OK, deconstruction really does work. I just tried it. The following story is dedicated to VL Carey (see previous post).
The temperature reached somewhere around 90 today in the Boston area. I sought refuge in the airconditioned comfort of Starbucks, but decided to return to my room around 7pm. The heat and humidity was almost unbearable, with no rain in sight yet...
I discovered last night that the small electric fan provided in my room was broken (after plugging it into various outlets and shaking it around a few times). So just now I called the on-duty residence coordinator and asked for another fan. I mean, really, not too much to ask. My neighbor got a fan AND a sofa AND a table, all I got was a lousy chair and a small desk.
Anyway, I digress... There were no extra fans available. At this point I could have succumbed to despair (or just checked out of this creaky joint and paid for a hotel room). Instead, I thought: How can I queer this situation?
A closer examination of the broken fan (text of terror) revealed issues (layers of meaning) I had not seen before. What I thought was faulty wiring (God's judgment) was actually a bent cage and a disengaged gear shaft (faulty interpretation)... or whatever that crap that holds the blade to the motor is really called.
If only I had a screwdriver (sound exegesis) I could remove the cage, unbend it and try to reattach the pieces inside (hermeneutics). Darn, no screwdriver... Anywhere... I tried a spoon, my room key and an old clothes peg (ineffective tools of exegesis). Nope, not coming off.
So, as sweat started to stream down my forehead and into my eyes, my inner lesbian asserted herself. I deconstructed the bloody thing with my bare hands (social location) — with a huge grunt I ripped the front of the cage off with my fingers (may God forgive me). Now with blood dripping from my hand, I reassembled the fan (text) in a manner pleasing to me, plugged it in, and voila...
Five minutes and two bandaids later, a fresh breeze (reading) at last!
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