That the future is uncertain is a given. It is the basic principle upon which all field research is predicated and thus has important effects on the outcome, providing both great risk and opportunity to determine failure or success of projects. Recognizing the uncertainty that is inevitably present in their work, therefore, becomes an essential foundation and knowledge for field researchers. As aspiring students of field research, we were certainly no exception to this rule.
Two unexpected events occurred during our second trip on Friday, July 23. First, we were lost in Austin. Second, we met Chris, a.k.a. J-Blake, who became our cordial friend and guide to the city. The former was due to our lack of knowledge of the Metro bus system; the latter happened because of the former. Both events were accidental coincidences. Questions: What were their implications? And to what extent did they influence the development of our project? At the time, to tell the truth, we doubted whether they were of any significance.
There are two bus routes from the sorority house we stayed to Barton Springs—the “short way” and the “troubled way,” we would jokingly call them. The “short way,” which goes through the 21st Guadalupe section and directly into the pool area, takes 18 minutes; the “troubled way,” as the name suggests, takes about twice as much time. Having missed the bus by less than a minute at the 21st Guadalupe NW corner, however, we were compelled to take the longer route on our second trip. It was only the start of our troubles.
Exhausted from the previous night, we fell asleep after climbing on the bus. Like a siren’s song, everything was gently shaking in rhythmic vibration—the bus, the people, and the landscape through the window. I could not resist the temptation of a short sleep. As I woke up, however, I realized that we had missed our stop at Barton Springs. The scenery was unfamiliar as were the street names. We—at that point all three of us were wide awake—looked at one another nervously. We were lost.
“This is perfect,” I said, letting sarcasm enter my voice. We were at the Metro Station, the central bus station of Austin. A strong breeze from the west was blowing and the sky was dark and cloudy. It was already 7:30 p.m. We weren’t sure when the next bus would come to take us back to Barton Springs. We waited. The place was surreal, sublime, and, most importantly, deserted of human presence; it consisted of grass-covered vineyards that, for some reason, reminded me of the Secret Garden. The metallic pillar, which said “METRO,” towered over us like Mr. Craven scolding his children.
The bus eventually arrived at 8:12 p.m. By the time we reached Barton Springs, the sky was almost completely hidden by dark clouds. I thought we had missed our opportunity—no one was there. Only a handful of people were getting ready to leave. The time was pressing. We needed to interview as many of them.
-Billy Kim
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