I had errands to run today and I told the boss so yesterday. He cannot complain about this day.
When I walked out to the car this morning, a bird, who had obviously eaten at Panda Express before he perched in our Magnolia tree, had left his calling card on my poor little Jamie. I thought, "it's a nice day. I'll wash the car after I run around".
So, first stop is Bank of America. Signs everywhere in the parking garage say "30 minutes with validation", yet I never found the little machine that dispenses tickets to validate. Nor did I see a parking attendent, though there was a little podium, stool, and fan suggesting his existence. Shrugging my shoulders, I proceed to the bank floor where I waited for a short time to deposit my hefty (right) student loan check. I asked the teller if they had any check book registers, you know, the books that go in your checkbook wallet so you can right down all your transactions? She gave me this little booklet the size of a credit card that is for people who don't use checks and only use their debit cards for everything. I guess it'll do until I order new checks.
Next up, the post office to apply for a passport. The man at the first window I visited told me to wait for the woman on the end. She was in charge of passport applications. Okay, I had everything with me, so I figured it would be a snap. The postal employee in charge of passports was coincidentally already handling a passport application from a young lady who clearly didn't understand the meaning of efficiency. (have your shit ready is all I'm saying) I, meanwhile, have let three people go past me because I've been told to wait for the woman on the end. Little Miss Scatterbrain finally signs her application and "Oh, I have a package to pick up too." ARRGH! Still, I patiently wait for the woman on the end. Finally, it's my turn and the woman on the end puts a WINDOW CLOSED sign up. Ah, hell no! "WAIT! I have a passport application and I was told to come to you". Woman on the end gets all uppity with me and says, "well, I have a lunch break, so you'll just have to go to someone else." I was ready to, pardon the pun, go postal on her, when a lovely woman who had been straightening up the lobby area told me to wait at her window and she'd be right in to take care of me. She was sweet. Her granddaughter has the same birthday as me, and her son's birthday is the same as Randy, Roy and The German. $97 later, I was out the door and on my way to destination #3.
The parking bureau is always a treat. I don't know where they find such a friendly staff. While I was waiting at the bulletproof window for Miss If-I-Smiled-My-Face-Would-Crack to process my parking permit, some old geezer toddled up behind me, pressed himself right up against me and shouted to the non-existent clerk "What do I have to do now?" I turned my head and said, "well first of all, you have to back up. I don't need to count the change in your pocket". Geezer who was deaf as well as blind and just stared blankly as I shifted out from under his gross old man flesh.
After all of this, I decided that I deserved to sit back and let someone else wash my car, and that Jamie Jetta deserved some pampering. I chose the hand wash, Armorall and "mystic mist" whatever the hell that is. They asked me what scent: vanilla, cherry, banana, citrus or new car. I laughed and said,"Um, new car, I guess". As Jamie was entering the wash tunnel, it suddenly occured to be that I forgot to remove the Jack ball from the antenna. Oops! Amazingly, my Jack ball not only stayed on throughout the whole process, but remained in tact, without so much as a piece of glitter (it's the New Year ball) falling off. A Jaguar in front of Jamie must have had those rain-sensor wipers because they started off on intermittant and by the time it got to the rinse cycle they were going like gangbusters. Speaking of the Jag, there I stood in my tattered overalls, hair in disarray, faux Louis Vuitton bag at my side, waiting for my humble Volkswagen, while a steady parade of Mercedes, BMW, Lexus, Cadillac, and Porshe spewed out of the wash tunnel. I felt like an interloper. My detailer, Victor, took his time and really did a great job on my car. I felt bad not being able to tip him more, but dude, I'm driving a Volkswagen.
After such a tough day, the only thing a girl can do is relax in the chair at her favorite hair salon while the lovely Maria trims those nasty split ends. Me? Work? Heavens no. Okay, I'm at work now, but it's really just to send out a few work-related emails and use the computer.