Guelph Scare 08
It is fate's tradition for me to, each year, make some stupid mistake that lands me in a massive university-related predicament where I have huge freak- outs and end up waiting what feels like forever for an email of salvation. In June 2006, Residence Admissions claimed to have received my residence deposit late, and informed me that I would most likely not get residence. In March 2007, a history professor accused me of academic misconduct on a midterm exam. This year, it's related to my RLS position for the upcoming school year. In my stupidity, I neglected to mention to my mom as she was booking our Scotland flights that my contract begins August 21st. Our return flight is August 23rd. Only recently did I realize that my job and travel conflict. I mentioned this to the ALC manager, whose reply began with "What a lovely opportunity to visit Scotland. It's such a beautiful country!" and ended with "I'm afraid it isn't acceptable for you to miss the first three days out of eight of training. Please email me the confirmation of your travel dates, and we will need to speak in person." So yeah. The "isn't acceptable" part and the "we will need to speak in person" part are kind of troubling. Although I don't think it's in Housing's best interest to terminate my contract, who knows what kind of arrangements they're going to have to make to accomodate this? More importantly, why didn't I notice this and bring it up earlier. Guelph Scare 08. That email was the part of my day that made me feel stupid.
There was another part of my day that was particularly negative, but that part made me feel angry and jaded. I was driving in a suburban area in North York today, on a road called Old Colony Road, and I missed a turn, so I needed to find a place to turn around. Unforunately, the road was super-narrow and I had this old woman practically tailgating me. So I drove to the end of the road, which ended with a huge driveway and parking lot. Hey, I thought, perfect place to turn around! So I drove in. The very old woman following me pulled right up beside me, rolled down her window. "Can I help you?" she asked sourly. "No, sorry," I replied, "I'm just turning around." She looked at me with disgust and informed me that "this is a synagogue, it's private property!" I apologized, and reminded her politely that I was just turning around. "You can't turn around in here!" she shouted at me. "You shouldn't be turning around in here! It's private property!" And with that, she rolled down her window and drove away. Too bad she rolled up her window too soon--otherwise, she would have heard me call her for what she pretty much was. And I assure you--if I hadn't had the magnets on the truck showing our company's name and phone number, I would have called her for what she really was: a cranky old cuntscab who should be put in a capsule and launched into space.
There was another part of my day that was particularly negative, but that part made me feel angry and jaded. I was driving in a suburban area in North York today, on a road called Old Colony Road, and I missed a turn, so I needed to find a place to turn around. Unforunately, the road was super-narrow and I had this old woman practically tailgating me. So I drove to the end of the road, which ended with a huge driveway and parking lot. Hey, I thought, perfect place to turn around! So I drove in. The very old woman following me pulled right up beside me, rolled down her window. "Can I help you?" she asked sourly. "No, sorry," I replied, "I'm just turning around." She looked at me with disgust and informed me that "this is a synagogue, it's private property!" I apologized, and reminded her politely that I was just turning around. "You can't turn around in here!" she shouted at me. "You shouldn't be turning around in here! It's private property!" And with that, she rolled down her window and drove away. Too bad she rolled up her window too soon--otherwise, she would have heard me call her for what she pretty much was. And I assure you--if I hadn't had the magnets on the truck showing our company's name and phone number, I would have called her for what she really was: a cranky old cuntscab who should be put in a capsule and launched into space.