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dragonlady7At this point am getting rather emotionally fragile.
Went to DMV to turn in plates and hopefully get my registration $$ refunded. Most of the $100-something I gave them wasn't refundable, I know, but I'd hoped to get some money back, and then a number so I could cancel my insurance and thus not pay them $500 for coverage on a car I don't have.
Standing in line, I looked around at all the exceedingly cheesy little USA decorations, including the big flag with "WE WILL NEVER FORGET", 9/11/01, and an eagle head all in among the 50 stars. Unaccountably, the very tackiness of this moved me-- possibly affected by reading![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
leopard_lady's entry from this morning about the brutal shock of unwittingly getting off at the WTC stop of the PATH train and being confronted with her first view of the site of the attacks. I found myself near tears at how cheesy but sincere it all was. Yes, there I was in the DMV, actually moved by a cheesy decoration.
Handed in my plates. "Do you have the window sticker?" the DMV lady asked. (She was, coincidentally, the same lady who sold me the registration in the first place.)
"It's on the car," I said.
"Oh," she said a little sadly. "I can refund one year of the two-year registration, then, but I need the unused window sticker to give you both years back."
"Oh," I said, also a little sadly.
"But," she said kindly, "you do have the plates. So at least you can cancel the insurance."
Cheered a little, I nodded-- it was only twenty-some dollars, and it's not the end of the world. (Note to self for future reference: Don't put the window sticker on until the car has passed inspection.)
"Ok," she said, "that'll be a dollar."
"Ok," I said brightly, and put my hand into the pocket of my jacket. Cellphone and keys. Other pocket: to-do list and cold-weather headband to keep ears warm. Hm. Put my hand into my shoulder bag. Flashlight. Notepad. Spare key to the door. Folder of papers. Removed folder of papers. Bag was empty.
"Crap," I said, and put my head against the partition, not quite banging it, utterly defeated. "I forgot my wallet."
The woman looked horrified and sympathetic. "Oh dear," she said. "I can't process it without the dollar."
Naturally, I burst into tears, not being the most composed person in the world under the best of circumstances. "I'm sorry," I said, gathering my stuff and putting it back into my bag, and taking back the license plates. "So many things have gone wrong today. I can't believe I forgot my wallet." Thinking: I have to do this today. I told my insurance company I'd do this today. Dave needs his car by 12:30. I can't get home and back here by then. He'll be gone all day tomorrow. This is too far to walk. I can't believe I came all this way and FORGOT MY WALLET. I had it IN MY HAND. Where did I put it? What was I thinking? Am I crazy? What is this? Am I the least competent human ever to exist?
"Wait," the woman behind me in line said. "Do you just need a dollar?"
The woman behind the counter nodded, and the woman behind me produced a dollar. "Here," she said, her face creased in sympathy.
I looked at her, and looked at the woman behind the counter, and took the dollar from her with a sense of surreality, handed it to the woman behind the counter, and gave her my license plates. She finished the transaction and gave me my receipt, pointing to the part I needed to give my insurance company. "You're all set," she said kindly.
I turned to the woman behind me. "What's your address?" I said. "I'll mail you a dollar."
"No, no," she said, smiling. "It's not important."
I gave her a hug instead, and left the DMV still crying.
so that's the heart-warming portion of the story. The rest is just sad.
I sniffled the whole way home, wondering how I could have been such an idiot as to have gone there in the first place without my wallet. I also wondered how I had managed to remain alive this long, being as I was possibly the least competent human in the world. I can't even renew a goddamn domain name that IS MY NAME. And I had somehow picked up my wallet from the bed and managed to put it down someplace that wasn't ANY of the pockets of ANY of the objects I was bringing with me. And of course, here I am, three years after 9/11, i didn't even KNOW anyone involved, I saw the site on the 5th Oct 2001 and can still remember how the smoke smelled, it's stupid because it had nothing to do with me personally and it shouldn't mean anything to me except that i'm sorry for those who did lose people, but I'm realizing that I need a job and they'll never give me off for Thanksgiving but if I don't have at least two days I can't get to Melrose and can't see Katy before she goes to Iraq again (which IS how 9/11 concretely affects me), and I'm stupid not to have tried harder to get a job earlier because maybe if I'd had a job for a while by now they'd give me time off, but I don't know that they wouldn't, I'm still stupid and unemployed and my unemployment benefits are gone as of last week, and really I know nothing and have no reason to be as upset as I am except that I am possibly the world's least competent human.
So i came home and made lunch. The kitchen is a mess, dishes not done and it's Dave's turn to do them but he didn't get to it. As I make lunch Dave is grumpily and frantically working on his homework and knowing it won't be finished by the time he has to leave. I couldn't keep from crying over lunch, as I'm slicing the bagels (and much as I love Buffalo and its cuisine, bagels here are little squishy for-crap things) and reheating canned soup. Dave hears me and wants to know what's wrong with me, I tell him I'm just having a bad day, he says the domain thing will get sorted out, I agree and cry some more, he gets up and I think maybe he'll come comfort me (sad that something like that would help, as we both have better things to do than pander to my need for attention), but he's just getting dressed and going back to his work. I apologize for having taken so much of his time this morning, he says 'no, i should've gotten up earlier,' it doesn't really console me because I know he spent at least half an hour researching the transfer of domain names for me, and he WAS up early, but spent over an hour in my bed being snuggly and a Good Boyfriend, and I am sad to think that it was time he didn't have to spend. He comes and eats a hurried lunch, packs up in a frantic rush, I hand him his bagel as he runs out the door, and make him stop long enough to kiss me goodbye.
Yes, I am totally unable to cope with life. Congratulations to me!
Went to DMV to turn in plates and hopefully get my registration $$ refunded. Most of the $100-something I gave them wasn't refundable, I know, but I'd hoped to get some money back, and then a number so I could cancel my insurance and thus not pay them $500 for coverage on a car I don't have.
Standing in line, I looked around at all the exceedingly cheesy little USA decorations, including the big flag with "WE WILL NEVER FORGET", 9/11/01, and an eagle head all in among the 50 stars. Unaccountably, the very tackiness of this moved me-- possibly affected by reading
leopard_lady's entry from this morning about the brutal shock of unwittingly getting off at the WTC stop of the PATH train and being confronted with her first view of the site of the attacks. I found myself near tears at how cheesy but sincere it all was. Yes, there I was in the DMV, actually moved by a cheesy decoration.Handed in my plates. "Do you have the window sticker?" the DMV lady asked. (She was, coincidentally, the same lady who sold me the registration in the first place.)
"It's on the car," I said.
"Oh," she said a little sadly. "I can refund one year of the two-year registration, then, but I need the unused window sticker to give you both years back."
"Oh," I said, also a little sadly.
"But," she said kindly, "you do have the plates. So at least you can cancel the insurance."
Cheered a little, I nodded-- it was only twenty-some dollars, and it's not the end of the world. (Note to self for future reference: Don't put the window sticker on until the car has passed inspection.)
"Ok," she said, "that'll be a dollar."
"Ok," I said brightly, and put my hand into the pocket of my jacket. Cellphone and keys. Other pocket: to-do list and cold-weather headband to keep ears warm. Hm. Put my hand into my shoulder bag. Flashlight. Notepad. Spare key to the door. Folder of papers. Removed folder of papers. Bag was empty.
"Crap," I said, and put my head against the partition, not quite banging it, utterly defeated. "I forgot my wallet."
The woman looked horrified and sympathetic. "Oh dear," she said. "I can't process it without the dollar."
Naturally, I burst into tears, not being the most composed person in the world under the best of circumstances. "I'm sorry," I said, gathering my stuff and putting it back into my bag, and taking back the license plates. "So many things have gone wrong today. I can't believe I forgot my wallet." Thinking: I have to do this today. I told my insurance company I'd do this today. Dave needs his car by 12:30. I can't get home and back here by then. He'll be gone all day tomorrow. This is too far to walk. I can't believe I came all this way and FORGOT MY WALLET. I had it IN MY HAND. Where did I put it? What was I thinking? Am I crazy? What is this? Am I the least competent human ever to exist?
"Wait," the woman behind me in line said. "Do you just need a dollar?"
The woman behind the counter nodded, and the woman behind me produced a dollar. "Here," she said, her face creased in sympathy.
I looked at her, and looked at the woman behind the counter, and took the dollar from her with a sense of surreality, handed it to the woman behind the counter, and gave her my license plates. She finished the transaction and gave me my receipt, pointing to the part I needed to give my insurance company. "You're all set," she said kindly.
I turned to the woman behind me. "What's your address?" I said. "I'll mail you a dollar."
"No, no," she said, smiling. "It's not important."
I gave her a hug instead, and left the DMV still crying.
so that's the heart-warming portion of the story. The rest is just sad.
I sniffled the whole way home, wondering how I could have been such an idiot as to have gone there in the first place without my wallet. I also wondered how I had managed to remain alive this long, being as I was possibly the least competent human in the world. I can't even renew a goddamn domain name that IS MY NAME. And I had somehow picked up my wallet from the bed and managed to put it down someplace that wasn't ANY of the pockets of ANY of the objects I was bringing with me. And of course, here I am, three years after 9/11, i didn't even KNOW anyone involved, I saw the site on the 5th Oct 2001 and can still remember how the smoke smelled, it's stupid because it had nothing to do with me personally and it shouldn't mean anything to me except that i'm sorry for those who did lose people, but I'm realizing that I need a job and they'll never give me off for Thanksgiving but if I don't have at least two days I can't get to Melrose and can't see Katy before she goes to Iraq again (which IS how 9/11 concretely affects me), and I'm stupid not to have tried harder to get a job earlier because maybe if I'd had a job for a while by now they'd give me time off, but I don't know that they wouldn't, I'm still stupid and unemployed and my unemployment benefits are gone as of last week, and really I know nothing and have no reason to be as upset as I am except that I am possibly the world's least competent human.
So i came home and made lunch. The kitchen is a mess, dishes not done and it's Dave's turn to do them but he didn't get to it. As I make lunch Dave is grumpily and frantically working on his homework and knowing it won't be finished by the time he has to leave. I couldn't keep from crying over lunch, as I'm slicing the bagels (and much as I love Buffalo and its cuisine, bagels here are little squishy for-crap things) and reheating canned soup. Dave hears me and wants to know what's wrong with me, I tell him I'm just having a bad day, he says the domain thing will get sorted out, I agree and cry some more, he gets up and I think maybe he'll come comfort me (sad that something like that would help, as we both have better things to do than pander to my need for attention), but he's just getting dressed and going back to his work. I apologize for having taken so much of his time this morning, he says 'no, i should've gotten up earlier,' it doesn't really console me because I know he spent at least half an hour researching the transfer of domain names for me, and he WAS up early, but spent over an hour in my bed being snuggly and a Good Boyfriend, and I am sad to think that it was time he didn't have to spend. He comes and eats a hurried lunch, packs up in a frantic rush, I hand him his bagel as he runs out the door, and make him stop long enough to kiss me goodbye.
Yes, I am totally unable to cope with life. Congratulations to me!
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no subject
Date: 2004-10-13 04:48 pm (UTC)Hang in there. A large virtual hug for you.
no subject
Date: 2004-10-13 05:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-13 05:18 pm (UTC)I guess there are some things to be thankful for though - the nice lady who gave you the dollar. Really, what is $1 to most of us? Nothing. But the gesture was priceless. Second, I am thankful for your sister Katy and all the other men and women who have gone to Iraq and Afghanistan when our country asked them to, to hopefully make the world a safer place.
And things like the domain and job will work out. Be up front about needing the weekend off for Thanksgiving and tell the person who is hiring you that your sister is shipping out to Iraq and so you are not available to work that weekend. I have hired people with already scheduled holidays and vacations and family events. - as long as I know up front, we could generally work with it.
no subject
Date: 2004-10-13 06:23 pm (UTC)I think that guy was God. Maybe the dollar lady was, too.
*hugs*