Unitasking is my “thing” I am beginning to realise. Evidenced by my inability, once I’ve begun to concentrate on any one goal for more than thirty seconds, to properly engage with any other stimulus until at least another thirty have passed. People approaching my desk are subjected to the thousand-yard stare, their mild inquiries breaking harmlessly against my Zen-like carapace. Over the years this trait has cost me friends, jobs and all kinds of sexual intercourse (probably).
It was in this delicate frame of mind I was stopped exiting my workplace last week. A young man, tan of skin and neat of suit asking me directions to a nearby street junction. After a couple of minutes struggling to grasp what he was asking me I pulled it together and managed to gesticulate a few simple turns to send him on his way. Ten minutes later I realised I had sent him in entirely the wrong direction.
I felt bad, of course, but didn’t give it much more thought until today, returning from lunch, when I passed a familiar looking bum in the remains of a fine suit begging coins in the vicinity of my weak directions. He seemed disorientated, kept mumbling about “visas” and an “important interview”. I felt guilty, but of course I didn’t give him anything. You can’t, they’ll only spend it on drink you know.