The Category Story • Design
Part 7 of my epic all-encompassing homepage domination story.
In Part 6, our hero ran for President as an honest politician. He didn’t win. So he decided to become a designer.
If you would like to start at the beginning:
I decided to begin my career as a designer by looking for a funky place to do my designing. I read that designers like funky spaces. I am not sure exactly what “funky” means, but I hope it doesn’t mean I have to work in a smelly building. I would rather get a nice-smelling place and play some Sly and The Family Stone and Ohio Players and Earth, Wind and Fire albums to make the place funky enough to design in.
Then I thought maybe I should go with a minimalist workspace. Like outer space. I thought about checking what space on the International Space Station goes for. But after some consideration, I figured the commute was probably a killer. So I scrapped that idea. Then I considered getting a giant yellow orb to work in and calling it Hamster Ball Design.
In the end, I decided to only work in coffee shops and sandwich shops. I figured if it’s good enough for writers, it’s good enough for this designer. All I need is a Mac or an iPad and WiFi access. Boom. No rent or maintenance and easy access to food and caffeine. Perfection!
My first design project was a cube. I made it square, and flat on all sides. It was a huge success. Apple called. I followed that up with a sphere. Things were starting to snowball. I actually designed a snowball for Nike when rumors of professional snowball fighting started circulating in the media. And just because it was mainly — alright, only — on my Culture Vulture media empire is pure coincidence.
I was really enjoying being a designer until one day a potential customer came into the sandwich shop and asked me to design something with wiggly lines. It gave me the willies. I nearly fainted. Actually, I did faint. Apparently, a steady diet of triple mocha chocolate espresso coffees with three sugars and cream; plus thick sandwiches made of bread with seeds and crumbs and tree bark on them, and two pounds of meat inside; and pastries severed in plastic wrappers is not exactly healthy. I should have known when I ordered some skinny jeans online and my laptop actually laughed at me.
So there I was stretched out flat on my back on the floor of the sandwich shop, noticing how awful the ceiling design was and barely clinging to life. Thank goodness I had a client who called 911 because all the writers were too busy making sure they didn’t miss a day of their six-million-days-in-a-row writing challenge to notice I had fallen. Frankly, I think some did notice, but being introverts they didn’t want to have to talk to anyone on the phone, or have to interact with paramedics. So they kept their eyes straight ahead on their laptop screens hammering out another essay on how to beat writer’s block or what they learned so far from their writing challenge.
I was rushed to the nearest local hospital that accepted my insanely expensive self-employed medical insurance and began my fourteen-hour wait to see someone employed in the medical field who was not yet a doctor.
Spoiler: I lived. But once again, my life went through another major change.
To be continued in the part 8: Health