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Today,
d_aulnoy had to get her Innovative Course Development Grant Proposal signed (seriously, by the chair), sealed (here, we're being facetious), and delivered (oh, guess) by 5:00. It was written by 2:00. She was on the road by 2:30. Assuming that it usually takes
d_aulnoy approximately one hour to get to work driving at approximately half the speed of the rest of the California drivers, when did
d_aulnoy hand her ICDGP in?
a) Well, if
d_aulnoy left at 2:30, and it takes her an hour to get there ... factor, like, half an hour in to find the chair and have a leisurely chat before strolling over to the Teaching Resource Center an hour early. Right?
b) Traffic blew, so it took
d_aulnoy over 2 hours in stop'n'go traffic to hit campus, leaving her half an hour to sprint to the office, find the chair, get his signature, skip the small talk (which left her feeling rude), sprint back in the other direction to the hamster maze that is Pfau Library, perform a pantomime in order to get directions to the TRC because she was too out of breath to talk, and deliver her package with a minute and a half to spare.
c) She didn't. The reason this post is being written in the third person is because
d_aulnoy is still in traffic. You're actually reading the version she painstakingly dictated to the cat.
On the upside, upon leaving the building,
d_aulnoy encountered another of this year's new hires - a very dapper, well put together, just plain together individual - doing that dignified speed-walking jog-that-is-not-a-jog thing into the building holding an identical packet. So, y'know, some, misery loves company, etc. It's good to know that the 1st year is equally simple all around, right?
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a) Well, if
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b) Traffic blew, so it took
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c) She didn't. The reason this post is being written in the third person is because
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Okay, okay, it was B, but for a while there I was starting to feel a little put upon. Keep in mind here, I'm the California equivalent of a family of tourists on 5th during the holidays: I like to go really, really slow by the standards of those around me. I'm intellectually aware that the speed limit is more like a polite suggestion and all, but I'm driving a car that starts to shake when it goes over 70 mph, people: I am Just Not Comfortable with the idea of rattling along at 90 with the rest of the Californicators like some latter-day Mr. Toad. I'm the only one on the road who's actually happy when a double-wide or an 18-wheeler or a naturally cautious geriatric driver pulls in front of me: it means I no longer have to, a) drive at the kind of speed that leaves me feeling vaguely nauseated (see, the shaking), or b)feel guilty about driving so danged slow and holding everybody up; all of a sudden, it's their fault.
Well, I don't know whose fault this was, though privately, I blame Crowley: nevertheless, the end result was a commute that doubled in duration and a
d_aulnoy who has a few questions to ask.
For example: what's with the people who can't decide if they want to switch lanes or not? I don't mean That Eventual Left Guy, though gods know he's annoying: I mean the guy who apparently couldn't figure out if he wanted to switch from his at-a-crawl lane to my at-a-crawl lane. He'd turn on his left turn signal while we were both parked there ... my lane would start to move ... I'd politely wait for him to switch lanes ... the guy behind me who was humping my bumper would honk ... and he'd turn his signal off. Five times this happened, people. Five times! And then when I decided, screw it, and just pulled alongside him, he spent the next however-long-it-took for us to get moving giving me dirty looks!
Another thing: what is up with the increased probability of my being next to an incredibly cumbersome vehicle on any tight curve? Seriously, I've started counting, and on any curve tighter than _______ (fill in your own inappropriate metaphor here: I just spent three hours on the freeway), there's a 90% chance that I'm going to be right next to an 18 wheeler, or a tractor-trailer loaded with haphazardly packed lengths of pipe, or one of those precarious looking scorpion things that carries its babies (i.e., smaller vehicles) on its back. Seriously, Murphy? Enough.
And, finally: has Madonna released a Greatest Hits album or something recently? Because, seriously, when you're trapped in traffic for two hours straight, there is just no reason for "Lucky Star" to play on three separate stations. None.
On the upside, for the first time ever? I loved my drive home. I sprang onto the highway like a bow from an arrow, a puppy off a leash, a fratboy into a kegger. It was grand. And it took me 50 minutes.
Okay, so I still only went 75, but ... progress, right?
Well, I don't know whose fault this was, though privately, I blame Crowley: nevertheless, the end result was a commute that doubled in duration and a
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For example: what's with the people who can't decide if they want to switch lanes or not? I don't mean That Eventual Left Guy, though gods know he's annoying: I mean the guy who apparently couldn't figure out if he wanted to switch from his at-a-crawl lane to my at-a-crawl lane. He'd turn on his left turn signal while we were both parked there ... my lane would start to move ... I'd politely wait for him to switch lanes ... the guy behind me who was humping my bumper would honk ... and he'd turn his signal off. Five times this happened, people. Five times! And then when I decided, screw it, and just pulled alongside him, he spent the next however-long-it-took for us to get moving giving me dirty looks!
Another thing: what is up with the increased probability of my being next to an incredibly cumbersome vehicle on any tight curve? Seriously, I've started counting, and on any curve tighter than _______ (fill in your own inappropriate metaphor here: I just spent three hours on the freeway), there's a 90% chance that I'm going to be right next to an 18 wheeler, or a tractor-trailer loaded with haphazardly packed lengths of pipe, or one of those precarious looking scorpion things that carries its babies (i.e., smaller vehicles) on its back. Seriously, Murphy? Enough.
And, finally: has Madonna released a Greatest Hits album or something recently? Because, seriously, when you're trapped in traffic for two hours straight, there is just no reason for "Lucky Star" to play on three separate stations. None.
On the upside, for the first time ever? I loved my drive home. I sprang onto the highway like a bow from an arrow, a puppy off a leash, a fratboy into a kegger. It was grand. And it took me 50 minutes.
Okay, so I still only went 75, but ... progress, right?
On the upside, upon leaving the building,
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