Not Dead Yet
Though I wasn't so sure about that a couple times today...
I needed to make sure that none of my scholarships were based on an education major, but when I tried to park they wouldn't give me a visitor pass. So I had to go to the police station where they said I didn't even need to worry about it because today wasn't an official class day.
And the gentleman at the center couldn't have said that before I wasted my gas and time?
Halfway to the education center, I realized I forgot to pick up a thank you card from walgreens for one of my scholarships.
Cue language that is unmentionable in polite company.
When I went to the education center, the person I needed to talk to had stepped out for a meeting. And wouldn't be back for hours.
*headdeskheaddeskheaddesk*
Then it was time to go to the theatre, to follow through like a good old boy in a Horatio Alger world, living the American Dream. Except the manager wasn't there, and wouldn't be there in time for me to make my 3:00 p.m interview.
It was around this time that it started to rain profusely. Like a really, really bad cartoon.
People drove over the speed limit. People drove without their lights on. I started to hydroplane.
Cue tear-inducing terror. And hyperventilation. And a panicked phone call to one's mother.
The interview at 3:00 p.m was brief. Why do I want to work at the front desk: because my husband's kicking me out and I need a job. Because I really want to work with a community towards a common goal - though not quite so articulate. Why'd you quit working at TDCJ? Because I wasn't psychologically prepared for inmates masturbating in front of me and flirting with me in an offensive manner. Yeah, take that Mr. Interview Man! The woman who was with him made a face and seemed sympathetic. Then he asked me what my interview was --
And I completely forgot. Fullstop. Could not remember.
How the frack is that even possible.
Oh, then there was something even more horrible: what could I bring to the front desk.
I hope my face didn't morph into a question mark before I managed to babble about being friendly and used to giving customers efficient, friendly service!
*shudder*
The final nail? When I went to register for the classes for a creative writing major, they were all full.
Not really surprising. And not at all without hope. I don't need to call on Obi Wan yet. But dayum. Though, to be fair, the chick at the education department did call me back and none of my scholarships were based on education major so throw on some confetti, blow a party favor, and shout at the top of our voices: WAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Might just pick up a french press from target tonight and skip Starbucks for ever and ever. And indulge tonight.
There is nothing quite so irritating as the realization that, though one has been busy by one's recollection for the better part of a day, one has gotten hardly anything done at all.
I needed to make sure that none of my scholarships were based on an education major, but when I tried to park they wouldn't give me a visitor pass. So I had to go to the police station where they said I didn't even need to worry about it because today wasn't an official class day.
And the gentleman at the center couldn't have said that before I wasted my gas and time?
Halfway to the education center, I realized I forgot to pick up a thank you card from walgreens for one of my scholarships.
Cue language that is unmentionable in polite company.
When I went to the education center, the person I needed to talk to had stepped out for a meeting. And wouldn't be back for hours.
*headdeskheaddeskheaddesk*
Then it was time to go to the theatre, to follow through like a good old boy in a Horatio Alger world, living the American Dream. Except the manager wasn't there, and wouldn't be there in time for me to make my 3:00 p.m interview.
It was around this time that it started to rain profusely. Like a really, really bad cartoon.
People drove over the speed limit. People drove without their lights on. I started to hydroplane.
Cue tear-inducing terror. And hyperventilation. And a panicked phone call to one's mother.
The interview at 3:00 p.m was brief. Why do I want to work at the front desk: because my husband's kicking me out and I need a job. Because I really want to work with a community towards a common goal - though not quite so articulate. Why'd you quit working at TDCJ? Because I wasn't psychologically prepared for inmates masturbating in front of me and flirting with me in an offensive manner. Yeah, take that Mr. Interview Man! The woman who was with him made a face and seemed sympathetic. Then he asked me what my interview was --
And I completely forgot. Fullstop. Could not remember.
How the frack is that even possible.
Oh, then there was something even more horrible: what could I bring to the front desk.
I hope my face didn't morph into a question mark before I managed to babble about being friendly and used to giving customers efficient, friendly service!
*shudder*
The final nail? When I went to register for the classes for a creative writing major, they were all full.
Not really surprising. And not at all without hope. I don't need to call on Obi Wan yet. But dayum. Though, to be fair, the chick at the education department did call me back and none of my scholarships were based on education major so throw on some confetti, blow a party favor, and shout at the top of our voices: WAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Might just pick up a french press from target tonight and skip Starbucks for ever and ever. And indulge tonight.
There is nothing quite so irritating as the realization that, though one has been busy by one's recollection for the better part of a day, one has gotten hardly anything done at all.