Strange Day or Working for the City

Yesterday, I spent the morning in the social security office waiting for my number, C37, to be called. The number calling system was apparently designed to frustrate people into going home without their social security check. First of all, they don't only call numbers, but names as well. And there's no rhyme or reason to the numbers. A27, B4, Sing Kim Lee, A2, C17, Renaldo Hernandez. Sigh. On top of this, they call the numbers over a microphone. But from the sound of it, they put the mic all the way in their mouths before they speak. All seven employees had their own mic, but didn't worry about speaking on top of each other. Just in case this wasn't difficult enough, they put B and C in front of the numbers. Sounds most non-native English speakers and all old people (which constitutes everyone in the waiting room, except me) were not able to distinguish. So, I was surprised when my number was called out loud and clear after a mere hour and a half. I was happy that I seemed to have all of my papers in order. I was sad when the boy behind the counter said, "you look too young to be......married." Of course, he meant divorced. I was devastated when he tore up my social security card with Hillary Napoli printed on it into little tiny bits and threw it in the garbage.

Next stop, HR office at the library downtown. Where I had to read (with someone watching, so I really had to try to read it) the code of ethics, the no-smoking ordinance, the substance abuse ordinance, the sexual harassment ordinance, the this policy and that policy and sign my name on a loyalty oath.

Now that the city owned my ass, it was off to the doctor for a city examination. It was like going to jail. "Drivers license. Sign here. Fill this out. Take a seat." The waiting room was huge and filled with rows of seats with fold-up desks. About 40 of us waited, all shuffling, no talking. Three of us were called in at once. The waiting room door slammed shut with too much finality for my taste. One girl was taken down the hall. The other girl and I waited. Someone came for me.

"Right this way." I followed a woman in rose-colored scrubs down the hall that smelled like the seventies, into a teeny tiny office with a teeny tiny desk and giant refrigerator. She opened the refrigerator door."Step on in and take a seat."

"uh..." I looked up and saw headphones on a hook. Hearing test. She closed the refrigerator door and left me there with a recording and a button to press each time I heard a beep. The voice in the recording says, "Following the test, do not exit the booth. Please wait quietly for an attendant to release you." So, between thoughts of being locked in the refrigerator and memories of those bizarre buses that used to pull up in the parking lot at Aliso Elementary to test our hearing, I listened for the tone and pressed the button.

Really, I tried to wait quietly. For about 23 seconds. But there did not seem to be an attendant coming to release me. I debated whether or not to try the door. If I didn't KNOW that I couldn't get out, I'd be far less likely to flip out. On the other hand, freedom looked so close. I tried the door. Luckily, it opened. No one there. Hmm. Well, perhaps I got out before the test was done? No, the printer seemed to be spitting out some sort of sheet of results. Maybe I had time to sneak a quick photo of the refrigerator with my handy cell phone before she came back. I rooted through my bag, trying to look as if I were getting out lipstick or something. Finally, I found my phone and managed to fumble through the settings to get it on camera. Unfortunately, I forgot it makes that REALLY LOUD, really fake camera shutter noise when you press the button, which echoed around the small room and down the silent seventies smelling hall, I'm sure. As it turned out, I had plenty of time to snap a photo. I had enough time to fill an entire album with photos of the fridge.



Ten minutes later, no one had arrived to fetch me, so I wandered out of the office and down the hall until I found Rose Scrubs. She looked surprised to see me.

"Um, anything else?" I asked.

She led me to the eye examination closet. "Stop here." There was a tattered piece of masking tape that had nearly become part of the floor. "Read." she said, pointing to a line the chart that looked like a black and white woody woodpecker running at full speed. I opened my eyes wider hoping for some miracle of clarity. Okay, looks like an O. I decided to squint, just to make sure. No, no, it was a G. I must have stalled too long because Rose decided to help me out, "C" she said, loudly. I tried the next letter.

"Honey, do you wear glasses? You get those on right this minute." Unfortunately, I didn't have them with me.

After that, I was led into a more traditional doctor's office down the hall. With a more traditional waiting chair:


Soon, a cute young doctor came in, typing something into her i phone. She sat down and went through some questions while looking at my history. Migraines. Panic attacks. I tried to explain this was only during a short spell during a particularly stressful time in my life, but of course, Zoloft was listed as a medication I'm still on, so she didn't fall for it.

"Oh!" said the cute young doctor, "You work at Children's Book World!"

"You know of it?"

"It's only my favorite store in the whole world and my son is in Luke's book club!"

Oh goody, I just told the woman who brings her son into the store all the time all about my mental health problems. Nothing like getting to know your customers. After that though, there were no more suspicious questions and she even passed me on the eye exam.

I saw two other just-hired librarians I knew on my way out. "Good luck." I said. They laughed nervously.

Beet Salad

Single serving salad:

1 bunch small beet greens
1 beet, roasted, cut into bite-size pieces
2 Tablespoons pomegranate seeds
1 small tangerine OR goat cheese

Dressing:

1/2 shallot, minced
1 teaspoon white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon tangerine juice
2 tablespoons olive oil
cumin seeds, salt, and pepper to taste

Let the cut shallots sit in the vinegar and fruit juice for 10 minutes before adding the olive oil.
Toss greens in dressing. Put the rest of the ingredients on top. Eat!

Laundry

Things must happen in my life. Each day feels eventful and busy. But, as for something to share with you, I'm left with a big blank box. I feel the need to write. There is a little tug that reminds me I get the same satisfaction from posting a blog entry as from hanging my laundry out on the line to dry crispy in the sun. But my laundry, always an array of colors, feels particularly stained these days. In fact, it is looking downright bedraggled. I've aired all my pretty little underwear, bright-colored candies set out on a coffee table for all to see. All that's left today is the pair of gigantic, elastic-stretched grannies that have been washed so many times they're greyish white and almost see-through. You know them, right? The pair you sneak into the house and hang over the bathtub to dry so your neighbors won't have to be embarrassed for you. The ones you only still HAVE because, well, you're just so used to them.

This week, I've been walking around with my old, familiar, embarrassing underwear. I hope you don't mind if I just hang them in my bathroom. Please check the laundry line next week.