Automated Post Machines and Grocery Boys...
Okay, readers. Let me take you on an adventure: a day in the life of me. It begins with a simple task of getting a few copies of my birth certificate, peaks with a wild adventure to the post office, and ends with an absurd comment from a teenage grocery stocker.
POST MACHINE...
I had just two things on my to-do list today, but as you will see, two things on the to-do list of a single mother are two things too much. The two items were simple: 1) make three copies of my birth certificate, and 2), print out application essay and put the copies and the essay in an envelope with the rest of my JET application and take it to the post office for express delivery. Should only take an hour or two, right?
I began at 10:30 am. My printer is broken, so I figured that a quick call to the library would let me know if they were open or not (thanksgiving weekend has screwed everything up--UF computer labs will not be open until Sunday. Unlike Alachua county libraries, the UF libraries are considerate enough to post special hours at times like these). After searching through the phone book for the number to the library (15 minutes, because I couldn't find the phone book), I found the appropriate number and called. The line was answered by an automated voice, blaring into the phone that "ALL LIBRARIES WILL BE CLOSED, DUE TO HURRICANE JEANNE, UNTIL SEPTEMBER 25 OR UNTIL POWER IS RESTORED." Then it hung up on me. Just to make sure I hadn't accidentally dialed the wrong number, I dialed again. It didn't help.
Since all of my friends with working printers are out of town for the holiday, I thought I'd go to a relative's house. But all of my relatives were either a) not home, or b) had broken printers too. (Total of 6 phone calls, 20 minutes) Mind you that this entire time, I'm outmanuevering Issac, who is trying to wrestle the phone out of my grasp. By now it is 11:05, and I'm no better off than when I started.
I call Issac's babysitter, they're always begging me to come over. After establishing that they have the internet, microsoft word, and an operating printer, I drive over there. (15 minute drive). Issac plays with them while I brave the stench of Dave's room. Alas, we don't have his password, so we can't access the internet. I decide to use Cindy's computer even though it doesn't have Word. (Time wasted in Dave's smelly room, 10 minutes). I manage to get what I need from Cindy's computer, and with with Issac being occupied, I manage to finesse a few more additions to the application in the form of appendixes for additional references. I proudly press the "print" button, but there is no response. So I mess around with the cords for a few minutes and establish a better connection. My papers print, but lo and behold, the printer is almost out of ink and it looks horribly unprofessional. It is not submittable. I thank the Brasher's for their time and leave. Time wasted: 45 minutes.
It's 12:05. With Issac packed back into the car, I take off for my house again. I still have to come up with that birth certificate. I can't call my mom because she is at work and her cell phone is broken--she dropped it into a cup of water. But she told me that she thought the birth certificate is in lock-box at her house. I have no idea where the lock-box is, but I am determined to find it. It won't hurt to look, I tell myself. I didn't even let myself worry about where I would find its key.
I'm in the general vicinity of mom's house (20 minute drive). But I have forgotten the gate key, and Issac is sleeping so I can't leave him in the car with the windows down that far away from the house. So I have to run back to my house to get the gate key (5 minutes). When I get there, I have to tear my house inside out looking for it (I saw it last night, I know I did! Total time looking for gate key: 10 minutes). After I find it, I zoom back over to mom's (5 minutes). Climb out my car window because the door is broken, unlock the gate, and climb back in (2 minutes but HUGE hassle. I'm getting frustrated at this point.)
I let Issac snooze in the car while I run inside on a search-and-find mission. I check the computer room, an obvious place to keep files, but find none, not even in the closets. The stupid cats are chasing me and tripping me, begging to be fed, so I stop to feed them. I finally find the lock box, unlocked, under the desk in the bedroom. I riffle through it but find no birth certificate. Crap. At least I can use the printer. I turn on the computer and wait for it to start up, IT TAKES FOREVER, and then print out what I need. Well, this printer is out of ink too. LOVELY. Issac wakes up. He instantly begins making a mess and I am running after him sweeping up the cat food that he throws all around and puddles of his spilled drinks. He needs to eat so I make him lunch. Then I find another file of my mom's laying open on the kitchen table. What luck! I begin to search through it, but Issac is interested too. He tries to pull out all the papers. It is impossible to do a thorough search in this manner, so I give up. I'm pretty sure it's not there. We clean up after ourselves and leave. Total time wasted on a fruitless hunt through numerous files: 1 hour.
It's 1:35. I decide to search the trailer a little better. After all, mom said it was in one of only two places. I'm just not looking hard enough. I call my mom and leave a few "it's an emergency! Call me if you get this!" messages, and then arrive at my house (5 minutes). I barge into her room and find more of her files in her closet. AHA! I haven't searched these yet, I think. It must be here! I have about five minutes of peaceful searching before Issac finds me. It's slow going from here, where I must enact the one-arm manuever again. Issac is screaming and wailing, I'm rifling through papers with one hand, and every once in a while he breaks through and grabs a reciept, ripping it to pieces. Oh well, mom. Hope that wasn't too important.
After about thirty minutes of insanity, Issac gets so frustrated that he begins head butting me. I still haven't found an appropriate one-armed manuever for this, so I had to call it quits. I was pretty sure I would have found the stinking birth certificate if it were there. Time spent on a wild goose chase with a manic toddler biting me: 35 minutes.
So I call my dad. Maybe my mom is wrong. Maybe she left my birth certificate with my dad when they got divorced. Yes, my Dad has my birth certificate! Even better, his new printer can make copies. So I pile into the car for a forty-five minute drive to dad's house. It's 2:10.
As Issac and I are heading down the road, I get a phone call. My aunt is coming back from the lake house and has some mundane question about something. I interupt--Have you passed my dad's house? No, she hasn't. She agrees to stop at my dad's and pick up the copies. I turn around. It's 2:25 when I get back to the house.
I unload Issac and change a poopy diaper. At 3:10, my aunt arrives with the copies and drops off Sam, who has been wanting to spend some time with me. He has volunteered to be my babysitter while I get some things done. Unfortunately, now the only thing I need to do cannot be accomplished at my house. I make lunch for Sam and clean up, then drop Sam off at my aunt's with Issac while I run into to town to see if the library is open or not. Time spent in transition: 30 minutes.
It's 3:40 and I'm on my way to the library. It starts raining cats and dogs, so of course I have to drive REALLY slow. I miss the turn to the library because I can't see. I spend five minutes trying to turn around. Luckily the library is open and I get a computer. I'm in a rush because the post office closes at five or six. I do everything I need to do in record time and I'm out of there by 4:05.
But when I get back in my car, I realize that I need to make copies of one more form. So I rush back in, make the copies, and rush out. It's 4:12.
Then I drive across the street to buy a manilla envelope. It's 4:30.
I drive to the post office. Hurray, I'm going to make it by five! Yippidy do dah! I feel rather proud of myself. I take a final glance at the check list and --gasp-- I realize that I'm suppossed to have a total of three copies of the 13 page application! How could I have missed that ? (you have to see the application--it's a mess. It requires you to follow so many minute details that you are absolutely bound to forget something in your effort to remember everything else.) Agggh! I walk into the post-office quickly to see what time they close! Ack! They closed at two, but there is an automated lobby, filled with machines, that is open until eight. AND, there is a great big copy machine right next to the entrance. Luckily, I broke a five at the library, so my pocket is bulging with quarters. But copies cost 15 cents a piece, and I need about 35! I don't feel like doing the math, but I have a feeling that there is not going to be enough money in my pocket. Oh well. I decide to give it the good ol' college try.
I'm down to a quarter and a nickel when a woman asks, "you wouldn't happen to have an extra envelope, would you?" I gave her a manila one and she was so happy she almost jumped for joy. I thought about charging her for it so that I could finish my copies, but the timing just wasn't right and the moment was lost. But then something amazing happened. She and her friend came over to me and asked me how much they owed me. I told them normally nothing, but whatever they could give would be appreciated, because I was short on money for my copies. They were so gracious that they loaded me down with over three dollars in change. "You don't know how valuable that envelope was to us!" they said, giggling. Thank goodness for miracles.
Due to the generosity of the ladies and my incredible stroke of good luck, I had just enough money to make all the necessary copies. But THEN I realized that three of my reference letters were NOT in the folder I thought they were in! I had checked before leaving to make sure they were there, but what I had seen (not well enough) were letters addressed to friends that I had stuck in that folder days before. Dope! So... another drive back to my house. It's 5:45 by the time I get there. I frantically search for the letters, find them, hop into my car (I never even turned it off), and am jolting down the road when I suddenly remember that I need my credit card to use the automated machines. So I park, dump out the contents of my backpack, and can't find it. Great. I look through my entire car, convinced it is in some obscure place like crammed into the seat cushions or under the floor mats. I can't find it. I drive back to the house, look in the ashtray before I hop out of the window yet AGAIN, and find it. So I turn around and drive back to the post office. Christmas songs are on the radio; I'm grinding my teeth and telling myself to "just breathe." It's 6:30 by the time I arrive at the post office for the second time.
My beautiful application is neatly assembled in its gigantic envelope. I am so ready to drop it in the mail. The automated postal machines actually work well, so that is a relief. It cost $13.65 to express it to D.C. by 3 pm on Monday. The machine tells me that it is safer and expedites delivery if the package is in an "express mail envelope." I look on the wall to my right--there is exactly one envelope left. I practically knock someone over, but I grab it and run to the table. Now all I have to do is figure out how to correctly put on the postage and the address label. It can't be that hard, right? There are three or four different "models" of packages taped up to the wall saying "DO NOT AFFIX POSTAGE LIKE THIS. IT WILL NOT BE DELIVERED," and "MAKE SURE AFC POSTAGE LABEL DOES NOT TOUCH OR OVERLAP ADDRESS LABEL." There are no examples of the right way to do it. I'm afraid I'll screw it all up. And I do: when I try to peel the adhesive off of the address label, the entire thing separates into four pieces. Luckily I find another one in the "priority mail" bin and get it right the second time. It's 6:45.
By now, my manila envelope and I have been through so much together, I'm not quite sure if I'm willing to let it go. What if I misread the signs and put it in the wrong bin? I'll miss ya, I tell the package, then I kiss it and drop it down the chute.
And as I'm walking back to my car, through the rain, I wonder who would ever hire me. If it takes me all day to do two simple things, why would anyone ever want me to work for them? Those people are going to read a wonderful application. It looks good, pretty. It looks shiny and white and clean. It looks intelligent, efficient, smooth. Little will they know that the person who wrote it is walking through the rain, defeated, looking like a drowned rat, half-dead just from trying to get a stupid package in the mail. I told them that I'm professional, but obviously, I'm not. I'm so unorganized I can't even find my own credit card.
THE GROCERY BOY...
So then I picked up Sam and Issac. We went grocery shopping at the Hitchcock's in Archer. At the checkout, one of the grocery boys was flirting shamelessly with me. I recognize him, he's helped me find things before and he's really cute--unfortunately, he's seventeen. "Your brothers are cute," he told me. I smiled, savoring the moment before I shattered his world.
"Oh, they're not my brothers," I said. "Issac is my son and Sam is my cousin." He turned white and started stuttering. "Um, oh. Wow. Uh, you uh, you don't look that old. I mean, old enough to be a mom." I just smiled at his shock, and thought, well, I certainly feel that old.
When I was leaving the store, he called out, "Goodybe, Gorgeous." I ignored him.
