Twelve years late24 June, 2010
I am eight feet tall with giant strides* that reverberate around the room like thunder. Doors fear me and whisk out of sight at my approach**. HEV suits wrap themselves immediately around my massive frame as I storm through. Raaaa! I am invincible! Is this what testosterone feels like?!
As part of the latest Cultural Exchange, I have finally gotten around to playing Half-Life. So far I have learned that:
- In the future, we use holographic videos recorded by armoured ladies to convey short messages to our colleagues. Real Men don’t write memos.
- In the future, if we wish to view the floor, we rotate about our heads in order to get our feet out of the way.
- In the future, research is conducted by standing around in corridors refusing to talk to anyone.
* If, in real life, you are 5’4″ with a tendency to amble everywhere, this is quite disconcerting.
** unlike Iarnród Éireann‘s carriage doors, which stay closed until they detect that you have assumed them to be manual or broken and reached for the door handle. Then they slowly and sarcastically slide aside, mocking you.