I inherited a mini van. I love riding around town a soccer mom, but what I am hoping to do start traveling and road tripping. This van begs to travel and is already being filled with travel like items to hit the road. My gypsy bohemian heart is pumping wildly for this. What stops me is my nature of routine and predictability. Wait…that makes no sense. Anyway, we’ll see…in the meanwhile I got amused by my local auto title office when I went to get my new plates. It inspired this story.
To set the stage this office is barely staffed, small and tucked away title off the freeway. Two old style large wooden desks, maybe six 1970’s style tweed chairs, a water cooler, and that funky wood paneling decorate the office. I had to visit this office three times before I got my title and plates transferred. The staff is not helpful including the stereotypical elderly matriarch that will you and myself included, for not having the proper paper work.
And so begins my comical idea of being in her place as a temp worker.
Oh…and there is a part two too. (I said tutu..)
THE TEMP JOB
It’s been two months since I’ve taken a part time job at the title office. My job is to fill in for the ladies at the title office so they can go to lunch because their normal gal is on maternity leave for 3 months. What happens is that I have the office to myself and it is during the slow hours. It’s dreadfully dull. The dullness seeps in my bones like a disease. The struggle to be pleasant increases minute by minute where my natural smile is forced, my voice grits in an irritable fashion towards anyone coming through the door or any thing that becomes an obstacle.
Today is an ‘everything is stupid’ day.
Stupid printer.
Stupid paper.
Stupid chair.
This is my mood when you walk in for the third time to get your new license plate.
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