Extra Special

The project beginning last week turned into an approved document this week, and Monday and Tuesday saw feverish construction. Tuesday was an interesting day. Having worked until 7:30 on Monday (in and online by 7:49, and skipping over lunch completely), Tuesday was drop-dead, and I looked forward to having the work done and printed by noon.

Naturally, everyone knows there was more to it than this. Production hit a snag when I discovered that, in our entire facility, there wasn't a binding machine. Three-ringers was a reluctant substitute, and even then finding something remotely executive was just impossible. I had received my purchasing card and printer on Friday, and had training on the former on Monday morning, and so offered to hit Office Max and find something suitable - and to get myself some lunch as well.

It's at this point, like the day itself, I'll indulge in a tangent.

The strangeness and synchronicity of Tuesday had begun early, when I saw my across-the-street-next-door neighbor, who had himself worked with my employer many years ago before he retired. He's always a pleasure, and seeing him is exceptional enough these days - he spends much of his time with children, grandkids, and great-grandchildren - it was a nice way to start the day, getting surprised, pleased congratulations from someone who knows how fortunate my job is.

But it was at lunch that timing began in earnest to be precision-tight, and surprising and amazing.

I chose not to turn at the street, into the strip mall - but at the second entrance instead. It turned out that the first entrance was under construction, and I'd have been rerouted to the tune of a minute or two in delay, if I'd taken that turn. So the fact that I arbitrarily chose the other way led me into the arms of a lovely twist of fate.

I saw the young family vaguely, turning in to the Subway for a parking spot, but didn't look at them.

When I got out of my car, I sort of noticed, "That father looks like my best friend's husband. Huh." I found myself looking at the wife for distracted confirmation that I could shake my head and keep walking, but instead of that I found the opposite effect. My goodness, that woman looked like my best friend.

Come to think of it, the little boys with them ... those were my best friend's adorable little boys.

Quick look back at the woman. At the man.

"Oh my G-d."

"TEO ... !??"

She turned around, and - yep - that was The Elfin One, without any question. TEO, who lives in another state, and had no idea I work at the location I do.

We spent the most delightful, if hurried, bite of lunch together, and it was amazing. They were stopping in town to see her dad, on the way to go somewhere else with the family, and had happened off the road here for something to eat first.

The minor miracle, and blessing of timing.

Of course, timing is not always a blessing, at least for everyone. But more on that part toward the end of the day's tale. We've miles to go before we get that far.

First we go to Office Max, where I'm a living sitcom of "there aren't enough in the size I want" and dropping things on the floor and laughing at myself no harder than the poor clerk must have himself, later on in his own day. *Sigh*

I get back to the office in decent time, and am happily printing off my three beautiful documents at my printer at my desk, and enjoying the ease and luxury of having all the resources I need ...

... when I notice the document doesn't have page numbers.

Quick IM to the manager. She agrees - pagination.

Okay, so I'll print three new copies. No problem.


***


You all must know, of course, how many problems we encounter at this point in the day - yes? The printer will NOT feed paper. I try and try again, and suddenly midafternoon has given way to late afternoon, and all I have to show for myself are three sets of printed tabs, the covers in situ, and otherwise empty binders. Gah.

Help Desk. Ticket to ride - or to call someone up there.

No response, it's over an hour. It's getting near four. I call another admin, and she is almost on her way out the door to go show a house which has a looker - and, in this market, I am not keeping her from her real estate. She prints a copy of the presentation on the big color multi-function device downstairs, and tells me where it is in the printer directory.

"Under stress" is of course the hardest way to concentrate on finding a dadgum printer in a dadgum directory. I cannot for the life of me find the thing.

I physically go to the machine, knowing that, as an MFD, I should at least be able to take the single copy Other Admin had time to print before logging out, and copy it; right? I cannot find the copy. Someone has WALKED AWAY with my print job.

I am beside myself at this point.

I call Help Desk once again, and try to be nice as I explain that "I really don't want to be the 'you have to come now Girl', but if I don't get someone on my printer toot-sweet, my dog is NOT going to deserve what I do to her when I go home."

They bump the ticket, of course.

Minutes pass.

In those minutes, I find the d*mned color MFD in my directories. I print my copies, my own printer be hanged. As I'm walking out the door to the elevators to go pick up my documents - it's five o'clock almost - I see the tech, and I apologize to her: I will be RIGHT back!

I am, and she's inspecting the patient, more than understanding. She works for twenty minutes, and I'm constructing my presentations. They end up looking really good, actually. I put away the electronic three-hole-punch I've stolen from the work room, and begin to work with her on diagnosis. It's impossible to figure out.

She points out a fact I've known since my father advised me as a young woman: appliances attempting to be more than one appliance in one often have lots of problems. This printer is a printer, scanner, copier, and fax.

All by itself, the printer function is causing the nightmares, of course. The roller will not feed the paper. Period.

She manages time and again to get perfectly good service from the printer's own console. It prints several pristine and beautiful test pages. But the computer is unable to convince the mechanics to step up. INEXPLICABLE. Inexcusable, frankly. I joke about the fact that what I am printing offends the printer itself (a joke not precisely based in fantasy), and at last she suggests a solution. Reboot my computer.

Infuriatingly: this works. I print spines for the binders; it's the last thing. They are completed.

I am floored, exhausted. It's after five, and I have to go downtown to deliver these docs. The book I wish I could also be delivering, ordered last WEEK, has never been received from Amazon - as confirmed by the mail room - but I must do what I can, and so I shut down and go out ...

... and get in the car and discover the flat.

Thank heaven for the generosity of people; before I had the toy jack more than five twists into hoisting my car up, a security guard had come over, and then one of the Facilities guys, a man I've never seen not smiling - even as he completely took over and did the whole rest of the job. Bless him.

It must be after six, and we've determined the donut needs air. I call my mom and ask about the air pump she's told me she and my stepfather have, and go over to their house.

The little pump is slow, but it works a treat, and does itself proud on its maiden usage. Me, I'm eaten alive by mosquitoes, complete with a welt down my neck. I just do not care. I still have to go downtown. I still have so much yet to do.

I skip sharing any more pizza (that's what we had for lunch; and, in any case, I couldn't be less hungry), and get back on the road.



Downtown is pretty in the evening; extremely peaceful and quiet. The lights are just beginning to seem bright against incipient twilight, and it is the good kind of warm and still outside. A breeze, but a quiet one. The sky a gentle grey.

I get upstairs in the quiet behemoth of our central office, I put the books where they will be waiting. I leave. At last - success. I'm smiling as I walk out. I'm feeling the still cement and asphalt. I look toward my old employers; one a block east, one actually standing in two directions. I look at the employer I thought I most wanted to work for - the one whose Communications department turned me down, even with my references. I look at the vastness and weight and height of my new one; the one which isn't trying to "grow" - the one which belongs to, and serves, my nation - and am so overwhelmed.

I get in my car, and pull out.

And witness the accident.

The horrible, yet unbloody accident.

I see the couple, the young man get out of the black car. I see the silver van, hermetically sealed. I approach them; the woman hysterical, the man wishing I wouldn't engage, waving me off with assurances. I approach the van's window. It never opens. The door never does. He never gets off his cell. I wait ten minutes, maybe fifteen. I'm unsure, with all the phones clearly in use, anyone has called the police. I'm talking to the Homeless Patrol, the two guys who didn't see, but came when they heard. I know I had no idea, thirty seconds after it happened, who did what or what I even saw.

I stay, and I am not needed. I don't believe the police have been summoned.

I drive home.


***


The epilogue is boring; the next morning, it took three and a half hours for my tire to be patched. Because I live two blocks from the station, I go home and wait there. I rest. I am frustrated not to be at work. I call and it is ready at ten-thirty.

It costs twenty-five dollars.

For a patch, this seems high. But I am grateful to have a twenty-five dollar repair job. I am glad I can pay it. So I do. And I go.

On Wednesday, this day, I'm only at work until five-thirty. One would hardly complain.

Thursday and today were ludicrously normal. Busy, and challenging, but nothing like the top of the week.

I've forged a connection with that manager; she likes me. She said good things about me to my boss, which was wonderful of her to do. She likes to find good people, and she likes to reward them, too. To one, she brings diet Coke. To another, M&Ms. She asked me last week what my "thing" is. I told her Advil.

Praise to my manager is even better. More than once, she has made my day.



It is six-forty-five now. I should be mowing the grass.

It is thick, my grass. It'll take a lot of mowing; overlapping swipes, taking the same rows twice-over, half-width by half-width, over and over.

I wish I knew a kid I could write a check to, to do the job. But I need the exercise.

I miss E.

I am tired. But what a week.

I mean this in the best possible way.