Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2011-06-23 12:41 am
azurelunatic) wrote2011-06-23 12:41 am
screaming tizzy/weeping meltdown count: 3
It's sort of hilarious! I can feel myself leveling up in skill and ability to cope with random fucking shit at work, and I'm almost feeling like I might be a motherfucking adult sometime soon, if not today, and then things get correspondingly interesting again.
Right now I am a stacked pile of stressors trying not to get to the 'call Todd' point. I can cope. I know I can cope. It's just that these things are all just sort of ridiculous by this point.
Let's run back to the first thing that I recognize in this particular stack: the oil change. Vash, my beloved sturdy little car, was overdue for an oil change. I've been deferring maintenance on all sorts of things, and he's been one. (My health has been another.) I was caught in hellcommute, and had chosen El Camino Real in preference to the somewhat-faster, but less scenic, 101. I had been figuring that I'd have to re-stack a weekend (schedule hell, with nine-hour-plus-commute workdays at that time) in order to get an oil change done, and I needed to refuel, and -- OH SWEET ENKI, WAS THAT A DRIVE-THROUGH OIL CHANGE PLACE I ESPIED?
So I drove through, and happily curled up in my seat with a can ofCandyland hooker semen nice cold Coca-Cola and re-read FEED while the nice strapping young men gave Vash some new fluids. It was not cheap, but it was also overdue, and I was right there right then. And then nearly across the street was a gas station. He was running on red, but not with the light on yet. And I swiped my card, the one from my credit union back home, and it said SEE ATTENDANT, and my phone rang. I saw the attendant, and looked enough like myself and also miserable enough, and with a reasonable enough request ($10 of 87 octane gasoline), that the attendant pushed through the transaction despite Visa being extraordinarily suspicious of the way my card had just been rung up for $OUCH in a place not usually in my stomping grounds, for a business I'd never patronized before, for a service I'd never been seen to use before. (Okay, I've had car stuff before, but rarely.)
Upon returning home, I gamely tried to navigate the FINE telephone menu designed by the EXCELLENT engineers, to verify to Visa that I was indeed me. However, due to some FREAK MISALIGNMENT OF MY APARTMENT BUILDING AND THE CELL TOWER, NOT TO MENTION THE OTHER FUCKING PLANETS, it didn't register my frantic keypushes, and I was plopped through to a human attendant, who took my feedback about the blesséd phone system (which is exactly what I called it, in tones that meant that I thought it was everything but holy) in stride, and confirmed that I was indeed me and that I had made those purchases. Hi, Visa call center people, I have new sympathy for you!
I thought everything would be clear sailing. Alas, this was not to be. If only -- but I stopped reading that series after the fourth book was a wallbanger.
My debit card continued to not be accepted after working one more time, at places like the happy little gas station right on the way home from work, resulting in a rather-looney-looking Lunatic presenting a handful of change to an attendant with the manic smile of a Lunatic whose entire day has become surreal enough to be actively fucking hilarious. And then I discovered that my rent money had not been removed from the account. This was concerning.
I checked my carbons, and I had in fact written the check, and the fact that no such check was in my possession meant that I must have dropped it off, even though I had no memory of doing this. I called the office (and left a message Thursday night, and got a call back Friday telling me that my message had been incomprehensible), and learned that since I was not in the Naughty books, I was golden, and in fact he believed that the check had cleared just fine, and it should take a day or two max before it cleared with my bank.
I called my bank, and learned that no, they had got check-the-previous just fine, but as far as they were concerned it was like I had not even yet written check-the-current. I became somewhat uneasy. Regarding the debit card, the replacement had been mailed to me, not to worry, I should expect it shortly in the mail. I inquired perhaps if I could know when it was mailed, so I might know when to expect it? Oh, not to worry, it had been mailed. (I know the tone of a customer service goon who has just discovered that the thing has not yet been mailed, and has just set in motion the chain of events that will make it mail.)
On Monday, the debit card had not arrived. (However, I did have a checkbook, and had finally collected my various ducks well enough to get autodeposit set up on the other debit card, the one for the national bank.) I called back the bank and learned that the new debit card was on its way as of Friday. (Hah. Knew it.) On Tuesday when I called back again, I learned that Visa was expecting the new expiration date. Gee, thanks, and a good ways before it expired. Thanks awfully. It continued to not work, so I pulled out reserves of patience and tried not to explode.
Wednesday, JD asked if I would be available to sub-catsit for a few hours come Friday. Sure. I dropped on over to pick up the spare key, and we had a lovely dinner and I decompressed some. I marched back up the hill and around the corner to where I'd parked and opened my door, intent on going home and getting sleep before the new day at work.
The dome light turned on, and I saw waves of sea-green safety glass breaking all over the passenger seat and footwell. Nothing seemed to be missing. I realized quickly: I'd found my old crappy bluetooth headset, and figured I should have a spare in the car. I plugged it in with a white USB cable. The cable had been disturbed, and the headset was sitting on the seat, not in the center box. It wasn't an iDevice. The remainder of the window was jagged and in little squares, dangling hither and yon in the frame.
I realized I was late for bed as it was, and had to get home. I debated calling the police anyway, but just -- no. I lost it when the gas station attendant -- I had nearly been on empty again -- didn't have any clear plastic, but suggested the drug store across the street. I started sobbing as I walked away, then pulled over and called Drew, who talked me down. Though Cae came very close to having a weeping Fishmum on her cell. (Sorry, Cae!) To make it all worse, while ordinarily I could have neglected the repair until I was good and ready, I absolutely had to have it fixed within the next week and a half.
Thursday morning, I drove to work well-ventilated. Explosion point hit Thursday evening, when I thought I was meeting up with the boss from the side job, but wires were crossed and I was trying to call her to see what was up, and just as I was hitting the button to dial,zarhooie called. I was not very coherent. I called and the office phone rang, and it turned out she was out of the country, and no one there knew anything about it, and I kept myself from actually breaking down in there, but it was a near thing. I betook myself to Home Depot, and I spent a merry hour building myself a temporary plastic window.
Friday I saw to the cat handoff, and got very drunk with the boys. The glass place I'd emailed hadn't contacted me back. I was not of much use Saturday morning, but did manage to locate fruit for the week, and to get in contact with the glass place. They gave me a two-hour time window, which unfortunately meant that Seanan's party was out of the question. Alas.
The glass guy came two hours late, but at least he came. Window replaced yay. I wrote a check, hoping that the presence of the (still-not-cleared) rent check would not fuck things up in some way.
(It's past bedtime, but that's two out of three screaming tizzies accounted for.)
Right now I am a stacked pile of stressors trying not to get to the 'call Todd' point. I can cope. I know I can cope. It's just that these things are all just sort of ridiculous by this point.
Let's run back to the first thing that I recognize in this particular stack: the oil change. Vash, my beloved sturdy little car, was overdue for an oil change. I've been deferring maintenance on all sorts of things, and he's been one. (My health has been another.) I was caught in hellcommute, and had chosen El Camino Real in preference to the somewhat-faster, but less scenic, 101. I had been figuring that I'd have to re-stack a weekend (schedule hell, with nine-hour-plus-commute workdays at that time) in order to get an oil change done, and I needed to refuel, and -- OH SWEET ENKI, WAS THAT A DRIVE-THROUGH OIL CHANGE PLACE I ESPIED?
So I drove through, and happily curled up in my seat with a can of
Upon returning home, I gamely tried to navigate the FINE telephone menu designed by the EXCELLENT engineers, to verify to Visa that I was indeed me. However, due to some FREAK MISALIGNMENT OF MY APARTMENT BUILDING AND THE CELL TOWER, NOT TO MENTION THE OTHER FUCKING PLANETS, it didn't register my frantic keypushes, and I was plopped through to a human attendant, who took my feedback about the blesséd phone system (which is exactly what I called it, in tones that meant that I thought it was everything but holy) in stride, and confirmed that I was indeed me and that I had made those purchases. Hi, Visa call center people, I have new sympathy for you!
I thought everything would be clear sailing. Alas, this was not to be. If only -- but I stopped reading that series after the fourth book was a wallbanger.
My debit card continued to not be accepted after working one more time, at places like the happy little gas station right on the way home from work, resulting in a rather-looney-looking Lunatic presenting a handful of change to an attendant with the manic smile of a Lunatic whose entire day has become surreal enough to be actively fucking hilarious. And then I discovered that my rent money had not been removed from the account. This was concerning.
I checked my carbons, and I had in fact written the check, and the fact that no such check was in my possession meant that I must have dropped it off, even though I had no memory of doing this. I called the office (and left a message Thursday night, and got a call back Friday telling me that my message had been incomprehensible), and learned that since I was not in the Naughty books, I was golden, and in fact he believed that the check had cleared just fine, and it should take a day or two max before it cleared with my bank.
I called my bank, and learned that no, they had got check-the-previous just fine, but as far as they were concerned it was like I had not even yet written check-the-current. I became somewhat uneasy. Regarding the debit card, the replacement had been mailed to me, not to worry, I should expect it shortly in the mail. I inquired perhaps if I could know when it was mailed, so I might know when to expect it? Oh, not to worry, it had been mailed. (I know the tone of a customer service goon who has just discovered that the thing has not yet been mailed, and has just set in motion the chain of events that will make it mail.)
On Monday, the debit card had not arrived. (However, I did have a checkbook, and had finally collected my various ducks well enough to get autodeposit set up on the other debit card, the one for the national bank.) I called back the bank and learned that the new debit card was on its way as of Friday. (Hah. Knew it.) On Tuesday when I called back again, I learned that Visa was expecting the new expiration date. Gee, thanks, and a good ways before it expired. Thanks awfully. It continued to not work, so I pulled out reserves of patience and tried not to explode.
Wednesday, JD asked if I would be available to sub-catsit for a few hours come Friday. Sure. I dropped on over to pick up the spare key, and we had a lovely dinner and I decompressed some. I marched back up the hill and around the corner to where I'd parked and opened my door, intent on going home and getting sleep before the new day at work.
The dome light turned on, and I saw waves of sea-green safety glass breaking all over the passenger seat and footwell. Nothing seemed to be missing. I realized quickly: I'd found my old crappy bluetooth headset, and figured I should have a spare in the car. I plugged it in with a white USB cable. The cable had been disturbed, and the headset was sitting on the seat, not in the center box. It wasn't an iDevice. The remainder of the window was jagged and in little squares, dangling hither and yon in the frame.
I realized I was late for bed as it was, and had to get home. I debated calling the police anyway, but just -- no. I lost it when the gas station attendant -- I had nearly been on empty again -- didn't have any clear plastic, but suggested the drug store across the street. I started sobbing as I walked away, then pulled over and called Drew, who talked me down. Though Cae came very close to having a weeping Fishmum on her cell. (Sorry, Cae!) To make it all worse, while ordinarily I could have neglected the repair until I was good and ready, I absolutely had to have it fixed within the next week and a half.
Thursday morning, I drove to work well-ventilated. Explosion point hit Thursday evening, when I thought I was meeting up with the boss from the side job, but wires were crossed and I was trying to call her to see what was up, and just as I was hitting the button to dial,
zarhooie called. I was not very coherent. I called and the office phone rang, and it turned out she was out of the country, and no one there knew anything about it, and I kept myself from actually breaking down in there, but it was a near thing. I betook myself to Home Depot, and I spent a merry hour building myself a temporary plastic window. Friday I saw to the cat handoff, and got very drunk with the boys. The glass place I'd emailed hadn't contacted me back. I was not of much use Saturday morning, but did manage to locate fruit for the week, and to get in contact with the glass place. They gave me a two-hour time window, which unfortunately meant that Seanan's party was out of the question. Alas.
The glass guy came two hours late, but at least he came. Window replaced yay. I wrote a check, hoping that the presence of the (still-not-cleared) rent check would not fuck things up in some way.
(It's past bedtime, but that's two out of three screaming tizzies accounted for.)
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If it makes you feel better about the balance of life, I had such an amazingly terrible, why-so-much-shit-on-fans day at work last Friday that at one point I had to lock myself in the staff bathroom for about five minutes to enjoy a nervous breakdown in privacy. Then I walked out of the bathroom and fixed everything. But those five minutes were pretty crucial.
Relatedly, there was a full moon that weekend.
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I'm doing much better now. Outdoor plumbing still sucks, but at least I'm not crying.
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*hugs* if welcome.
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Re: talking you down..
Re: talking you down..
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If you managed all that, you have definitely leveled up! Much further than me. :D
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