That's not what I called it, but that's what it was all about. It was taking care of minor details on a meaningless quest to get them all in order. I turned in my final plans. There were three parts, detailing one site plan: a dimension page, a grading page, a landscape page. In all three I hid small easter egg surprises for my teacher. It's not that I felt any malice towards my prof. or his profession, but I didn't like whiling away the hours in the computer lab squinting my way towards a grade in front of a screen. I had to do more than copy straight some bullshit plans for an office building that has already been built long before I knew it existed.
The final sheet had a few, not so subtle, passive aggressive markings. Instead of filling out the entire landscape planting roster I made up stuff. I just didn't feel like doing data entry for an extra thirty minutes, copying verbatim a meaning list of stats: genus, species, common name, size, number, comments x50.
Fuck that. I filled out the Latin and vernacular, but I don't think landscape artists have a standard size "big," "huge," or "so-so" bush. Nor do I think that it's common to count the number of Crepe Myrtles as "more than a few, but not a lot," or my favorite, instead of writing a number, putting down "orange."
"How many, Tim?"
"Purple."
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