So there are things that need to be reported. First off, you know when I first told you all that I was moving back to my hometown, and that I HATED it because nobody knows how to drive well? Well, after only a week this has been totally 100% confirmed. "But, Lizzle, how can you possibly have undeniable proof after only a week?" you ask. Well I shall tell you! (Mind you, in all of this, I know I am not the absolute BEST driver out there, but I know HOW to drive, I think I do it well, and I have a clean driving record.) Today as I was doing my thing, running post-interview errands, picking up some swiss cheese from the grocery store, I was driving down the main aisle and preparing to turn into a parking place. (Mind you we are in a GROCERY STORE PARKING LOT... NOT ON A HIGHWAY, OR AT THE INDY 500.) And just as I am ready to turn in, while I am in a right-hand turning motion, a woman buzzes up and around my front end, and she cuts over, causing a little fender bender... though neither fender was bent, it was really more of a paint-trading type of deal. I immediately stop the car, take a deep breath to avoid coming out screaming that she is an absolute moron, and that she has just presented me with clear evidence that people in this town hold to my assertion that nobody knows what the hell they are doing behind the wheel, and I get out to survey the damage. She does likewise for her car. And she says, (and this is a DIRECT QUOTE:) "Oh, I saw you coming, I just thought I would hurry up and zip on past you so that you didn't hit me." Now, like I said earlier, we're in a PARKING LOT. At a GROCERY. STORE. It's not as though it's Christmas shopping season at the Mall of America, where one would need to "zip by" for the sake of attaining a primo parking space, or function behind the wheel in any kind of hurry for that matter... Hell, she wasn't even trying to get the parking place, she just didn't want to wait the two seconds it would have taken me to turn in. My natural response to her quote was to note, "You were back there, BEHIND ME, and you thought you'd 'zip by' so that I didn't hit you? I was moving forward... If you were behind me, how does zipping by prevent my hitting you." I wanted to add, "You're such an idiot I ought to hit you with my fist as well as my car." But I thought better of it.
We traded info, but as it is only paint on both cars and since there was no police report filed to confirm her idiocy, I think we're skipping the insurance thing... Hell, the deductible would be higher than the cost to fix the paint.
As if that is not bad enough, I think it should be noted --nay, ILLUSTRATED IN FULL COLOR, HIGH DEFINITION, AND SHARP RELIEF, -- That I have gone from a life of total and complete freedom and independence to a life of confinement and interrogation. Seriously. My grandfather, though his intentions are good, doesn't let anyone out of the house after dark... (If you're heading out and the sun is down, you'd better be prepared for a fight! And there are bells hanging on every out-bound door in the house to announce your departure or arrival, so you'd better be ready...) His logic is that if you're going out after dark, "Someone will get you!" To rational adults, this is utterly laughable, because this is not a big city, there is very little crime, and we live on the nicer side of the proverbial tracks. (I see this is going to put a big damper on my social calendar.) And even when you want to leave during daylight hours, you still better have a verifiable reason to be going anywhere. An example:
Liz: "I'm going out to run some errands."
L: (In a louder, more emphatic voice, because it's hard to tell if he just couldn't hear me because he's let the battery in his hearing aid go, or if he's asking for further details) "I'M GOING OUT TO RUN SOME ERRANDS."
G: "Well what do you need to do?"
L: "I have to go to the bank and make a deposit, I need to get some envelopes, and I need to drop some pants off at the dry cleaners."
G: "Well, why do you need to go out and do all that?"
L: "Because I couldn't do it last night... And I also am going to run by and pick up some of my clothes from the house [where my things are being stored]."
G: "Well why do you need to pick up more clothes?"
L: "Because I don't have the ones I need."
G: "Well what's wrong with the ones you've got on?"
L: "Nothing, but these are going to need to be washed... I need other ones."
G: "You've got a couple of bags of clothes with you, why do you need more?"
L: "I appreciate a little variety. And 3/4 of what I wear on a regular basis is still over there."
G: "Well, ok... When are you going to be back?"
L: "I'll probably be an hour or so."
G: "Why would picking up clothes take an hour?"
L: "Because I've got other things to do while I'm out."
G: "Oh. Ok."
L: "Is there anything you need while I'm out?"
G: "Pick up some cheese."
L: "Ok. BYE!"
Seriously... I go through this EVERY TIME I want to go anywhere to do anything. You can't answer one question without nine more cropping up. It's like living in a halfway house where you have to wear a tracking device to account for your whereabouts at all times, and then answering any and all questions upon arrival or departure. (And in all honesty, the questioning is much like that of a curious three year old, lots of "Why?" followed by your explanation followed by another "Why?" in a vicious repetitive cycle.)
We're not even going to get into the issues he has with technology... I never knew ordering a book on Amazon could be such a long, drawn-out three day saga. (And no, it's not just the internet he takes issue with, he also has issues with a digital alarm clock, a TV remote, and pretty much any electronic device excluding the microwave... He's got the microwave down pat.)
And the whole job situation, well, that produces a whole other myriad of questions. And to avoid intense scrutiny I have opted to "get my story straight" with my mom before either of us has contact with the old man, because if he hears one thing from one person, and something else from another, you can bet you're going to be grilled for an hour about what's going on, and you'll probably have to tell him again an hour later, because he'll forget that he asked and that you already explained.
Frustration doesn't even come close to doing justice to the feelings I go through here... Seriously, I am in HELL. Fortunately for me, I've got mom to keep me sane, and we keep each other from putting arsenic in the morning pot of coffee, or slipping a large batch of waterborne smallpox into the city water supply.
As Jay put it in the comments yesterday, I've got to JUST KEEP SWIMMING. (Which was the same sage advice I have him when he was down & out a while back.)
Oh, and I guess a few of you are interested in that interview I had... Well, there isn't a firm offer on the table, (yet) but I will more than likely get the opportunity to tell those bitches at the nut house exactly what they can do with all those damn macadamias on the night shift!