Morjes!

Welcome to my blog. I write about fitting in, sticking out, and missing the motherland as a serial foreigner.

Photobomb

There's this thumb drive that I've had for years that I use for work stuff, for conference presentations, and even for my job interview in Finland in 2015 - in other words, I use it for all my high-stakes Power Point needs. All the folders are discreetly labeled and I always make the standard effort to pull the files I need from the thumb drive and transfer them to the computer before the projector is turned on. But of course, there is always the chance that someone is looking over my shoulder, or a screen is on when I don't expect it to be, or whatever. I've never had a problem with anyone seeing something they're not supposed to.

Last week I learned just how lucky I have been: when I took the thumb drive to a photo shop to print out some pictures, their machine displayed my files in icon format and what popped up but a photo of Jeremy's BFF wearing a skin-tight leotard!!!!! (Photo intentionally blurry to protect James MacDonald's identity.)

photobomb.jpg

I burst out laughing the moment I saw it but then my laughter was overcome by chills of horror at what might have been. That photo has been lurking on my thumb drive ALL THIS TIME, and were it not for the grace of God (I assume), it could have popped up at work, at a conference, or at a job interview if Windows Explorer were set to display my files with icons instead of file names. That's how close I have been to abject humiliation. Waaaaay too close for comfort, and I just NEVER KNEW.

In case you're wondering how/why this photo is on my thumb drive: the story is that when Jeremy's BFF James moved away from Sharjah in 2014, Jeremy made them matching shirts featuring this image. And apparently, as I now know, he used my thumb drive to transport the image to the t-shirt printing shop. Now, as for why the photo itself exists, like, why is James wearing a leotard...I don't exactly know.

October 27th, outsourced

Election nostalgia

Election nostalgia