Life of the Bored and Taskless.

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Do you remember this?
This right here, I miss it.

I mean, when it was really full-swing. I was happy, right? I seemed spunky. I said things like "aw man!" and had my own quirky way of examining the teenage microcosm in which I dwelt. It's all in the exclamation points. Look at them. They weren't forced or anything, as natural and reflexive as breathing.

I realized something today. I was listening to Weezer, and it hit me. I really loved Weezer, remember that? Well, depending who you are, you may not know the full details of my notoriously unhealthy love affair with the group. That one band monopolized the majority of my lunchtime chit chat. At school, Weezer was the background music. At home, it was the pet that eagerly awaited me at the door.

In an objective sense, Weezer isn't incredibly profound. Anyone who employs campy pop culture references as metaphors for puppy love isn't exactly producing Pulitzer Prize-worthy gold. However, what they lacked in lyrical depth and musical complexity, they more than made up for in accessibility and feeling. I felt this emotional connection to the music and the lyrics have the tendency to unintentionally capture adolescent angst and restlessness. Simply put, Weezer really meant something to me; not many things evoke that craziness within me anymore. If a pop-rock ensemble could grab me in such a profound way five years ago, and nothing I make for myself at this juncture in my life has that kind of staying power, something must have changed.

What went wrong? Is my life more complex now, and I don't have the ability to devote such time to a pithy rock band or be overly nostalgic about anything? Do I not experience the same rapture when listening to music as I did in the past? Have I not found that "something" about which I am madly passionate to substitute my (albeit short-term) unrequited love with Weezer? Was the Green Album so bad that it tainted everything after its release?

You tell me the answer, because I'm having quite a bit of difficulty deciding this on my own. Alright, perhaps I'm only focusing on the negative aspects of this sense of anomie just to make a point (all things aside, the Green Album is truly abysmal). However, I think I've gotten a bit wrapped up in the drama, the struggle that comes with being/finding yourself, and have actually lost myself a bit in the process.

Despite what you think of me, whether you see me as a naive clown, a sharp-tongued cynic, a music geek, whether you see pathos or joy when you look in my eyes, you might not know this about me: I am incredibly worried that I won't be a good person. For years, I was really concerned about being a good person. My conception of goodnaturedness was as follows: because I am innately a decent human being (notions of survival instincts aside, this was middle school, folks), people will like me if I am as genuine as possible. Simple as that. For years, I operated on this principle. I'd like to say that this is still how I function, but I'm not so sure. I've beaten myself down. I've become crude, bitter, rash, anxious, and...need I say more?

I decided today that I have to stop this. I need to stop the anger, stop the bitterness. I have to stop thinking that the world owes me something, and instead channel that guileless, middle school mindset that I owe the world something. It saved me then, so hopefully, it will save me now.

I have to move on. I decided that I'm finally ready to apologize to you all.

With a little help from Radiohead.

"All I Need"

"I'm the next act, waiting in the wings..."

I'm sorry, Uncle Charles. I'm sorry that I greeted you with apathy every time you displayed your concern. I'm sorry that I haven't, to this day, talked to Aunt Viv about you because it hurts too much. I can still barely think about you without crying. I have to take better care of her. I wish I said "I love you" more instead of slamming the door, but there's nothing I can do about it now. You're dead.

"I'm an animal, trapped in your hot car..."

I'm sorry, Zach. I'm sorry that things didn't work out, and that I was a flaming wench and never wanted to see eye-to-eye (height difference aside). Dating your best friend wasn't the coolest move, either. I feel like we could still be friends if I tried harder. We're really not that different, you and I. Maybe our similarities repelled each other in the end. I still think that you're funny as hell. I'm also incredibly sorry that I didn't go to that Peddle to the Meddle where you premiered your skit. I was so blinded by my jealousy of the "Hip Squad" (I felt inferior to them, and thought you'd like them more than me), that I didn't want to do anything even associated with them. I guess I sealed my own fate, and I'll have to live with that.

"I'm all the days that you choose to ignore..."

I'm sorry, Scott. I'm sorry that I always made fun of you and downwardly compared myself to you in order to make me look better. I'm really not that great of a sister sometimes, and I'm going to try harder. You just have to work with me.

"You are all I need...you are all I need..."

I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm sorry that you might end up being the glue that holds the family together. I've been too wrapped up in my own problems to show genuine affection towards our parents. I don't feel like part of the family, and I know that you don't really understand this because you feel this intense obligation to love people unconditionally. That used to be me before I strayed from myself. Don't lose that.

"I'm in the middle of the picture, lying in the leaves..."

I'm sorry, Marina. I'm sorry that I didn't make it a point to hang out with you much last semester. Since I've been away, I've realized how much you mean to me. I think I may have taken our friendship for granted, and for this I apologize. You've been nothing but incredibly caring towards me, and I feel like I have to play some catch-up. I'm also sorry about freshman year. I should have told you more about how I felt about things instead of silencing my thoughts.

"I am a moth who just wants to share your light..."

I'm sorry, Dana. I'm sorry that I was jealous of you for years, even as early as elementary school. My family always used you as the marker of achievement, so I've always seen you as this infallible, perfect person. I know you probably make mistakes too, but never seeing you really fail always made me feel like a small person. This was horribly wrong and stupid. I wish you the best of luck with everything you do, because you're a capable, witty, amiable individual, and I cherish all of the fun times we had together. Whatever it is, you have it and you always have.

"I'm just an insect, trying to get out of the night..."

I'm sorry, Dan. I'm sorry that I don't know what to do sometimes in our friendship. I'm sorry that you've taken some of my choices to heart, but I'm not sorry for being honest with you about them. I hope that you'll come back, but if not, I can understand that you have your reasons just as I have mine. If so, we need to work on this more. I can't stand you not being in my life. I'm sorry about all of the times when I've taken things you've said too personally or have offended you by not thinking about the implications of my statements. You know how I just love to shoot my mouth off when I get defensive. I'm sorry that I haven't lived up to your expectations, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to. As far as I'm concerned, there is no such thing as perfection. This isn't an excuse for not trying to be a better person.

"We only stick like glue, because there are no others..."

I'm sorry, Mom and Dad. I'm sorry that I've been so impatient and hostile with you both. It's been hard for all of us for such a long time, and I'll try to focus less on the bad and more on the good. You're really not as bad as I make you out to be. I'm sorry that I don't feel like I can relate to either of you. Where the fault lies is neither here nor there, but I can attempt to show that I do care about you. I'm still there, jumping off of the swingset in the backyard of 2775 Valley Road. You just have to look harder to see me now.

"You are all I need...you are all I need..."

I'm sorry, Aunt Viv. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to been more open with you and sometimes get frustrated when you care too much. I've since realized that it's impossible to care too much about someone. I hope I haven't been biting the hand that feeds. I love you more than you will ever know, and likely more than I'll ever let on. Thank you for making my life possible. If I can have as much impact on someone's life as you have on mine, I will have an amazing life.

"I'm in the middle of the picture, lying in the leaves..."

I'm sorry, Clint. I'm sorry that I've occasionally taken out my exasperation on you. It's simply unfair. You're a patient person, and you really don't deserve that. Thank you for being so loyal despite these outbursts. I'm sorry for being so needlessly competitive sometimes, and that you're really the only person I'm competitive with. It's messed up. If this undesirable part of me leaks into our friendship, I will be quick to amend the situation. I wouldn't want to ever lose you as a friend, especially over something as asinine as an inferiority complex. It's happened before, and I won't let it happen again.

"It's all right, it's all wrong. It's all right, it's all wrong..."

I'm sorry, Taylor. I'm sorry that I treated you so poorly when we dated, and still haven't really lived up to your expectations as a person. I have to stop being so selfish and obnoxious and try to be whatever it is you see in me that is worthy of your friendship. The fact that you're so selective and we're still friends means that there has to be something there that I haven't fully tapped into. I'm sorry that I got a bit defensive over the whole South Campus friends thing. I'm sincerely glad that you've made another group of friends, because you deserve to have other people in your life as well. I do, however, plan to be part of yours for a long time.

Please forgive me. To anyone else whom I owe a sincere apology, I'm sorry. I hope that this will be the first step towards a better me. Stay tuned for updates.

7:19 PM | Wacquie Jacquie | 0 comments links to this post

Monday, April 28, 2008

Hello blogosphere.

It is quite evident that I haven't been keeping up with my own life. There are too many things and not enough time to explain everything that's happened this semester. When I return, I insist that you ask me in person what I did so I can vomit words all over you.

With that being said, I noticed that I saved a draft of my account of my brother's quazi-trial (yes, the belt buckle incident). I fixed it up a bit even though it's still unfinished, and don't quite know how to end it, because all of the tension fizzled after it was through.

Side note: For the record, since I wrote this draft, I've liked Scott a lot more. It's amazing what the Atlantic Ocean can do for your familial relationships.

Aw, here it goes...
_________________________________________________________

For Whom the Belt Tolls (December 30, 2007)

My brother, Scott, has always been a "bad seed," so to speak. Plucked directly from our faulty family tree and sowed in a broken home, he's long been bombarded with the go-ahead to not give a flying fuck about what higher-ups demand of him. Naturally, as a "bad kid," he does "bad things." For all of the "fuck"s, lugies, and punches he's doled out, it's no wonder that he and the school don't exactly see eye-to-eye concerning rules and regulations.

One day, Scott sported a new fasion accessory at school. Ordered directly from a skater website, "The Punisher" was an impressive buckle by most teenage standards. I bet its metallic ridges implicitly signaled "badass" as he slinked down the clique-littered hallways of Lenape Middle School. During the lunch period, Scott passed the buckle to an inquisitive (and later, sincerely apologetic) friend. A math teacher inquired as to whose the buckle was, fingers were pointed, and the damage was done. Ms. So-and-so called the self-righteous Vice Principle, who then contacted the local police. Both the Vice Principle and local authorities deemed the doning of "The Punisher" as something deserving of punishment. Since Scott possessed a "deadly weapon" on school grounds, he would need to go to court. While 9th-grader Jacquie learned about the effects of vertical stratification indirectly and comfortably from her accelerated social studies class, 9th-grader Scott directly learned this lesson during a fateful lunch hour.

She was a complete mute that morning. As I looked at my mother, then at the blank television screen, and back at my mother, I realized that today was going to be a continuation of Christmas Eve: briming with passive aggressiveness and non-verbal screaming. I consciously decided to avoid my mother at all costs, and keep eye contact to a minimum.

At 1:10, everyone on the support team was ready, and we left 50 minutes early. When Scott, still adorned with oversized sweatshirt and backwards skater hat, lunged out the door, I purposely knocked off his hat with my hand and smirked. That little fucker had been the root of numerous problems as of late, and I, unlike everyone else, wanted to acknowledge it. I realized that two could play at this game and doing it was cathartic, if anything. I love the kid, but at the same time, he loves ruining everything I enjoy. If that wouldn't get to you, then you're a saint.

The Doylestown Courthouse. Not only was this supposed place of justice shaped like a toilet, it was veritible shithole inside. The employees were as beige as the floor tiles, and the bland 1970's architecture only reinforced the displeasure of the day. As she briskly marched to the elevator, I noticed that my mother reeked of her good perfume and her fierce makeup job only served to accentuate her anger.

Sixth floor: juvenile court. I sat in my chair and attempted to channel my limited knowledge of Dante's Inferno. Sixth circle of hell...reserved for heretics. I suppose in a way, my brother had always been somewhat of a heretic in the school district's eyes. From kindergarden, when he fervently scribbled on the glossy classroom floor to his latest fashion faux pas, Scott never grasped the concept of subtlety. Then again, I believe that he never had any intention of doing so. I glanced at him while sitting in purgatory, secretly wishing that he would be punished for something he actually did (i.e. smoking pot on numerous occasions, getting picked up by the cops at 4 A.M.) instead of wearing a goddamn belt buckle.

Unfortunately, today was the first time I had seen Scott look really sharp. Even with black sneakers, he looked like a normal boy. Good, I thought, for once our family at least appeared to be semi-functioning. A combination of the transmission of redneck dogma (a la dad) and adolescent rebellion usually roughens his appearance, but today he looked like a churchgoer. Mission accomplished.

1:40:"Jacqueline, what time is it?" mom asked.
"20 of."
My mother's anxiety was nearly palpable. She glared at the elevator, doing her best to will her lawyer to come out of it. I thought her clenched jaw would do it, but it appeared that no one in this hellhole were scared by anything. Several social workers paraded back and forth like runway models for the State, and I admired and pitied them for having to deal with the irreverent punks that I had consisently avoided as a kid. Then there were the laywers. Years of bluffing from both parents had jaded Scott, and when I observed the other lawyers, I noted that they too had been jaded by the system. To my left was a remarkable specimen. I couldn't believe that this fucker had a phone in one ear and a Blue Tooth on another. I wondered if he heard static when there wasn't sound being pumped into his ears.

Much to my mother's chagrin, my father managed to materialize out of the elevator before her lawyer. I eyed him up from dirty boots to the contractor hat equipped with the trademark fishing hook. I mimicked my mother's terse expression. I should have expected this from him, the man who "doesn't give a shit about what people think," who confounds NASCAR t-shirts with tuxedo shirts, and whose sly catfish-like mustache makes him appear to be a character of rural legend. As someone who believes that people will come through in the end, I always hope that he'll surprise me. He has yet to do so.

I watched as my dad (a former juvenile delinquent) silently smiled at Scott, who appeared to be on the verge of laughter. I held this exchange in contempt. Have they no sense of decorum? Courthouse etiquette?
Were they forming an escape plan?
"What are you smiling about?" I barked. My dad looked at me and refused to respond and slid into his chair. Good, I mused, disorder has been restored. We all went back to staring at the beige elevator doors. Tim and my father cordially conversed about contracting and quickly stopped.

Our savior, the lawyer, finally emerged through the doors. My mother beamed to the best of her abilities, but her eyebrows remained severe. She pointed, "Mr. Pengloss, this is my boyfriend, Tim, my son Kyle, my Aunt Vivian"...And me, I thought. Oh well, she'll get me next time.

"Mr. Pengloss" turned out to be a godsend. Unlike the other lawyers, he was young, approachable, and seemed refreshingly sincere. Even his patchy mustache signaled that he didn't take himself too seriously; I assumed that on any other day, Scott would not have. Mr. Pengloss took my brother into another room and presumably fed him the correct statements. People of Scott's cohort are still vulnerable to fits of honesty, so it was good to have quality control on our side.

When the lawyer representing the almighty Central Bucks School District strode through the elevator doors, we realized that the time was now. Scott and Mr. Pengloss jumped out of their seats and followed the other, older officials into a hallway out of eyeshot. Time was a sloth as we waited. We attempted to initiate uplifting exchanges, but all were sabotaged by our own sideways glances and the pre-existing tension that the environment, the day, and the bloodline carried.

As Those in Suits emerged from the corner, everyone looked remotely satisfied. I examined Scott - no visible stigmata. According to Mr. Pengloss, Scott executed his lines with great accuracy, and ended up receiving the lowest sentence: six months of probation, a couple hundred hours of community service, and a curfew. Upon returning home, Sharp-dressed Scott morphed back into his messier, ganglier self and the normal level of dysfunction was reinstated.

My verdict: My mother and father should be thankful that someone has taken the initiative to administer discipline. They will mourn the day when they must resume fingerpointing.

12:43 PM | Wacquie Jacquie | 0 comments links to this post

Monday, December 17, 2007

The Irish Address

I don't expect things to stay the same, stop.
But I don't desire things to change, stop.

I count the days we have until I leave.
Then, we're broken.
Separated by a couple of hours, hundreds of miles, thousands of people.
End of transmission.

12:52 PM | Wacquie Jacquie | 0 comments links to this post

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Current thoughts:
1) I have a lot more know-why than know-how. Relatively speaking, that doesn't mean very much.
2) It's nice when people tell you their problems. I love it; hopefully this will be my job some day. However, it can get confusing when one person tells me about another person, and the very same person talks about another people who in turn talks to me and...I think you get it.
3) Chick flicks serve a definite purpose. Although the purpose is real, it doesn't mean the storyline is. Sorry ladies, Jude Law is both out of your league and on a completely separate sphere of attractiveness than the human race as we know it. What a fox.
4) Nothing is equal. Ever. Feelings, power, compassion, opportunities, you name it. It's inconsequential when you muse about it, but incredibly difficult to accept it. I don't know if anyone ever can, because we somehow expect to have a level playing field all the time. There are so many factors to take into account, including context, which ensure that things will be unequal.
Way to go, subjective fucking existence.
5) I am many people. Let's see. There's Social Jacquie, Big-Sister Jacquie, College Jacquie, Solitary Jacquie, Depressed Jacquie, Confident Jacquie, Comedian Jacquie, Tour Guide Jacquie...the list goes on. So who the fuck am I? Is there some pure version of myself I have yet to discover? I doubt it. I guess we're all just a big conglomeration of selves depending on the social context. It's also hard to gauge what I'm like when I'm by myself, because you have to take into account what I'm not doing, which is being around other people. Can you see the real me?
6) It is much better to let something out than to keep it in. No matter what. With that being said, I have some emotional purging to be doing, or else some old wounds will never heal. Wound, rather.
7) I seriously would love to do comedy-related things. I wonder if it's a) too late b) how I would fare and c) what I would even do. I think I just need to do something.

11:19 PM | Wacquie Jacquie | 0 comments links to this post

Thursday, October 25, 2007

There is an infinite amount of love (or falling into love) songs. Why aren't there many falling OUT of love songs? That phenomenon happens just as much as the former does, and usually lasts longer (can somebody say McUnfulfilling marriages?). Ok, Fiona, I hear you. You've probably cornered the market on this one. The rest of humanity, let's get cracking on this one.

Maybe it's the fall chill that setting in, or the annual death of nature's most beautiful facade that's getting to me, but I've observed this season accenting the cold in some relationships. Not to say I'm immune to this (What's my name? Right, Ice Queen), but I'm noticing it more in other people.

If Love is a pair of blinders, it must not be impervious to wind, because mine have simply blown away. What reveals itself when the blinders go, however, may be dissapointing. For me, it's been more of a gradual summation of smaller things, and then a resulting dissapointment. Not one of those trite "I am SO dissapointed in you, little Jimmy, for eating all of those Ho-Hos!" kind of dissapointment. It's more of a slow burn, "I had expectations (possibly unrealistic ones) that you haven't met, and I can't believe I didn't see it sooner, and you're not going to change and neither am I" ...thing. Regardless, it doesn't reinforce my detection skills at all. Well, here's to friendship.

Speaking of friends, I can't help but noticing this phenomenon with some of my friends. I suppose their blinders, in a way, have also blown off, sometimes revealing people in...not the best of light. Obviously, the process of falling out of love is much harder than it is to fall in love. The blind optimism you possess in the beginning of a relationship is sweet. Then, you get to know the person and temper this optimism somewhat, but there's still hope. Yet, towards the end is where the autumnization happens: things start to wilt, and you're reminded of how good things used to be.

How can you salvage something that, in itself, is less than what it can potentially be? That's something we all probably have to deal with, and I really don't have an answer for it. I envision this period as a winter storm. The great equalizer of snow will plop down, covering the decay, and I'll begin to see things in a new (more realistic) way. I'll also think about the past less with each passing day, due to its burial under the cold blanket. Plus, how can you be flighty and whimsical with a boot full of cold, melting snow? I don't know about you, but I can't.

I suppose I don't really know the end results of this fall-to-winter transition (it's what keeps life interesting), but I also know I won't blend into the background during this process. I believe I've become more mature (fart jokes aside) since coming to college, and this period of time will be a test to see just how much I can a) actively work on maintaining a friendship b) try not to get as defensive (unless merited, of course) and c) work on myself, by doing as best as I can, in studies, with friends, and as a person. Plus, I have a wonderful collection of sweaters and socks.
I think I'll do just fine.

9:50 AM | Wacquie Jacquie | 0 comments links to this post

Sunday, July 15, 2007

"Hi Jacqueline, how are you doing today?
"Good, thanks."
"Do you prefer Jacqueline or Jacquie?"
"It doesn't matter. Either one is fine."
"Alright, well, my name is _____, and as you are well aware, I will be interviewing you for the open position in our company.
"Mmhmm."
"Do you have any questions for me before we begin?"
"Um...none, as far as I know."
"Alright, then, we'll begin. The first question I would like to ask you is...what will you be bringing to the company that you feel is lacking otherwise?"
"Well, I tend to have a good work ethic. I am more than willing to put in overtime, and I think that I could bring a well-needed sense of humor to this corporation. I take business very seriously, but I think that all it takes is one person to brighten up the workplace."
"Miss Baker, that is quite a heavy statement. Do you honestly think you can back that up?"
"Yes. I know from experience that my attitude and warmth has made otherwise, I don't know... routine situations more exciting."
"I see. Another question I want to ask you is...if you are accepted to this position, are you willing to make this your primary job, meaning, do you have other committments at the moment?"
"No. I believe in working for one company at a time. From what I've observed, splitting productive energy between two companies is never as satisfying as channeling them into one job."
"Great. Well, I got a chance to look at your resumé, and I must say...I'm a bit wary about certain things, but I think you have potential.
"...Ok."
"About this last job...It says here you were hired and let go twice."
"Yes."
"Could you please elaborate on this for me?"
"Ok, well, my employer thought that I deserved a second chance after he let me go the first time."
"Did you deserve a second chance?"
"...Well, I think I did, but I'm not sure he felt the same way.
"Alrighty..."
"No, well, see, I promised that I would change certain things, and I did. But there were other issues that arose that were out of my control."
"And those issues were...?"
"Well, I'm not sure if I want to really disclose that to you yet."
"Any information will help us in the review process, Jacqueline."
"Right...there were some...sexual issues that came up...more like, a lack of participation-"
"Mmm...do you think that, since then, your..."sexual productivity," shall we say, has increased?"
"Well, I'm not quite sure. This is the first interview I've had since then, but if I'm hired, I'll make sure to at least try to work on this."
"We'll see to it that you do."
"Right."
"And this one. Winter '02...Just out of curiosity, why did you only stay at this job for a month?"
"I believe I listed my reason for leaving as not finding the right fit-"
"Can you give a less vague description of what really happened?"
"I just wasn't that into him...?"
"Ah yes, the 'Sex and the City' defense. Miss Baker, I don't have enough time to listen to you beat around the bush."
"No, no, trust me. As cliché as that sounds, it's very accurate."
"And this, this is interesting: you worked for this company for seven months, quit, then re-applied a couple of years later only to withdraw your resumé. Frankly, Jacqueline, what makes me believe that you won't do something like this to our company?"
"I assure you, this was something that happened once and will never happen again. The circumstances surrounding the re-application were complex, but I quickly evaluated the situation, and I realized that the same problems that existed years back would still affect my work."
"You realize that we, as a business, don't take inconsistent behavior very lightly."
"No, I agree with you wholeheartedly, which is why, if I am employed, I will be 100% committed to this job."
"I would certainly hope so...Would you say, Jacqueline, that you are on 'good terms' with your past employers?"
"For the most part, yes. Some of them, I don't speak to, but when I see them, there seems to be no real tension. There's one employer I stopped talking to, but I won't get into that...Half I still speak to from time to time, and the last one...well, I'm not certain what will happen in the future, but at the moment, we've talked a bit, and I hope our relationship outside of the workplace will continue."
"When it adds up, you've worked at...1, 2, 3...7 places within the past six years. Do you ever plan on holding a long-term position, or are you going to continue to flit about the local market?"
"Well, at this point in my life, I believe that there are many options and routes for me to take. Not exploring them would be a travesty; however, when I eventually find the right job and possess few doubts about future growth opportunities and benefits, I will make that my permanent job. Perhaps this company could be that one job, but unless you hire me... I have no way of really knowing..."
"Well, Jacqueline, that seems to be sufficient. We'll call you back within the next week to let you know about our decision."
"Thank you so much; have a good rest of the day."
"You too, take care."

This has been "My Dating History as a Job Resumé."

2:48 PM | Wacquie Jacquie | 1 comments links to this post

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Tales From the DMV

Once upon a Tuesday, I ventured into the DMV for a simple license switch. Nothing major; the legal equivalent of going to the doctor about that minor cough you've been having, but if left unchecked may materialize into Ebola. When I pulled up to the Monopoly house that is the Huntingdon Valley DMV, a magical parking spot appeared in front of the crowded doors. Wow, all the luck I'm going to have for the next five hours. In case a replacement picture was needed (or the paparazzi were afoot), I gussied myself up in my rear-view mirror. In a strangely pathetic way, I was excited to be a documented redhead.

Both I and another man simultaneously busted through the nondescript windowdoors and surveyed the scene. We exchanged looks, "It's always really busy," he said. I nodded overemphatically, and we parted ways. I approached the semi-functioning ticket machine that looked like an 80's time machine and pressed "C" for "other business information." My fate was sealed in the number 879.

I took a seat in the last row. I figured I could conk myself out using my head and the black wall if I needed to dull the persistent pain of absolute boredom and forced silence. I scanned the room, and was delighted to see the population of which had sizable representation from both the cubicle droid and slutty teen demographics. Even if I didn't particularly look it, I felt like a C in a room full of A's and B's.

I slid over a seat and called to an erect mother/son duo to join (and likely commiserate with) me. Oh boy, I mused, perhaps I could humor them with generic statements about waiting and the permit test! After carrying out the prescripted spiel about waiting and chuckling smugly with both of my neighboring parties, the son blurted, "Yeah, well what do you expect? It's government-run." Dripping with sarcasm, I chastised him for slighting the servants of our nation's finest institution, while my eyes glared at the flickering ticker. "I'm in purgatory, right? Just checking." The mother/son pair laughed at my cheezy attempt at DMV stand-up, and I once again returned to mutism.

Suddenly, 879 appeared on the ticker, and I popped out of my confining chair. The Mother and Son team cheered as I raced to Window 4. I looked at the man across from me in the window. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but this guy was different than the other government zombies I've encountered in the past. His eyes were bordered by laugh-crafted crinkles, whereas their eyes and mouths hung droopily; he earned his grey with time, whereas they paid for theirs prematurily.

Window 4 smiled at me and asked "What kind of service would you like?" The government sure uses their money well, I thought. What an amusingly realistic robot!
"Well, actually, heh, I have a couple of questions." I jerked, snapping out of my boredom-induced coma.
"Alright."
"See, I want to get my junior license changed into a senior license. I mean, I'm 20, so I'm older than 18. Do I need to have anyone sign this? Anyway, I wanted to get my address changed, but I figure, I might as well just get a senior license while I'm at it..." I waited nervously for the prognosis.
"Do you have your license with you?"
"Uh, yeah." He turned around to grab paperwork while I fished in my purse for my wallet. I slapped the license on the counter as if I deserved some sort of a prize.
"I'll tell you what, Jack..."
Jack, I chuckled to myself, exactly how my uncle would have said it...
"...You need a change of address, right?"
"Yeah."
"How about I make you a senior license, but we keep the old picture and change the address. Sound good?"
"Yeah, perfect."
He messed around with the computer system and asked if all the information looked alright.
"Do you have a check on you?"
"Oh, no, just cash."
"Alright, you can run over to SuperFresh and get a money order. I'll make your license while you're doing that so you don't have to wait longer."
"Thanks...You know, I was talking to someone here, and well, I think this place is like purgatory."
"Heh, it is." He nodded overemphatically. "Welcome to my hell. I'm living it."
My laugh was tinged with pity, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"I'll tell you something." He leaned in closer. "After working here for so long, I come in, and I all I want...is a big barbell..."
He and I exchanged wicked looks and snorted.
"Wait, if I leave and come back, do I need to get a new number and wait again?"
He glanced up from the computer and flatly blurted, "Only if you want to be a groupie, Jacquie."
I laughed at how preposterous his statement was. "Hah, I like you! You're good people."
He looked up and smiled. "You go and get that money order, and you'll be out of here in a couple of minutes." Unlike me, I imagined him thinking.
"Thanks!" I said, and jaunted out of that godforsaken building. I looked over as I was sprinting and saw the Mother and Son still impatiently waiting for their number to be called.

On the way back from SuperFresh, I admittedly thought about writing this very entry, and wondered how I could meaningfully cap off my conversation with this goodnatured employee who I'd probably never talk to ever again. Maybe I could say something like:
"Oh hey, I never got your name." When he would tell me, then I could say, "Well, ______, good luck in here," while giving him a slight smile and nod as if to say, "Don't let them swallow you."

However, that never happened. When I returned, I went to jump in front of Window 4, but there was a slutty teen pair in the way. He looked over, grabbed the money order and signed it, and gave me the new license. "There you go," he said, and I replied with "Thanks" and strolled out of the building, not forgetting to give the involuntarily patient Mother and Son a "thumbs up" for good luck on the permit test. I sealed shut the languid limbo behind me, and drove off with a slightly altered license and a new-found respect for DMV employees who manage to keep their souls in an accessible file.

4:07 PM | Wacquie Jacquie | 2 comments links to this post