Hmmm
Well, it has been a while. I'll fill you in to the best of my ability at this point in time.
There is a Mediterranean cafe here in Dirt Town (or Mudville, considering all the rain this "arid desert" gets), which has absolutely to die for calzones and gyros. Their bathroom is exquisite as well. The walls are sky blue with clouds painted so realistically that I felt as though I was using an open-air toilet on a platform several miles in the sky. I want a bedroom painted like that. With a skylight.
I spent most of Saturday, all but a few hours of Sunday, and all of Monday without water. It was not by choice. I called the office, but they weren't in. I couldn't leave a message. I called the maintenance people, but they didn't answer. I paged them, but they never responded. I wandered around with the countless other zombie tenants in ratty jeans, sweatshirts, and ball caps looking for maintenance guys. We found no one. I finally ran out of drinking water, and drove over to E's apartment to fill up all my water bottles, a large pitcher, and a 2-gallon pickle jar at her sink. I returned home, checked the water - none - and used some of my precious water to make oatmeal. I missed church. There is no way I'm showing up in that state. I got more water Sunday, over at E's place. The water came on later that afternoon, but it was all cold, so my shower wasn't as satisfactory as I could have hoped. Monday, I had to go to E's to shower before class. Thankfully, I have water now. I also keep those jars et al filled to the brim in case of another little water-outage.
Allow me to share the phone conversation I had with Mr. Oblivious over at the office Monday. It went a little something like this:
REHKMIRA: Hello, my name is (insert name here), and I live in apartment (insert number here). I am wondering if you can tell me why, for the third day in a row, I have no water.
Mr. O: Oh, no one has water ma'am.
REHKMIRA: That doesn’t help me.
Mr. O: I’m sorry ma’am.
REHKMIRA: I'm wondering if you can tell me why I don’t have water?
Mr. O: Oh, um, there isn't any water.
REHKMIRA: Yes, I found that out when I tried to shower this morning.
Mr. O: Ma'am, there are people working on it.
REHKMIRA: Good. Can you tell me when they might have the problem fixed?
Mr. O: I, I'm not sure, ma'am. But they *are* working on it. Maybe later today.
REHKMIRA: Are we talking about noon, are we talking about five, or are we talking about Wednesday?
Mr. O: Some time later tonight, I'm sure. There was a part they couldn't get at the store because it was Sunday. They've been working on it for a while. Some construction workers disrupted a slab.
REHKMIRA: I see. One last thing. Can you tell me why no one was informed about this earlier?
Mr. O: Oh. Well, they're working on it, so it shouldn't take much longer.
REHKMIRA: (I decide to just be happy with what I’ve got.) Well thank you.
Mr. O: You're quite welcome ma'am.
By the time we got through, I had mentally projected the phrase DUMB-ASS! through the receiver a number of times. I would not have minded this situation in the least had they printed out a notice about the situation and pasted it somewhere, or if they had plastered the complex with these notes. I wouldn't have minded this situation if someone had been there Saturday or Sunday to field calls. I wouldn't have minded this situation if Mr. O had just answered my questions without trying to squirm away from them. All I wanted were a few solid facts. Why don't I have water. What do you plan to do about it. When will I have my water back. Simple. A little communication would go a long way to defusing such situations. Hell, I'd have cheerily spent a week without water if they'd told me what was going on immediately.
The Fish Who Lived is hanging on for dear life in his little tank. He won't last much longer, no matter what kind of fish medicine I put in his water. I might have to cut his suffering short and stick him in the freezer. The Muse suggested vaguely that I feed him to Charlotte, but I shut her up real quick on that point. No sense in mauling the little old man in his twilight days, and certainly no sense in helping her make a connection between "those flashy floating things I can't get to … yet" and "yummy fish dinner." Add to that the possibility that poor old Earl of Kent is sick. Nope. Nothing doing but to watch the old chap die.
Poetry was interesting yesterday. We were assigned an essay of Stevens' that made no sense. Prof knew it made no sense, and gave us a sheet of questions to help us make sense of it. It made less sense with the sheet. We all show up and he comes in with, "Well, start talking." Yeah right, buddy. We look at his fourth head and start maintaining a determined silence, meeting no eyes but those of our fellow wallowers-in-confusion. The tickless clock is ticking. We all hear it. We all dread it. We all steadfastly refuse to break it. Finally, Prof leans back in his chair and says (I copied it down), "It is important to realize that your education is contingent on what goes on in this room. (long pause) My salary, however, is fixed. So I'm cool." Man. If that had been my line, I'd have been pretty damn proud of it. On the other side of the table, it's a little daunting.
Somehow, the discussion got started. People were told they were idiots. The essay was never explained. the clock finally ticked an end to class, and the man decides that even though class is officially over, we still have time for three more poems. His manner suggests that leaving the room is fatal to your grade, regardless of the whole "class is officially over" business. He also adds snidely that this "makes up for the silence at the beginning." We got out ten minutes late, with the admonition that if we got to our next classes late, we could tell our professors to complain to him.
In the midst of this misery of a class, I scored major brownie points. Thank you Doc. I once had to read 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. I thought it was quaint but stupid. I hated it. As things stood before class, I was on more equitable terms with the poem, and knew it fairly well. Not my favorite, but certainly humorous, if made fun of properly. During this class, I had a golden opportunity. I took it. I ran with it. I ... impressed that bastard. He was reading aloud from a different Stevens essay and came across a line about two things being one. (I haven't got a clue what he was reading, but I won't admit that if asked later.) He seemed stumped for a moment, then he mentioned that the passage reminded him of something. SCORE! I immediately called out: "A man and a woman are one. A man and a woman and a blackbird are one. From 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird." The silent glow of having done something right for the man descended upon me. He was shocked, and then pleased, and then he thanked me. The poem hadn't been on the reading list for the semester. Thank you Doc. Thank you Doc. Thank you Doc.
And there you have it. The highlights of the time I've spent away. I could detail the stuff I'm reading, but no doubt many of you would find it to be gross, so I won't. We're learning all about transfer of puss in small pox immunizations of long ago. See? I find it to be utterly fascinating, but I have this notion that you readers by and large wouldn't agree with me there.
Ah well. It's time for my Melatonin. I've got to get a whole night's sleep or I'll start to twitch.
End.
There is a Mediterranean cafe here in Dirt Town (or Mudville, considering all the rain this "arid desert" gets), which has absolutely to die for calzones and gyros. Their bathroom is exquisite as well. The walls are sky blue with clouds painted so realistically that I felt as though I was using an open-air toilet on a platform several miles in the sky. I want a bedroom painted like that. With a skylight.
I spent most of Saturday, all but a few hours of Sunday, and all of Monday without water. It was not by choice. I called the office, but they weren't in. I couldn't leave a message. I called the maintenance people, but they didn't answer. I paged them, but they never responded. I wandered around with the countless other zombie tenants in ratty jeans, sweatshirts, and ball caps looking for maintenance guys. We found no one. I finally ran out of drinking water, and drove over to E's apartment to fill up all my water bottles, a large pitcher, and a 2-gallon pickle jar at her sink. I returned home, checked the water - none - and used some of my precious water to make oatmeal. I missed church. There is no way I'm showing up in that state. I got more water Sunday, over at E's place. The water came on later that afternoon, but it was all cold, so my shower wasn't as satisfactory as I could have hoped. Monday, I had to go to E's to shower before class. Thankfully, I have water now. I also keep those jars et al filled to the brim in case of another little water-outage.
Allow me to share the phone conversation I had with Mr. Oblivious over at the office Monday. It went a little something like this:
REHKMIRA: Hello, my name is (insert name here), and I live in apartment (insert number here). I am wondering if you can tell me why, for the third day in a row, I have no water.
Mr. O: Oh, no one has water ma'am.
REHKMIRA: That doesn’t help me.
Mr. O: I’m sorry ma’am.
REHKMIRA: I'm wondering if you can tell me why I don’t have water?
Mr. O: Oh, um, there isn't any water.
REHKMIRA: Yes, I found that out when I tried to shower this morning.
Mr. O: Ma'am, there are people working on it.
REHKMIRA: Good. Can you tell me when they might have the problem fixed?
Mr. O: I, I'm not sure, ma'am. But they *are* working on it. Maybe later today.
REHKMIRA: Are we talking about noon, are we talking about five, or are we talking about Wednesday?
Mr. O: Some time later tonight, I'm sure. There was a part they couldn't get at the store because it was Sunday. They've been working on it for a while. Some construction workers disrupted a slab.
REHKMIRA: I see. One last thing. Can you tell me why no one was informed about this earlier?
Mr. O: Oh. Well, they're working on it, so it shouldn't take much longer.
REHKMIRA: (I decide to just be happy with what I’ve got.) Well thank you.
Mr. O: You're quite welcome ma'am.
By the time we got through, I had mentally projected the phrase DUMB-ASS! through the receiver a number of times. I would not have minded this situation in the least had they printed out a notice about the situation and pasted it somewhere, or if they had plastered the complex with these notes. I wouldn't have minded this situation if someone had been there Saturday or Sunday to field calls. I wouldn't have minded this situation if Mr. O had just answered my questions without trying to squirm away from them. All I wanted were a few solid facts. Why don't I have water. What do you plan to do about it. When will I have my water back. Simple. A little communication would go a long way to defusing such situations. Hell, I'd have cheerily spent a week without water if they'd told me what was going on immediately.
The Fish Who Lived is hanging on for dear life in his little tank. He won't last much longer, no matter what kind of fish medicine I put in his water. I might have to cut his suffering short and stick him in the freezer. The Muse suggested vaguely that I feed him to Charlotte, but I shut her up real quick on that point. No sense in mauling the little old man in his twilight days, and certainly no sense in helping her make a connection between "those flashy floating things I can't get to … yet" and "yummy fish dinner." Add to that the possibility that poor old Earl of Kent is sick. Nope. Nothing doing but to watch the old chap die.
Poetry was interesting yesterday. We were assigned an essay of Stevens' that made no sense. Prof knew it made no sense, and gave us a sheet of questions to help us make sense of it. It made less sense with the sheet. We all show up and he comes in with, "Well, start talking." Yeah right, buddy. We look at his fourth head and start maintaining a determined silence, meeting no eyes but those of our fellow wallowers-in-confusion. The tickless clock is ticking. We all hear it. We all dread it. We all steadfastly refuse to break it. Finally, Prof leans back in his chair and says (I copied it down), "It is important to realize that your education is contingent on what goes on in this room. (long pause) My salary, however, is fixed. So I'm cool." Man. If that had been my line, I'd have been pretty damn proud of it. On the other side of the table, it's a little daunting.
Somehow, the discussion got started. People were told they were idiots. The essay was never explained. the clock finally ticked an end to class, and the man decides that even though class is officially over, we still have time for three more poems. His manner suggests that leaving the room is fatal to your grade, regardless of the whole "class is officially over" business. He also adds snidely that this "makes up for the silence at the beginning." We got out ten minutes late, with the admonition that if we got to our next classes late, we could tell our professors to complain to him.
In the midst of this misery of a class, I scored major brownie points. Thank you Doc. I once had to read 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird. I thought it was quaint but stupid. I hated it. As things stood before class, I was on more equitable terms with the poem, and knew it fairly well. Not my favorite, but certainly humorous, if made fun of properly. During this class, I had a golden opportunity. I took it. I ran with it. I ... impressed that bastard. He was reading aloud from a different Stevens essay and came across a line about two things being one. (I haven't got a clue what he was reading, but I won't admit that if asked later.) He seemed stumped for a moment, then he mentioned that the passage reminded him of something. SCORE! I immediately called out: "A man and a woman are one. A man and a woman and a blackbird are one. From 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird." The silent glow of having done something right for the man descended upon me. He was shocked, and then pleased, and then he thanked me. The poem hadn't been on the reading list for the semester. Thank you Doc. Thank you Doc. Thank you Doc.
And there you have it. The highlights of the time I've spent away. I could detail the stuff I'm reading, but no doubt many of you would find it to be gross, so I won't. We're learning all about transfer of puss in small pox immunizations of long ago. See? I find it to be utterly fascinating, but I have this notion that you readers by and large wouldn't agree with me there.
Ah well. It's time for my Melatonin. I've got to get a whole night's sleep or I'll start to twitch.
End.
posted by Rehkmira @ 01:20
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