"Is this the most depressing place in the world?" O asked me. I laughed and agreed. The yellow lighting, the paper cups of shitty coffee, the maudlin staff shuffling around, the awkward chatter between fellow classmates or more often, people sat on their own. Everyone had a look of dissatisfaction about them. I said, smiling "No one here is happy with their life." They'd taken an evening course to try and remedy that. They probably felt so enthusiastic looking at the shiny prospectus, feeling that they were taking their lives in hand. Then when they begun the course in this ugly building, seeing themselves reflected in all the other unfulfilled people stirring their coffee feebly in the yellowing canteen, they felt even worse than they did before. It would take more than French level 2 or introduction to basketry to fix themselves. They'd not only tried and failed, but revealed the real depth and richness of their dissatisfaction. They'd drawn attention to it and now a niggling feeling of disappointment had been thrown open, it was a long burning ache of, well, misery.
Time to go back for the second half. Wouldn't want to waste £150 after all.
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