Any exposure to foreign satellite television in the early 1990s was a sacred experience for me – and one that informed much of my adolescent aspirations for my place in the world. I knew early on that the world on TV was not one I lived in. When Captain Planet (the ecology-loving, mullet-sporting, spandex-loving superhero) challenged his young viewers to be part of the solution to global warming and find a recycling bin for their house, my mom handed me a blue bucket with the caveat that whatever I put it there will go in the trash heap anyway, because Pakistan didn’t recycle – but that I should have fun anyway.
So I managed my expectations and instead of depending on TV to show my current reality, I focused on using it as a way to show me my professional future. Even a cursory glance at Baywatch confirmed I didn’t have the commitment to risk melanomas while rescuing diabetic swimmers in speedos so I kept searching. Reruns of the TV show Dynasty were proof that owning an oil company wasn’t a bad job but hard to come by without access. I found my calling in daytime soap operas. I was good at drawing and so seeing characters on TV holding fashion sketch pads while plotting murders convinced me that I’d grow up to be a fashion designer like them, which is one of those jobs that remains ever glamorous.
As I grew, so did the content on my TV, and the weight of the patriarchy made me give up fabric swatches for procedural law dramas. LA Law, The Practice, Boston Legal, even Ally McBeal before it became a travesty of neurotic twitches. ‘The Law’ was like a mythic professional badge of respectability.
“What does he do?”
“He practices The Law.”
*mystical operatic music*
Negotiating was my favorite part because fighting in English seemed like a feasible career given my commitment to failing mathematics every year. Eventually one realizes that most law shows only show the characters in heated conversation either power-walking into, out of or around a corridor. It all seems so quick and fulfilling, until you see how the shows avoid mentioning the mountains of boring paperwork that make up the waking minutes of most lawyers’ lives. Still, reenacting scenes from courtroom dramas gave me the kind of prosecutorial skills I’ve since found useful in any job I’ve had.
Most recently I began watching the TV show Suits. It’s a terrible show aimed mostly at straight white men, and seeing it after the events of the last few years makes it near unwatchable. But fueled by the boredom and an elastic interest in Megan Markle, I’ve been keeping it on in the background and was surprised to find it spill into my real life.
As some of you know, I’ve spent most of my pandemic holed up in a matchbox apartment in New York wondering what I was doing with my life, mostly because I’d signed my lease a week before the pandemic shut the world down. I got a saccharine email this week from my landlord, telling me how lucky I was because he didn’t intend to increase the rent given, you know, the apocalypse.
Ordinarily I would have deferred to authority out of habit, but I realized that this was one of those moments which lawyers on TV spin into gold, so I wrote him back. I told him I had another offer for a similar place but at a third of the rent. Given that the world (and especially NY) is unlikely to open up to normalcy any time soon) it made no sense to pay pre-pandemic rates so if he could match my offer and give me a drastically reduced rent, I’d stay. I sent it off, fully expecting a response telling me to go stuff it, that there were thousands of other people bursting down the door to the apartment rental office even as I knew the truth that the building has only one other tenant than me. A few short minutes later, I get an email saying they are considering the offer but that it sounded feasible.
Now, while I know this is not a class-action lawsuit settlement for millions, anyone who has dealt with the intractability of NY landlords can tell you this is not just a victory, this is a John Grisham novel ending speech level victory. It’s also a timely reminder that we negotiate constantly; with family, lovers, friends, shopkeepers, handymen, doctors, trainers, everyone. So, the next time you are bargaining, do yourself a favour and ask for what you think you won’t get. Sometimes it works!
Write to thekantawala@gmail.com
So I managed my expectations and instead of depending on TV to show my current reality, I focused on using it as a way to show me my professional future. Even a cursory glance at Baywatch confirmed I didn’t have the commitment to risk melanomas while rescuing diabetic swimmers in speedos so I kept searching. Reruns of the TV show Dynasty were proof that owning an oil company wasn’t a bad job but hard to come by without access. I found my calling in daytime soap operas. I was good at drawing and so seeing characters on TV holding fashion sketch pads while plotting murders convinced me that I’d grow up to be a fashion designer like them, which is one of those jobs that remains ever glamorous.
When Captain Planet challenged his young viewers to be part of the solution to global warming and find a recycling bin for their house, my mom handed me a blue bucket with the caveat that whatever I put it there will go in the trash heap anyway, because Pakistan didn’t recycle – but that I should have fun anyway
As I grew, so did the content on my TV, and the weight of the patriarchy made me give up fabric swatches for procedural law dramas. LA Law, The Practice, Boston Legal, even Ally McBeal before it became a travesty of neurotic twitches. ‘The Law’ was like a mythic professional badge of respectability.
“What does he do?”
“He practices The Law.”
*mystical operatic music*
Negotiating was my favorite part because fighting in English seemed like a feasible career given my commitment to failing mathematics every year. Eventually one realizes that most law shows only show the characters in heated conversation either power-walking into, out of or around a corridor. It all seems so quick and fulfilling, until you see how the shows avoid mentioning the mountains of boring paperwork that make up the waking minutes of most lawyers’ lives. Still, reenacting scenes from courtroom dramas gave me the kind of prosecutorial skills I’ve since found useful in any job I’ve had.
Most recently I began watching the TV show Suits. It’s a terrible show aimed mostly at straight white men, and seeing it after the events of the last few years makes it near unwatchable. But fueled by the boredom and an elastic interest in Megan Markle, I’ve been keeping it on in the background and was surprised to find it spill into my real life.
As some of you know, I’ve spent most of my pandemic holed up in a matchbox apartment in New York wondering what I was doing with my life, mostly because I’d signed my lease a week before the pandemic shut the world down. I got a saccharine email this week from my landlord, telling me how lucky I was because he didn’t intend to increase the rent given, you know, the apocalypse.
Most recently I began watching the TV show Suits. It’s a terrible show aimed mostly at straight white men, and seeing it after the events of the last few years makes it near unwatchable. But fueled by the boredom and an elastic interest in Megan Markle, I’ve been keeping it on in the background
Ordinarily I would have deferred to authority out of habit, but I realized that this was one of those moments which lawyers on TV spin into gold, so I wrote him back. I told him I had another offer for a similar place but at a third of the rent. Given that the world (and especially NY) is unlikely to open up to normalcy any time soon) it made no sense to pay pre-pandemic rates so if he could match my offer and give me a drastically reduced rent, I’d stay. I sent it off, fully expecting a response telling me to go stuff it, that there were thousands of other people bursting down the door to the apartment rental office even as I knew the truth that the building has only one other tenant than me. A few short minutes later, I get an email saying they are considering the offer but that it sounded feasible.
Now, while I know this is not a class-action lawsuit settlement for millions, anyone who has dealt with the intractability of NY landlords can tell you this is not just a victory, this is a John Grisham novel ending speech level victory. It’s also a timely reminder that we negotiate constantly; with family, lovers, friends, shopkeepers, handymen, doctors, trainers, everyone. So, the next time you are bargaining, do yourself a favour and ask for what you think you won’t get. Sometimes it works!
Write to thekantawala@gmail.com