Anglofile Kaci Carpenter Western Kentucky University, [email protected]
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Western Kentucky University TopSCHOLAR® Masters Theses & Specialist Projects Graduate School 5-2011 Anglofile Kaci Carpenter Western Kentucky University, [email protected] Follow this and additional works at: http://digitalcommons.wku.edu/theses Part of the Creative Writing Commons Recommended Citation Carpenter, Kaci, "Anglofile" (2011). Masters Theses & Specialist Projects. Paper 1064. http://digitalcommons.wku.edu/theses/1064 This Thesis is brought to you for free and open access by TopSCHOLAR®. It has been accepted for inclusion in Masters Theses & Specialist Projects by an authorized administrator of TopSCHOLAR®. For more information, please contact [email protected]. ANGLOFILE A Thesis Presented to The Faculty of the Department of English Western Kentucky University Bowling Green Kentucky In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirement for the Degree Master of Arts By Kaci Carpenter May 2011 ANGLOFILE Date Rec~mme ded ill1/J I &46 Dr. Dale Rigby ~/f71uJ~ Dr. Eli eth Weixel fi1Office o~'.nt?:!.f:and Research ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Thanks must go first to my thesis committee, especially Dr. David J. Bell for agreeing to chair, as well as Dr. Dale Rigby and Dr. Elizabeth Weixel for their fantastic feedback and support. Without their infallible guidance this body of work would never have reached its conclusion. Chick lit does live on, despite nary a Cosmo or Bridget Jones film in sight. To Madre, Padre, and my own “Emily,” Kaity Jo: Thanks for keeping me sane and telling me I could plow through this when I doubted I’d ever see it end. Thanks to Elliot, Di, and Nana for sitting through my hour long phone calls and for giving me more support than you know. Love to all. To my Val and Dr. Kelley Logan: much gratitude for emotional support, advice, editing, and chocolate. Also to my officemates and my softball girls: you each put joy into my days and laughter into my evenings. I dedicate this piece to every Anny still in search of her Prince William. iii TABLE OF CONTENTS Page ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ................................................................................. iii ABSTRACT............................................................................................................ v CHAPTER I……………………............................................................................ 1 CHAPTER II……………………………………….............................................. 23 CHAPTER III ……………………………............................................................ 41 CHAPTER IV …………………………….............................................................47 CHAPTER V ……………….................................................................................. 70 CHAPTER VI ……………………......................................................................... 93 CHAPTER VII……………………........................................................................ 104 CHAPTER VIII……………………....................................................................... 125 CHAPTER IX……………………...........................................................................136 iv ANGLOFILE Kaci Carpenter May 2011 Pages 145 Directed By: David J. Bell, Dale Rigby, Elizabeth Weixel Department of English Western Kentucky University Anny Sterling is stuck. After a freak accident that left her father disabled and without a steady income, she returned home after one semester of college to help pay the bills while her older sister Emily fled to Europe to spend her time chasing dark-haired men named Franco and Pablo. At twenty-five, Anny now spends her days at the local insurance agency running errands for other people and reciting the alphabet song in the file room. There’s little to no hope for advancement as she is short the required college hours to qualify for even an associate degree, but she can’t leave the job. The only thing keeping Britophile Anny sane is her daily dream of one day winning the lottery and moving her family to an old English castle. However her weekly daydreams come to a halt when not only does she encounter her real-life Prince William, but Emily decides to make a return appearance after a nearly six year absence. Ultimately, Anglofile is the story of a girl too wrapped up in a culture that’s not hers to notice what’s happening in the one that is. v CHAPTER I Buckingham Palace contains over 77,000 square metres of floor space. Tapestries hundreds of years old, priceless paintings, as well as 760 windows and 1,514 doors make up the interior of Queen Elizabeth’s official London residence, the interior of which is kept in perfect order and cleaned by a portion of the over four hundred people who call the palace their workplace. Queen Elizabeth II meets with the Prime Minister and various foreign dignitaries in the Queen’s Audience Room, a high-ceilinged chamber covered in white and enhanced with gilded edges, mahogany furniture with curved feet, and the smell of sweet pink and white blossoms. Twelve hours a day, I alternate between sitting and standing on the dirty floor of a room smaller than my closet. Six head-high beige filing cabinets press against the walls, all but obscuring the 35-year-old wallpaper (the roses so faded that the flowers themselves look wilted). The room is a permanent shelter for these musty scents of paper and ink, as well as a long burnt-out strawberry candle that no one in the office will throw away. The only window in the room faces inside to the lobby of the office, where rests a bare couch and coffee table arrangement that has not changed since I was twelve. I pick up a thin manila folder from the gargantuan “To Be Filed” stack and examine its tab (“Alex McWherter- Misc. Claim Reports”) before heading to the corresponding cabinet and rifling through its bottom drawer. Gradually, my ankles begin to complain so I slide to the dusty, uncarpeted concrete. Three weeks into working at the Franklin-Watson Insurance Agency and I learned the hard way not to wear my nicest black slacks to work on filing day. Six years into this job I had learned not to care; dust was an accepted way of life, just like Parker-Bowles was an accepted mistress to Prince 1 Charles during the Lady Di years. We all knew about it; it just wasn’t proper to mention its existence. Picking up the next folder on top of my stack, I begin to sing under my breath. “Aye bee cee dee ee eff gee, ach eye jay kay elleminopee. Cue arr ess…” Despite being hard at work in the same room since eight this morning, I still have yet to make a sizeable dent in the huge stack of un-filed folders remaining from yesterday. Every half-hour one of my coworkers comes in with a new sheaf of papers (unalphabetized messes with staples sticking out just ready to prick me in the finger). The folders are dropped atop my file tower, disrupting my “alphabetize first, then file” system. Thanks to my family’s history with minor obsessive compulsive disorders, I stop and re-alphabetize the folders before beginning work again just in time for someone else to come in with a new stack of processed claims to mess my system up again. As if said God wanted to present an immediate demonstration that this would be my fate for all eternity, my coworker Frank enters with a messy bundle tucked under one arm. I smile hopefully at him (as if it will change the workload he is about to thrust on me), but he is too busy typing on his Blackberry with his free hand to notice the mid- twenties crone in the corner. He makes his second deposit of the day and strides out of my second home without a word. “You’re welcome,” I hiss after his retreating form, and after a brief moment of internal debate, shuffle my feet over to take a peek at the new files. My shoulders sag in looking at the topmost name (“Alexander”). After briefly debating committing hare-kari with the stapler, I glance at the clock above the door frame. Eleven-thirty. I deserve a break. 2 I settle myself in the office secretary’s chair, sinking myself into the black padded material (with extra lumbar support, according to the Office Max catalogue). Paula has been here longer than anyone, and seniority (and Paula) demands nice office supplies. There’s a note on the monitor that she left me before departing for lunch reminding me a Mr. Ellis from the Nashville office would be calling for my boss Jules in the next half- hour, but I ignore it. In a matter of minutes I am deeply involved in continuing an old episode of Monty Python on YouTube, one that I started when I took my first break at nine forty-five this morning. Before I know it, my eyes are closed and I’m just listening. Listening turns into daydreaming, and William and I are back to sitting on the terrace arguing about what to order the kids for dinner again. I’m thinking a takeout curry; he wants to go downtown for kippers. Occasionally, William (my charmingly fantastic British fantasy of a spouse) will talk about taking the kids to Buckingham for a quick visit tomorrow because come on, Anny, the kids have to have a little culture. I don’t even have the strength to protest any more, too in love with both William and my city. The London Eye blinks at us in the distance, while the smell of left-handed traffic and thousands of years of history drifts upward. It forms a sweet perfume of the Isle that I get an urge to bottle and sell to the poor girls at home in the States, those who didn’t land their British hunk and are still back in Tennessee filing papers. I muse over my life with William as I continue to spin, the rotations slowing as the details increase. In my dream I speak with a flawless accent. A posh, trippy accent that makes me seem one thousand times more intelligent and charming than I am. I’ve been known to write emails of a particular colour and practise, but have never worked on 3 the auditory element of my fantasy, a fact I decide to null in the twenty minutes I have left.