Somehow, my most interesting stories happen at the DMV. I guess that's what happens when all sorts of people are obligated to spend a good portion of time in line. Odd things happen and you see some strange things.
But first: some background.
Over the winter, I lived in Kentucky. Now, I've learned since Washington that moving every six months is a lot of times to change your mailing address, so for now my permanent address is my mom's. Inconveniently, though, the address on my license and registration was my old address, the one I used right of college because I was foolish and so desperate to have a location separate from my family's (poor young naive child that I was), so I had to change the address on my license and car registration so my renewal and taxes wouldn't go (yet again) to my old address at the house I used to rent. Because of the marvel of the technological age, you can do that online, which I did from the comfort of my Kentucky apartment.
Fast forward a week and a half. I am in an accident on the way home from work and my car is totaled. (I started my phone call post at this time, but got distracted by guess what? Phone calls!) Between insurance and body shops and car yards, my phone got a lot of use, and so did my nerves.
Fast forward a month and a half. I've gouged out my savings to buy a new car, which is registered and waiting for me at my mom's house. All that remains for me to do is actually get the car and drive it back to my current place of residence. ...That, and a few minor details involving the car's incorrect registration and my old car's registration.
Since I don't want the good state of North Carolina to think that I own two cars, and since the accident occurred out of state, I had to take my title to the DMV to tell them that my poor car was junked, and also to correct the county listed on my registration. Because that too was wrong. And also to pay taxes on my car because I will never cease to owe the government money just for the privilege to exist.
End background.
On the day of my DMV visit, I arrive early (after finding it, because for some reason the government believes in putting offices in obscure locations), because they have a reputation for long lines which I wish to avoid, but lo and behold, there's already a line by the time I get there. So I settle into the end of the line, and I wait. Now, I like to mind my own business when I'm out in public. I don't like to talk to people, because smalltalk is kinda pointless, and it's a lot more fun to observe.
Sadly, not all people on earth share my view, so of course the scruffy old man who gets into line behind me finds that I Must Be Talked To. So he looks straight at me and says "You look like you've just lost your best friend".
Now, to be sure, I was upset over the loss of my car and my monetary funds, but I would not call my car, nor my money, my best friend. But, in the spirit of being Friendly, I gave him a weirded-out smile and said "you could say that".
Which, naturally, he took as more invitation to talk to me, so he followed that with "do you want to hear a joke?"
Of course, I wasn't sure what sort of joke I could expect from weird old grandpa man, but I was willing to try it out, and I figured I'd hear it whether I wanted to or not, so I said sure I'd love to hear a joke.
This is the joke:
An FBI agent showed up on a farmer's doorstep one day, waving a badge around and saying that they'd gotten some reports of criminal activity and he wanted to take a look around the place. The farmer said "Sure, I've got nothing to hide. Just make sure to stay out of the corn patch over there."
The agent took offense to this and shoved the badge in the farmer's face, saying "see this badge? It means that I can go wherever I want whenever I want, and if that means I want to check out that corn patch, I will."
The farmer shrugged and let the agent do what he wanted because he had work to do.
Five minutes later he hears a loud scream come from the corn patch, and out comes the agent, yelling for help and chased by an angry bear. The farmer cups his hands to his mouth and yells "show him the badge! Show him the badge!"
...I didn't find the joke that funny, but I laughed politely and then proceeded to ignore the old man.
After about two minutes, he found that this was not enough social interaction, and so he pointed to a couple at the desk in line ahead of us, and said "I betcha he's her sugar daddy." I said "oh, do you?" and he said "yeah, I know the type." I didn't know how to take that, so I think I stammered out a reply and then went back to minding my own business. He must have taken that as a sign that I wanted to be left alone, and so I was left alone by the sugar-daddy-spotting-grandpa. Maybe he wanted to impress me with his relationship-spotting skills, or maybe he wanted to become my sugar daddy, I will never know. All I know is that I accomplished my business and left as quickly as possible, to drive off in my new car before anyone else could talk to me or offer to be my sugar daddy.
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
How to be a successful Adult part 2
To be considered a functional member of society, one must be proficient in Phone Skills.
These include but are not limited to:
1. Making phone calls without excessive whining, or crying
2. Stating your needs clearly and concisely for effective communication
3. Being prompt in your calls for maximum efficiency
To be proficient in Phone Skills, one must not:
1. View the Phones as an Enemy
2. Have an existential dread of making Phone Calls
3. Feel like a rising tide of Death is swelling up to consume you the more you contemplate making a Phone Call
This is how I manage my phone call making:
1. Put off calling as long as possible (this is up for interpretation, but it usually entails waiting until the last possible second, possibly incurring penalties from a third party because I'm just too late in starting the communication process)
2. Stutter through the call, saying lots of "um"s and "could you repeat that" and "yeah sure I guess" because I'm bad at being decisive and authoritative
3. Make lots of groaning and screeching noises in between calls because I am bad at coping and everyone must know my distress
Do not follow my example.
These include but are not limited to:
1. Making phone calls without excessive whining, or crying
2. Stating your needs clearly and concisely for effective communication
3. Being prompt in your calls for maximum efficiency
To be proficient in Phone Skills, one must not:
1. View the Phones as an Enemy
2. Have an existential dread of making Phone Calls
3. Feel like a rising tide of Death is swelling up to consume you the more you contemplate making a Phone Call
This is how I manage my phone call making:
1. Put off calling as long as possible (this is up for interpretation, but it usually entails waiting until the last possible second, possibly incurring penalties from a third party because I'm just too late in starting the communication process)
2. Stutter through the call, saying lots of "um"s and "could you repeat that" and "yeah sure I guess" because I'm bad at being decisive and authoritative
3. Make lots of groaning and screeching noises in between calls because I am bad at coping and everyone must know my distress
Do not follow my example.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Obligatory exposition on work and jobs
So in Washington, I had no job. As soon as I got there, I put my well-honed job-hunting skills to work like the responsible adult that I am, searching out every available opportunity to find a source of employment, but for weeks, not a thing was to be found.
Everywhere I went, (which was nowhere because A. I didn't want to spend money on gas and it was really cold and B. because there was snow. So much snow, and my delicate southern sensibilities couldn't handle it.) I had my eyes out for an employment opportunity. I made a profile on Care.com, trying for babysitting jobs, or tutoring jobs because that's what I'm really good at, but nothing happened. Probably because everyone wanted a nanny who would take the kids outside and I'm really bad at pretending to like the outdoors. I mean, yes, I like them and they're pretty and nice to look at, but do I spend excessive amounts of time out there, exercising? No, of course not. There's no power source or wireless internet out there with which I constantly check my savings portfolio, so how am I supposed to function?
But since everybody there really really likes Outside, I was out of luck because they wanted their children to be Outside, and I want the opposite of that.
My chance finally came, when, after two months of luckless applications, (including applying to a fast food restaurant that called me for an interview two months later, as I was making plans to move back east), I got two job offers at the same time and, like the foolish job-hungry soul who never plans on free time and is overly ambitious about earning money that I am, I took them both.
The thing about having more than one job is that not only is it a busy life, but training for two jobs at the same time is a little overwhelming. You're in two new environments learning two new and completely separate sets of skills, and it's just about as tiring as it can be. And if you don't like one of those jobs and would, in fact, rather spend your time at the dentist's having your teeth pulled with tweezers, that makes everything a little bit harder. So if, after two weeks of disliking a job, you feel like quitting, it's such a beautiful option. You look at it and consider it and it's so pretty and shiny, and a chorus sings in the background.
I quit.
And worked evenings at my other job, where I made food for people in a hotel by cutting up cheese and microwaving meat, and then spent three hours smiling and talking and generally being as friendly as possible, until it was time to clean up and hide away in the kitchen, washing dishes. Then I would take the trash out and try to talk to the desk clerk who always went with me, which didn't always work out as well as expected. Then I would drive home, and every time I got halfway there the same song would play on the radio, which told me I was right on time.
My life fell into a pattern pretty quickly, which made my life choices pretty cool. So far I've noticed that moving frequently means stability is pretty much out the window, but it also means I can take just about any job I want with no worries about getting stuck in a rut. I'll be leaving again soon anyway, so who cares if it's a lame job? As long as I'm getting payed, it's pretty cool and then it's time to move on.
Of course it's not very grown up or mature of me to view everything with such casual transience, but I think I make up for it with my dedication to finding work and incredible responsibility, as a trade-off for my short attention span and-
Everywhere I went, (which was nowhere because A. I didn't want to spend money on gas and it was really cold and B. because there was snow. So much snow, and my delicate southern sensibilities couldn't handle it.) I had my eyes out for an employment opportunity. I made a profile on Care.com, trying for babysitting jobs, or tutoring jobs because that's what I'm really good at, but nothing happened. Probably because everyone wanted a nanny who would take the kids outside and I'm really bad at pretending to like the outdoors. I mean, yes, I like them and they're pretty and nice to look at, but do I spend excessive amounts of time out there, exercising? No, of course not. There's no power source or wireless internet out there with which I constantly check my savings portfolio, so how am I supposed to function?
But since everybody there really really likes Outside, I was out of luck because they wanted their children to be Outside, and I want the opposite of that.
My chance finally came, when, after two months of luckless applications, (including applying to a fast food restaurant that called me for an interview two months later, as I was making plans to move back east), I got two job offers at the same time and, like the foolish job-hungry soul who never plans on free time and is overly ambitious about earning money that I am, I took them both.
The thing about having more than one job is that not only is it a busy life, but training for two jobs at the same time is a little overwhelming. You're in two new environments learning two new and completely separate sets of skills, and it's just about as tiring as it can be. And if you don't like one of those jobs and would, in fact, rather spend your time at the dentist's having your teeth pulled with tweezers, that makes everything a little bit harder. So if, after two weeks of disliking a job, you feel like quitting, it's such a beautiful option. You look at it and consider it and it's so pretty and shiny, and a chorus sings in the background.
I quit.
And worked evenings at my other job, where I made food for people in a hotel by cutting up cheese and microwaving meat, and then spent three hours smiling and talking and generally being as friendly as possible, until it was time to clean up and hide away in the kitchen, washing dishes. Then I would take the trash out and try to talk to the desk clerk who always went with me, which didn't always work out as well as expected. Then I would drive home, and every time I got halfway there the same song would play on the radio, which told me I was right on time.
My life fell into a pattern pretty quickly, which made my life choices pretty cool. So far I've noticed that moving frequently means stability is pretty much out the window, but it also means I can take just about any job I want with no worries about getting stuck in a rut. I'll be leaving again soon anyway, so who cares if it's a lame job? As long as I'm getting payed, it's pretty cool and then it's time to move on.
Of course it's not very grown up or mature of me to view everything with such casual transience, but I think I make up for it with my dedication to finding work and incredible responsibility, as a trade-off for my short attention span and-
Friday, February 13, 2015
My bad
...Oops.
So after a year of not writing, I find I have so many things to catch up on, and so many very mature adult adventures to recount.
The funny thing about being an adult is that it means you don't really have time for other things, like living your life. And then other things crop up that demand your attention and the things you want to do and have been meaning to do, but too bad you have to focus on making sure your life doesn't run off the tracks and crash into a deep ravine of the worst adult things you can imagine, like unemployment and bankruptcy and eating junk food.
The unfunny thing about being an adult is that not many things that happen to a mature and responsible person are that funny. There's not much humor to be found in rent or utility bills.
Fear not, though, I will find the best of my adventures to tell, and I will put them here to the best of my ability, with complete honesty and sincerity and seriousness. I have learned that as an adult, the more serious you are the better. Laughter is for the immature.
So after a year of not writing, I find I have so many things to catch up on, and so many very mature adult adventures to recount.
The funny thing about being an adult is that it means you don't really have time for other things, like living your life. And then other things crop up that demand your attention and the things you want to do and have been meaning to do, but too bad you have to focus on making sure your life doesn't run off the tracks and crash into a deep ravine of the worst adult things you can imagine, like unemployment and bankruptcy and eating junk food.
The unfunny thing about being an adult is that not many things that happen to a mature and responsible person are that funny. There's not much humor to be found in rent or utility bills.
Fear not, though, I will find the best of my adventures to tell, and I will put them here to the best of my ability, with complete honesty and sincerity and seriousness. I have learned that as an adult, the more serious you are the better. Laughter is for the immature.
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