when it rains it pours and opens doors/and floods the floors we thought would always keep us safe and dry
I’m quite obviously not a boy, but sometimes I really wouldn’t mind being one. Because, you know, I really think there are certain advantages to being a boy.
Take today, for example: If I were a boy, my keys, wallet, and cell phone would have been in my shirt/pants pockets instead of in my bag. The bag that was sitting merrily on my car’s back seat, where I had momentarily deposited it while shrugging into my coat. The bag that remained not-so-merrily on my back seat as a sudden gust of wind slammed the car door shut, locking my keys, wallet, and cell phone inside.
I felt like kicking my car, except that would have been far more painful for my flip-flop-clad foot than for the damn car. So I instead trekked halfway across campus to call the university’s division of Transportation & Parking Services. God bless the friend who long ago gave me the top-secret authorization code that allows me to use campus telephones to make off-campus phone calls without cost.
They sent over a guy to help me, but his impressive, seemingly endless array of tools didn’t seem to be making a difference. Thin, shiny wires, rubber wedges â€“ a dozen different sizes of each â€“ were jammed into my door frames, but to no avail. I began to wonder if I should have contacted a locksmith instead.
A friendly, grizzled man in his 60s, the TAPS guy put forth his best effort as I thumbed through various campus publications and watched him out of the corner of my eye. “Oh, come on,” he pleaded good-naturedly with my car, “the lady needs to head home.” Actually, I had just gotten to campus, but, either way, my day seemed to be in limbo, my to-do lists shot, my organized plans all out the door. I had people to meet, TAs to make appointments with, term papers to finish, classes to attend, but the locked car pitilessly contained my phone, class syllabi, computer disks, and research material, and steadfastly refused to give it all up.
“Shoot!” exclaimed the TAPS guy repeatedly, at various intervals over the next hour, genuinely bewildered as to why his collection of tools had no effect. “Shoot, why won’t this work?” I wondered if he was toning down his language for my benefit.
“You know,” I ventured dryly at one point, “if you need to use some more explicit curses, go right ahead. Because, really, I wouldn’t mind using some myself right about now.”
He laughed, but I know he was just as frustrated as I by the end of the hour, when he finally, apologetically suggested I contact AAA, as they have better tools. So I walked back across campus to call AAA, then came back and sat cross-legged on the trunk of my car as I read the day’s newspaper. “Everything alright?” queried a nice boy passing by. And although it took the AAA guy almost 40 minutes to get there, would you believe it, he managed to open my car door in less than two minutes. “That was it?” I said in disbelief. I could have kicked myself for not just calling AAA right from the start.
And why was my rear tire flat when I returned to my car at the end of the day?
And there’s nothing quite so panic-inducing as being sixty miles from home, with a nearly-empty gas tank and absolutely no cash, and realizing you can’t remember your PIN when you swing by a gas station to fill up the tank.
And I wish this stupidass cough would go away already, so I can finally get a decent night’s sleep â€“ and sit through an entire lecture at school â€“ without nearly coughing up my lungs.
Speaking of sleep, I really need some of that. Soon.
And I hate driving during thunderstorms, especially when I’m having trouble staying awake.
Dear Lord God, supremely Merciful, infinitely Kind â€“
Not to be ungrateful or anything, but I really don’t like this week at all. If you could oblige me by fast-forwarding it (as in really fast), it would be greatly appreciated.
Much love and many thanks, always.