I Already Knew I Would Leave
I was not like them. I very quickly realised where I was, and at the age of seven I already knew I would leave. I didn’t know when, or where I would go. When people asked me, what do I want to be when I grow up? I’d reply: a foreigner.
Isn’t that great? It’s from Waiting for a Hurricane by Margarita Garcia Robayo (a quickie novella in her Fish Soup collection).
The story is about characters stuck in a small Latin American town. They all want to escape and have different designs on how to do it. Some people look for green cards to America by marriage. Our protagonist becomes an air hostess, enjoying brief exits every day while simultaneously building the escape fund.
Seven though. Hah! When, dear reader, did you begin mentally packing your bags?
*
Better Out Than In
Ever since Dear Jeremy quit his job at the Guardian, I’ve missed the useful window into the worklives of others.
Thankfully, Slate now brings us Good Job to fill that gap. People write in with their job complaints and their agony aunt responds. It makes me feel glad to no longer have a jay-oh-bee.
This week, a correspondant tells the world about their colleague’s farting:
I have a co-worker who has terrible flatulence. He is an absolute misery to be around as a result.
He comes through our floor at least three or four times a day and afterward, the place stinks like a broken septic tank. The rub is that he’s also the head of our department and twice a week our team is required to meet with him to give updates on productivity and other things. These meetings usually are around an hour long, and by the time they are over I’m nearly sick. My other colleagues are similarly at the end of their ropes.
Oh baby. I used to sit next to an office farter. It was all too much. I sympethise with the letter writer.
At the same time, I’m not without sympathy for the farter. Someone wrote to New Escapologist once (hello!) to say that having to hold in your gas all day is something to hate about office jobs. So maybe the farter is also an Escapologist; maybe they want out too. And, as the wisdom goes, “better out than in.”
Sorry. Any future excerpts from this work advice column will be more Escapological and less, um, enterological.
That said, if you’re not too queasy for another worplace methane anecdote, here’s a passage I cut from The Good Life for Wage Slaves on grounds of good taste:
A patronising and overfamiliar IT guy with too much testosterone sauntered into our department one day for his usual unwanted chit chat. He sniffed the air and said “who’s got something tasty for lunch? Something garlicky?” Nobody had anything out for lunch. He’d smelled one of my farts. And liked it.
*
Letter to the Editor: I Have Just Stepped Off the Hamster Wheel
To send a letter to the editor, simply write in. You’ll get a reply and we’ll anonymise any blogged version.
Reader H writes:
Dear Robert,
In June 2016 your book saved me. I was burnt out after years of struggling as a single parent and working three jobs: cleaner, teaching assistant, and weekend shop assistant. As well as having ongoing counselling for a traumatic childhood.
I was trying so hard to make a life worth living. I ended up on antidepressants as my doctor suggested it was depression and not, as was the case, burn out. The antidepressants made me feel worse, unable to get up, washed, dressed. I felt I was at the very bottom of a deep black hole trying to claw my way out.
A friend forced me out of the house in Southampton and dropped me in the middle of Reading high street while he made sales calls in the area. Unable to face people, I found the nearest bookshop to hide in. The assistant asked what I was looking for?
“Anything about escaping life without hurting the people I love?”
Looking perplexed he led me to the “positive mental attitude” books. I searched and searched until a title caught my eye. It was called Escape Everything!
I read your book over and over. I was in that bookshop for three hours and he left me be while I read it over and over. It was exactly what I felt… life had become one long struggle of trying to make ends meet. Nothing else.
I arrived home a different person. I came off the antidepressants, wrote up my escape plan and worked my bollocks off!
Fast forward through some incredibly hectic years. I have renovated many unloved properties (my passion), giving them back their dignity and mine. I have just stepped off the hamster wheel And have many creative ideas still to pursue!
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for dropping a ladder into that hole.
To this day it is my bible. I am free to live the life I want to live and life is bloody amazing!! 😘
Thank you.
*
Foof. It’s hard to know how to respond to this one other than to say thank you for taking the effort to tell me. You’re welcome. And your new life sounds beautiful. You’re the one who did it though: you planned and acted, which is what it all comes down to. Congratulations.
Going Out the Door One Day and Never Coming Back
Thank you to the New Escapologist reader who put me onto Tramp (2006) by Thomas Espedal. It’s an excellent book. Not quite a novel, not quite a travellogue, it flies by like poetry.
Espedal doesn’t want to settle down:
I’d never been fond of houses, they were too large and unaccomodating. A house is demanding, difficult. One must learn to master a house. One must learn to dwell.
… superfluous rooms, the hostile furniture, this semi-temperate interior that speaks to us of our wasted work, our misused moneys, our dull lives.
He just wants to escape:
The Dream of Vanishing. Disappearing. Going out the door one day and never coming back.
He wants to keep on walking:
The wanderer is, according to Rousseau, a plain, peaceful man. He is free. He has left the city, he has left his family and obligations. He has said farewell work. Farewell to responsibility. Farewell to money. He has said goodbye to his friends and his love, to ambition and future. He is really a rebel, but now he has bidden farewell to his rebellion as well. He wanders alone in the forest, a vagrant.
Or gliding along by rail:
I like sitting on a train looking out of the window; seeing the landscape roll past while I tentatively read a novel: Vaksdal, Trengereid, Dale, Evanger, Voss, and the first snow, the first frost, the first kiss in the snow on the frozen stone wall down by the lake shore at Vangsvatnet; winter, summer, spring, and the train rolls past.
These are just some choice quotes that reflect our (or maybe just my) tendencies here at New Escapologist. Espedal likes other things too, such as mountaineering and driving fast cars. He’s just a guy who loves life. This comes over on the page, but quietly and elegantly so. What a great book.
Also noteworthy: Espedal walks (and climbs mountains) not in sportswear… but in a suit!
*
Sympathy with the vagrant? Issue 16: Footloose and Fancy-Free is your companion. Prefer to stay put? Issue 17: All the Way Home is yours. Open minded? Get both!
A Postcard From Monterey, c1955
It was a maximum-security prison. There was just no easy way out of it.
This guy isn’t talking about Manus Island. He’s talking about midcentury American suburban life.
After years of being “a model citizen,” he says, he dropped out and went to Monteray, a centre of counterculture, within proximity to the ocean.
And all the while I knew I had put the bars there. I’d been constructing this thing since the time I was a child.
Thanks to readers Lauren and Joe for sending this in. (It has nothing to do with LSD, by the way. The title is clickbait but it’s a lovely video).
You Call Jim Webster
Friend Reggie draws our attention to this 1995 letter from John le Carré to Stephen Fry. Fry had suffered a breakdown and done a bunk while performing in a West End play called Cell Mates. In sympathy, John le Carré writes:
if you’re in the escaping business, here’s what you do: you call Jim Webster, boat broker, in Fort Lauderdale, you charter a small motor yacht with crew out of Nassau, and you cruise the remote islands of the Exumas for 2 weeks at unbelievable cost and you will have escaped as never before. You take friends if you need them, speak or don’t speak to the crew, anchor in empty bays rather than marinas, and you escape all mankind.
So that, says Reggie, is how the other half escape. Blimey.
le Carré goes on to recommend certain places in Germany conducive to going to ground. I’m not sure why Germany, as Fry scarpered to Bruges in Belgium, but among the places he likes is Freiberg (“lots of dotty families hidden in the hills”), which is where I went to interview Jonathan of Analog Sea for our Issue 15. I can confirm it’s a beautiful place to hide. He also mentions access to libraries, which I agree are useful facilities to consider when plotting an escape: never go where books aren’t.
He goes on to give his credentials as an escape artist, “speaking as an artist in this field, albeit a failed one:”
I completely relate to your duckdive … I escaped from Sherborne to Berne (at 16), dived into a monestary in order to escape marriage, escaped to the spooks, escaped the spooks to writing, nearly at times escaped writing for the ultimate escape, and now I’m 63 so who gives a fuck anyway?
The he ends the letter with:
PS: fuck them all.
Quite right.
*
An Escapologist’s Diary: Part 81. Crash.
As you know, dear diary, I am on sabbatical. I’m taking it easy for six months as a restorative measure following a busy 2024. How, you might ask, is it going?
He Imagined Knocking the Whole Thing Down
Here’s a moment from Owlish by Dorothy Tse.
It’s a slightly creepy novel about an ageing university professor who falls in love with a life-sized music box ballerina. He goes AWOL from his depressing work and domestic lives to embark on what he sees as his last chance of adventure.
He moves into an old church on an uninhabited island, fills it with the beautiful art objects formerly boxed up in his study, writes poetry, hangs out with his doll thing, and scowls at his old workplace from a distance:
The less he went into the university, the better Professor Q felt. His mind was clearer and he felt ten years younger. He narrowed his eyes and extended his right thumb, trying to blot out the distant office building. He imagined knocking the whole thing down
He turned back to face the university and thought of himself sitting behind one of those windows, day in, day out, working like an automaton, and suddenly felt absolutely furious.
I’d say it’s amazing to find so many bloggable anti-work quotations in the books I read, when all I’m doing is trying to do is kick back and relax. But the hatred of being told what to do is all encompassing. It’s everywhere. Maybe it’s not taboo at all.
*
New Escapologist 17 is back in print for a limited time only. Baby, you know what to do.
Issue 17 is Back in Stock
New Escapologist Issue 17 is back in stock. Get your copy from the shop today, while limited stocks last. Perhaps also along with an Issue 16 or a Good Life for Wage Slaves book?
Pre-ordered copies are shipping now. Thanks to everyone who did. 🙂
I sometimes wonder if newer readers, especially those who found us by Substack, think that our print editions contain the same content as the blog and/or newsletter. They don’t! The content of our magazine is unique, high-quality material and represents our best work. The blog and newsletter are elevated marketing tools for the magazine. The real McCoy is only available in print (and epub). Enjoy!
Bring Up Irrelevant Issues as Frequently as Possible
“The World War II-era Simple Sabotage Field Manual is full of steps that office workers can take to resist leadership,” writes Jason Kobbler at 404.
Declassified by the CIA in 2008, it’s a handy booklet explaining how workers can resist Fascism in Europe.
404‘s point is that it can be used now to resist Trump and Musk in the US and, given that it’s going viral at the moment, it probably is.
What strikes me, however, is how the obfuscation techniqes are the same as ones deployed by leadership against workers who actually and perhaps insanely want to get things done. As a white-collar functionary who sometimes wanted to fix or improve things, I was constantly skuppered by this sort of bullshit. As such, I suppose, at least I know it works.
*
New Escapologist Issue 17 is back in print! Get your copy here.
