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I may be the Mayor of Simpleton
So my survival of the past twenty-four hours is due pretty entirely to the heroic efforts of the lovely Princess Mei and the artistic Ebonlock. They're dramatically underpaid.
I tore the house apart yesterday, after hunting down the special paperwork and forms that the USPS required me to have. Because I'd managed to misplace the actual application. And at three this morning I fell into bed, after having unearthed and mostly filled out the application.
When I got up, of course things took longer than they should. And my directions to my Post Office interview blew. There may be an Evans Street exit on 280, but I have no idea what it's called. So there I was, stuck in morning commute traffic in downtown San Francisco, desperately trying to find someplace to park (there is, by the by, nowhere to park in downtown San Francisco) so I could call the Post Office and ask them where the hell the interview was.
And the clock was ticking.
And the traffic was hellish.
And I was running out of gas.
By the time I found someplace I could stand the car (When the engine is running and you're in the driver's seat, I'm told it is not parking--it is standing.) I hated life and just wanted to go home.
But I didn't. I found the place, only an hour late, and wrestled my way through security, I went upstairs and checked in.
And that was when I confirmed my primary dread--when they say they want two years of clean driving records, they do not mean no accidents in the past two years. Nor do they consider two years of driving under a learner's permit to count toward the two years of clean driving.
However, two good things came of it. Firstly, I didn't have to watch the 'Working for the Post Office' video this morning. Secondly, they didn't take my name off the rolls for future jobs. If I hadn't shown, they would have decided that I was a big slacker and decided not to tell me about any other jobs with the Post Office. (Even without the driving thing I can still get clerking or counter jobs.)
So by the time I was ready to leave The City, traffic had quieted down. The fog (or haze or whatever) made things seem peaceful and, if not quiet, at least quieter. I drove a few miles back to the freeway. It's remarkable how a little fog combined with slightly different lighting (I usually drive that road at two-thirty as opposed to noon) can make theoretically familiar landscape look utterly foreign. But the streetsigns helped.
I stopped by CostCo, because for some reason I thought I could buy gas there. (By the way. You can't.) And I spent a most relaxing and refreshing hour shopping. Just wandering through the aisles, looking at things, pondering them, and then saying 'hrm. Nope, don't need that.'
Shopping is not usually cathartic for me. Especially not shopping at CostCo, the downtown San Francisco of groceries. But today nothing could touch me. And after an hour I had a mammoth loaf of bread and two gargantuan bottles of Worchestershire sauce.
And tonight I will go look at a house that perhaps I can afford to live in, despite the fact that I don't have a $17/hr Post Office job.
I tore the house apart yesterday, after hunting down the special paperwork and forms that the USPS required me to have. Because I'd managed to misplace the actual application. And at three this morning I fell into bed, after having unearthed and mostly filled out the application.
When I got up, of course things took longer than they should. And my directions to my Post Office interview blew. There may be an Evans Street exit on 280, but I have no idea what it's called. So there I was, stuck in morning commute traffic in downtown San Francisco, desperately trying to find someplace to park (there is, by the by, nowhere to park in downtown San Francisco) so I could call the Post Office and ask them where the hell the interview was.
And the clock was ticking.
And the traffic was hellish.
And I was running out of gas.
By the time I found someplace I could stand the car (When the engine is running and you're in the driver's seat, I'm told it is not parking--it is standing.) I hated life and just wanted to go home.
But I didn't. I found the place, only an hour late, and wrestled my way through security, I went upstairs and checked in.
And that was when I confirmed my primary dread--when they say they want two years of clean driving records, they do not mean no accidents in the past two years. Nor do they consider two years of driving under a learner's permit to count toward the two years of clean driving.
However, two good things came of it. Firstly, I didn't have to watch the 'Working for the Post Office' video this morning. Secondly, they didn't take my name off the rolls for future jobs. If I hadn't shown, they would have decided that I was a big slacker and decided not to tell me about any other jobs with the Post Office. (Even without the driving thing I can still get clerking or counter jobs.)
So by the time I was ready to leave The City, traffic had quieted down. The fog (or haze or whatever) made things seem peaceful and, if not quiet, at least quieter. I drove a few miles back to the freeway. It's remarkable how a little fog combined with slightly different lighting (I usually drive that road at two-thirty as opposed to noon) can make theoretically familiar landscape look utterly foreign. But the streetsigns helped.
I stopped by CostCo, because for some reason I thought I could buy gas there. (By the way. You can't.) And I spent a most relaxing and refreshing hour shopping. Just wandering through the aisles, looking at things, pondering them, and then saying 'hrm. Nope, don't need that.'
Shopping is not usually cathartic for me. Especially not shopping at CostCo, the downtown San Francisco of groceries. But today nothing could touch me. And after an hour I had a mammoth loaf of bread and two gargantuan bottles of Worchestershire sauce.
And tonight I will go look at a house that perhaps I can afford to live in, despite the fact that I don't have a $17/hr Post Office job.
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I think I know where your confusion is. Although you cannot buy gas at the CostCo up on Rengstorff & 101, you *can* buy gas at the CostCo on Lawrence &...Arbuckle? Or something like that. It's near'ish Lawrence & Central, but before Lawrence & El Camino.
D00d, if I'd known you were going to CostCo today, I would've asked you to pick up the crap I have to go there tomorrow to get. :)
----
Sorry your experience up in SF was bad, but I'm glad you bulled your way through it and didn't show USPS you're a slacker, because it says something towards the new outlook on life you've been trying to master, and I'm proud of you.
I should be home in half hour or so, and we will look at house.
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(And if I'd thought I was mentally together enough to actually shop, I'd have called and gotten a shopping list. It was too much work to even sample the stuff they had on the trolleys today. And I want to see if they have dress socks. Mine are all stretchey and droopy.)
But if you want, I can go down tomorrow while you're giving blood and pick stuff up.
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*hug*
Hey, you're home safe now. Relax, wipe your brow, don't forget to breathe... yadda. =)
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Cyrrie -- does it mean no accidents ever?
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Good Luck on the house!
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The house is really really nice, but she wants to rent it right now (our lease is up at the end of January) and she wants more rent than we'd be paying with the new lease here.
So I'm not sure what'll happen there.
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