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I’ve been flown from my home in Vancouver, British Columbia to Cape Censte, Florida and am standing in the city’s most prestigious architecture firm as a very well-paid guest—technically, a potential consulting engineer on a project that has one last hoop to jump through to get the green light from all levels of government.
All I knew twenty-four hours ago, when I got an S.O.S. call from Junfeng, a former college peer of mine, is that it’s a mixed-use tower with the first ten floors being subsidized, low-income housing, modest hotel rooms on the next twenty floors, ten more floors of high-end condos and four penthouse suites to top it off.
He called me based on my reputation, and I accepted the invitation based on our university brotherhood.
Now here I am, in a room with an architectural model and a dozen clean-shaven men, all looking trendy and nouveau riche in plaid, herringbone and windowpane patterned suits.
I stand out in a “one of these things is not like the others” kind of way. My beard, Levi’s jeans and oxblood Doc Marten boots are well-known in the industry. I’m not sure anyone respects my fashion choice, but I’m known as “The Guy” who can engineer any seemingly impossible-to-build tower. That’s why they’ve flown me in.
The model we’re all facing has four key elements—a forty-five story tower and three domes. The reason I’m here is the sixty-foot dome that tops the tower.
“A joke?” the CEO of the architect firm asks. “As in, this is too simple for you or this really is impossible?”
I’m confused. “Seriously, does nobody else see what I see?”
“What do you see?” Mr. CEO asks.
“Really?” Using both hands, I point an index finger to each of the domes on the ground that flank the tower. “They look like balls,” I say.
Several men give me quizzical looks.
I point to the dome that tops the tower. “That looks like a glans.”
“Is that a French architectural term? I’m not familiar with it. In America, we just call it a dome, son.”
“A fucking glans. This building looks like a cock and balls. Grow some ground ivy on the lower domes, it’ll look like a cock with hairy balls.”
The room erupts in expletives and challenges to my sanity. I stand back and let them process what I’ve just said.
The CEO finally tilts his head sideways, makes a face like he’s seeing something for the first time. “I reckon it does have that look. Not a bad thing, though. I mean, it communicates power. People will see it and know that this building means business.” He squares his shoulders to me. “So, son, you want to see the drawings and tell us how we’re going to make that—what did you call it—glans? Make that glans stand tall and proud?”
“Junfeng.” I nod to the man I’d gone to Singapore’s Nanyang Technological University with fifteen years earlier. We’d finished top-of-class in the civil engineering department at what was the best Masters engineering program in the world.
“Jonathon,” he reminds me.
I remember. I’m being an ass because I don’t want to call him his Americanized name.
“Walk with me.”
“Excuse me gentlemen. Mr. Aspin and I are going to discuss the challenge this dome is posing.”
Once we’re out of earshot I can’t hold back. “What the fuck, dude? You can see the giant swinging dick, right?”
“Yeah, I see it. But I figure, art is in the eye of the beholder. You see a dick, the developers see a fat wallet, the architect sees notoriety.
“What do you see?” I ask Junfeng.
“My international break. I see a feature piece that will open doors to projects in more metropolitan cities. Hopefully in Europe.”
“No doubt that King Kong dong will get you some attention—good, bad or otherwise.”
We walk down two hallways, take an elevator up, and exit on a well-lit floor with an open plan. I look around and see men. All men. Not a woman in sight. Well, hello, 1950.
“The drawings are over here.”
Setting aside the fact that I’m standing in a building where it appears the only jobs for women are secretarial, in a city with more women’s shelters than elementary schools (I give them points for actually funding shelters), in a state that’s banned abortion, part of me thinks having this building in my portfolio would be an amusing conversation starter. The other part is appalled.
“Talk me through what’s not working,” I say to Junfeng.
