Ignorance isn't Bliss, It's Paperwork

Dear Customer,

I know you are calling from Vancouver, because I see your number on my screen.

I know you have a reasonable amount of casual spending money because you were at Starbucks and you had me on speakerphone.

I know you possess a deep rooted sense of fairness because you yelled at your Starbucks barista not to mess up "like they did last time, gawd."

I know you are probably white because the package you are inquiring about cost you $400.00, and contains "vitally important lavender sea salt". I mean, come on.

I know you are distressed because your verbal abuse is coming at me rapid-fire. 

I also know you live in a peaceful country with clean water, clear skies, safe streets, good schools, ample food, a constitutionally protected Charter of Rights and Freedoms and opportunities for all to find acceptance and success regardless of ethnicity, gender, or religious beliefs. 

Based on these things that I know about you, madam, I am willing to speculate that you didn't pay attention while ATTENDING any of those good schools because being patiently asked to call your sender in order to have them investigate why your parcel is late is "literally the worst thing you've ever heard of."

I am so sorry. This is very frustrating for you, I'm sorry for that. Thank you for bringing this to our attention, I am truly sorry. I do apologize, thank you for your time, I really am very, very sorry.

But I am not sorry that you have had a good, safe life. I am not sorry you had the leisure to sit vacantly staring out the window of your publicly funded school, distracted by weekend plans and the "pop music", while history lessons happened around you. I am not sorry that the happy accident of your birth occurred in Canada, where the worst thing you have ever heard of is having to take a small amount personal responsibility.

Thank you.

This has been an episode of Package Handler

 and Professional Platitude Provider:

Apologize, validate, apologize authentically again, thank with apology, offer a fourth,

 even more genuine apology and close with a final thanks and one last apology

 which supersedes all previous apologies in it's sincerity.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

I expected to find converting from an out-of-province license to an Ontario driver's license an absolute joy. I'm from here. My birth certificate says so. Sort of.

"Who is this?"

"That's me. I'm me. It's me."

"The name doesn't match your, " squints skeptically, "Al-ber-ta...driver's license."

"Well, no, it wouldn't. I'm married now."

"I see. Well, I'm going to need to see your marriage certificate."

I see you, madam. I've met you in every province, although I'll admit this is a new angle.

"Okay. I'll have to go and get it, I know I have it at home."

"No, you'll need your marriage certificate. You'll have to apply for it."

"No, I'll need to get it. It's at home."

"No, I'm not talking about the scroll your minister gave you that you keep in a frame on the wall. I mean the actual legal document. You'll need to apply for that before you can drive in Ontario."

Oh, sweetie.

"Yes. I understand you are not talking about the marriage license my justice of the peace had us sign. I have the legal certificate at home in a file. With my passport, actually."

"Oh, you have your passport? That's what you should have brought."

"Can I bring that instead?"

"No, ma'am. I can't officially un-see the birth certificate, I'm afraid. So if you'll just apply for the marriage license with the province in which you were married and bring it back..."

The charming philosophical implications aside of a civil employee declaring they cannot officially un-see something, that little nugget of Vogonity seems particularly unhelpful.

"I applied for it in Ontario, in 2006, when I changed my driver's license and passport to reflect my married name."

We share a long stare, calculating stare.

"Oh."

Fingers tapping the keyboard.

"Hmmm."

Further, extended tapping.

"I see. Well. Welcome back to Ontario."
"Thanks. Honestly, it feels like I never left."

       

My Valves May Need Replacing

I am worried, sometimes, that I might be going slightly mad. Friends assure me, when I ask them to check in, that I'm wearing my underpants on the right side of my clothes and I'm not dribbling any more than usual. 

And yet...

Is it possible to go slightly bonkers in such a way that bills still get paid and meals still eaten? I do all of the things I normally do but suddenly there is a sort of mental "go/no-go" switch in my mind. It checks the events of the day against a little meter that gauges just how close to the abyss I've stepped that day and thus far has ensured that no, this isn't the day I go absolutely doolally in the Wal-Mart. 

It certainly lends an edge to buying milk, though.

Someone suggested that I am likely just stressed. "Oh that's just stress," they said, when I explained the restless tension my little check valve cha-cha towards madness was giving me. "You should do some yoga, and go for a walk or read or something."

I already do all of those things. Am I suddenly reading or walking incorrectly?

I consulted my family physician and Dr. Google suggested that the migraines and constant sensation of fleeing from a giant rabid polar bear through endless dark caves with no hope of escape were nothing more than mild depression. Possibly brought on by the move and the new house and job, he also suggested yoga and physical activity. It was either depression or cancer, but I feel like he was just covering all his bases with that one.

The "or something" my friend suggested has some possibilities. I would like to get a stand-up paddle board this year, because nothing is funnier than a grown woman with an inner-ear imbalance attempting to hold Warrior 1 Pose, while bobbing on a foam board in the middle of the Saint Lawrence Seaway.  I also want to learn how to ride a motorcycle. Again, my inner-ear will no doubt ensure this is HILARIOUS.

Until then I guess I can try walking differently, maybe backwards, and hope that my little valve holds up until I can afford the new Ducati.

Superbike 959 Panigale (US Version) @ $40,000
I shall name her Beverley

March: List Four

In an effort to follow the age-old advice, "write what you know", my contribution to the world's greatest works of literature will be about...

1. only ever successfully baking muffins on the second go
2. songbirds of North America
3. Lev Vygotsky's theory of cognitive development
4. obscure crochet abbreviations
5. insomnia
6. the complete works of Douglas Adams and Sir Terry Pratchett
7. the theory of evolution
8. edible plants and fungi of coastal British Columbia
9. the first four chapters of my physics textbook because I have to keep re-reading the damn thing
10. passive aggression
11. wilderness survival camping and why it's not nearly as much fun as staying in even the crappiest of sketchy motels
12. moving house
13. Doctor Who, beginning at Series Nine ( never skip Nine)
14. a random smattering of historical facts and minutiae, WITHOUT the help of Google, thankyouverymcuh
15. functionally dysfunctional families
16. cheese

Mary Shelley, eat your heart out.

March: List Three

Simple things one might do before leaving for a trip during a blizzard, in order to prevent one's spouse from going insane with worry and dread, leading her to alert the air force in two separate provinces, 

and upset the cat.

1. Don't
2. Leave
3. Your
4. Phone
5. At
6. The 
7. Office.

March: List Two

My mother can say things in normal conversation that, out of context, and sometimes even in context, sound like euphemisms for

le acte de l'amour. 

Wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more, say no more.

1. Fluff the pillows.
2. Set up camp.
3. Start the dishwasher.
4. Shovel the walkway.
5. Massage the kale.
6. Your father needs to learn how to stack my bowls.

March: List One

Brief excerpts from an actually quite average conversation which are pretty good indicators that I am married to some sort of evil genius.

1. What's the worst that could happen?
2. I know what I'm doing.
3. I know what went wrong.
4. I think I can fix it.
5. It's just a little blood.
6. I by-passed the compressor.