He stood proudly, his might bosom thrust in front of him as he surveyed his future kingdom as the two peons within the chamber begged and grovelled for their pitiful lives. At the height of ascent, the doors opened and he strutted forward, awing all those who witnessed the appearance of this king of kings.
The view was quite astounding, although it must be mentioned that upon my glorious entrance I was unable to venture onto the platform with the glass bottoms. The fear was quite apparent, as my imagination bound into overdrive with the scenario of the floor suddenly giving way and leaving me with ten seconds of freefall (Baring smashing into the side of the tower and leaving a bloody trail on my way down) to scream to my death.
It was really quite vivid; I can now understand the reasons why other people choose not to exercise imagination so much.
For three hours, I wandered the deck, getting closer and closer to the edge (Without nearing the glass bottoms, lacking any kind of trust in something only three cm thick) and breaking the time into areas where I would test my phobia and areas where I would look over the harbour and marvel at the subtle art before me. From this height, I could see the large-scale effects of a high wind on the waters, matched with the shifting patterns of sunlight and shade. To have a subtle miracle in view like that, a canvas of dark blue and yellow and cerulean, was something I knew would make the ascent worth it entirely.
I also realized, from this height, that Auckland has far more trees than I had imagined. When I was younger, and walking Queen Street, I marvelled at how even in the busiest district there were so many trees in the sidewalk. Now I noted that there wasn’t a suburb that wasn’t covered with them. I then decided, in between watching the shadows move in from a closing front and edging closer to the circumference of the ring, that I was thirsty, and could use light refreshment. Lo and behold, the Atomic Café was right beneath me.
But alas! As I went down the stairs, I saw every single chair was right up against the edge! What appetite was this? What would stand in my stomach, knowing that within seconds the concrete could crumble and send me plummeting to my fearsome and somewhat messy death?
But as I reached the bar, I noted that the appearance of Pavlova in the sweets aisle was enough to still my leaping digestive system. A flat white and a thin treat later, and I was leaning over the side (Or as close as I could manage) to try and figure out why there was a chessboard on the roof of a slightly smaller building opposite the National Bank Tower.
A second revelation hit me, along with a third.
One: The coffee here was actually rather good.
Two: There were an immeasurable amount of air conditioners in all the towers.
As I pondered the ramifications of the second, I realized that I had been trying to figure out whether or not Air conditioners still delivered CFCs into the ozone in this day and age, that I had been staring endlessly towards the ground and people-watching while my coffee grew cold. Some small part of my phobia was at least beginning to fade away. Although I still didn’t like cold coffee.
I noted my three hours were up and my nerves were close to shot. I descended again (With less screa- posturing) and declined having my picture taken (Cost too much, and didn’t show me on the tower) at the gate. I noted that perhaps the next time I go up, perhaps I’d be able to stand on the glass bottoms again. Hell, perhaps I’d even bungee off the top!
I headed home. Dinner waited. The pavlova had made me hungry again.
Questions:
1) How does that tower stay up? Isn’t there a limit to the carrying capacity of concrete?
2) How much does it cost Sky city to freight up the staff?
3) What if the elevator sticks? Is there a ladder?
4) For that matter, can they cut through the outside and risk toppling it?
5) Is there a stairwell?
6) Are there any counter-terrorist measures?
7) What’s the annual tourist income?
8) Just how much radio are we getting bombarded with on that thing?
9) Who tested the 82km rule?
10) For that matter, is working the Sky Tower considered a perk for employees by management?
11) If there were a beehive stuck in the tower, how long would I have until I collapsed into a gibbering wreck?
12) Is the Sky Tower still the tallest building in the Hemisphere?
13) How do they get supplies up there in bulk? Cranes?
14) Who decided they should build that thing, anyway?
15) How deep are the supports?
16) How is maintenance done?
17) When is maintenance decided to be done?
18) Why are my hands still shaking?
19) Do I have post-traumatic stress disorder?
20) Has anyone pointed out that the entire thing looks like the big man above’s shooting up with that tower? Seriously, giant IV needle vibes!