I planned to write a lot throughout my stay in the South to keep me from going postal, but that never happened. Every second was a three-ring circus, to this person’s house and to that person’s house. I’d rehash it but I don’t want to have a nervous breakdown.
I went up to school today to work out all of my financial aid stuff. I ran into one of my friends who is from South Carolina. She told me that she gained 17 pounds per day while she was back “home” and that one morning she ate artichoke dip for breakfast. I didn’t realize just how “L.A.” I had become until I start obsessing over not having access to a gym. Who does that? Every day all I could think about were those commercials for Draino where you see pipes full of mank and hairballs--- and that’s how I imagined my arteries were clogging as I ate all of that holiday crap. Every second of every day was encompassed by an anxiety-induced stomach ulcer. So much for a “break.”
Today I went to big lots. I bought some crappy curtains there a while ago that were too short, so I decided to return them. The lady working at customer service went on and on and on about how all I could receive was store credit and not a refund and I had no idea what she was talking about. She closed with “you get sto’ credit or get nuthin’” so I went with the store credit. As I was leaving, some old black guy said to me,
“Lori from the Hills!”
First of all, I don’t know who that is, second of all, I have never watched that show, and thirdly, I’m pretty sure that there is nobody named Lori on it.
There seems to be a recurring pattern for 55+ black men macking on me. Last week, I went to the DMV to get a new driver’s license. Always a good time, right? Everyone loves to go to the DMV. So the first attempt I make at going to the DMV is my triumphant entry into a parking lot full of homeless people who I was pretty sure were going to attack me with Hepatitis C infested needles. I walked in, waited in line, and found out I did not have my passport, so I had to go back home, go back to the DMV, park about 390834 blocks away, and wait in line again. So I finally fill out all of the paperwork and wait in line again. And wait and wait and wait. As I am waiting in the picture-taking line, some Latina lady behind me says,
“Excuse me. You have…. Mirror?”
So I had her a compact from my purse while she attempts to spruce up her hair and fix up.
“I forget I have picture taken today.”
She hands it back. I smile at her and tell her no prob. I see a lady walk by with a mole on her chin which is approximately the size of a quarter. It is pitch black. It has 40 hairs growing out of it which are all a few inches long. It looked like she had a tarantula on her chin. I threw up in my head a little bit.
So Hector or whatever his name is takes my picture and says,
“Dang. I did good on this one. Rachel, go stand in Line B to take your test.”
“Um… My WHAT?!”
“Your test. You have to take the written test.”
I wasn’t sure whether to hit Hector in the face or to puke. I have mad test anxiety. I see paper and a pencil and I want to puke on it. I scanned through my Governator Driver’s handbook for a few seconds and wait in the test line. Then Hector YELLS at the top of his lungs,
“WRONG LINE, RACHEL!”
Phones stopped ringing. Children stopped screaming. All was quiet and the patrons of the DMV stared at Rachel the hick who was in the wrong line.
I moved to the correct line to receive my test. Here is part two, where the AARP black man macks on me.
“My, my, my, Rachel. Are all women in Tennessee as beautiful as you? You are absolutely gorgeous.”
Rachel’s life-changing response:
“I am embarrassed. I do not know how to respond to this. May I have my test please?”
He hands it to me with a sly wink and I want to puke and I’m sweating and my hair feels hot.
I attempt to fill in the correct responses while the phones ring, people are talking to each other, faxes are coming in, effing babies are screaming, people are tapping on desks, I hear the scribbling of pencils, I WANT TO STAB SOMEONE!
I go back to the line with my 60 year old boyfriend and hand him my sheet. Hector the photographer now sits next to my old man. Hector says,
“So, when you getting off work?”
My boyfriend says,
“Right now. I’m taking Rachel to dinner. Rachel, where do you want to go to dinner?”
Hector says,
“You better pick somewhere cheap, Rachel, cause you gonna wind up waying for both of you.”
I say,
“Sorry. I’m married.”
My old man boyfriend said I passed the DMV test, which to me seemed impossible since I don’t know the first thing about mudslides and HOV lanes, but I guess it all worked out.
So now I’m waiting to receive my license from Sacramento.
This past weekend was insane. I went to a UCLA MBA party where I dominated rock band (not really, but I did have a small crowd of fans), and then I went to a rocket scientist post-holiday holiday party where men in suits walked around with Darth Vader helmets on.
How do I wind up in these situations?
Some middle aged man’s wife was completely wasted and kept yelling,
“I WANT A CIGARETTE FIRST!”
In front of EVERYONE. Coworkers, bosses, you name it. This lady was a stumbling mess fool.
I kept thinking about that scene in “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” where the little short guy is going postal in group therapy because he wants his cigs. I WANT MY CIGARETTES NOW, NURSE RATCHETT! I WANT THEM NOOOW!
So yeah. The great job search of 2009 continues. I’ve been on craigslist and other search engines nonstop trying to find something that pays well while also allowing me to complete my degree. Great thinking, Rach. Try to find a job in the middle of a recession. I called this lady the other night and we prayed together on the phone. She was saying stuff like, “God, you promise to take care of your children, so we trust in You and know that You will provide the perfect job for Rachel.” It made things make more sense to me. I have this really bad habit of trying to work out every single detail in my life like I can handle it all, but I can’t. It will all work out. God sees the big picture when I don’t.
I just burned my thumb on my quesadilla so I’m going to nurse myself back to health with some ice. Peace out.
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