While there have been many stressful days these past few weeks, every once in a while the fates like to play let's-shake-things-up and create farcical situations that, if you weren't living in them would almost be funny.
Yesterday's theme: how long can it take to mark one assignment?
Figuring that marking would be less painful sitting in the warmth of our local Starbucks, quiet music in the background, too early in the morning for the crazy Christmas shoppers to be wandering through the mall sprinkling chaos more than Christmas spirit.
Initially, my marking progressed nicely.
Carried along the sea of misspellings, sloppy transcription and the inability to follow rules by a venti mild with two sweeteners and some cream.
Me noting errors, concerns, issues arising from student's first attempts at conducting a semi-structured interview.
And then I made the fateful error.
I checked my cell phone.
While I was looking at the number of early morning missed calls I was able to deduce that either Meredyth or Emily was frantically trying to reach me.
And regardless of which one of them was seeking my attention, it was going to mean that the marking was nearing suspension.
Hopefully temporarily.
I noted which paper I was marking, where I was in the marking process knowing that shortly I would return to said paper and finish.
This was 9.30 am.
I finished that paper at 9.30 pm.
And the intervening 12 hours was like a too-long-never-ending-segment of Just for Laughs Gags.
Without the laughs.
Mer was indeed looking for me.
Wanting a drive to work because she had overslept due to a late night shift at the bar.
I picked her up, dropped her off and headed for my office.
Where I was treated to email upon email upon email from frantic students who still are weighted under their insecurities and intense desire to "do it right."
Ruled by fear they are seeking constant reassurance that they're on the right track.
Two students left me with what looked like entire papers.
For which I had no time to read through.
And didn't.
But that took more time than I wanted to spend.
Or had to spend.
I started marking that paper again, when my phone started ringing.
Both of them.
Office and cell.
Apparently, the keys to Em's car were on the missing list.
Stephen had made an appointment for servicing said car, which was fine, except for the fact that with no keys getting car to it's appointment could be construed as problematic.
From what I could gather from multiple texts and phone calls, the search for said keys had been extensive.
All over the house, the hallway, inside the shoes in case Jasper was being Jasper.
I searched my purse.
Twice.
And then I thought I'd check the car.
The Ford.
At which point, the mystery of the Elantra keys was solved.
They were in the glove compartment of the Ford.
How they got there is still a mystery.
Although I think I know how they got there.
But Stephen refuses to acknowledge that perhaps he had something to do with this.
His selective memory working at maximum capacity.
I turned on the car and drove to the house to deliver said keys.
At which point Em and Keith came out of the house dressed in their work uniforms.
Em, who had been home sick for a week and was technically supposed to be in school, took the remainder of Mer's shift.
Mer, who was exhausted, weepy and worn out from working too many hours called Em to see if she would take her shift.
And a week in the house was all the reason Em needed to accept the shift and get out of Dodge.
And Keith.
Who I didn't think was working until 5.00.
But apparently I was wrong.
Back to the mall, with kids in tow, and me needing another venti mild.
Desperate is probably closer to the truth.
Because dropping of Keith and Em logically meant Mer was going to need a drive home.
And she did.
So back to Mer's house we went to drop her off with the promise that she would get. some. sleep.
She needed it, believe me.
And finally, finally back to work in time to go to the 2.30 meeting that could potentially go on forever.
Lasted only until 3.30 because of another meeting on campus.
But I'll say this, and if there was ever evidence of how shallow I can be this would be it.
When I walked into the meeting I had to set my things down and leave for the bathroom posthaste because one of the other people on the committee was sporting a mullet perm.
Now, perms, as far as I know, are not as common as they were during their heyday in the 80s.
I had one.
Emphasis on one.
And I had a mullet at one point.
But I never combined the two.
Seeing said mullet perm atop the head of a committee member was the straw that broke the camel's back and in the bathroom I had to cover my mouth to suppress the laughter.
Given the absurdity of the day, the number of trips in the car from home to Starbucks to Mer's apartment to the mall to work to Staples to work, to home to the mall and back to Mer's apartment, the impossibility of marking one, just one assignment. . . .
The mullet perm send me over the edge.
Right over.
Resulting in my hauling myself from the edge of the insanity in the stall of a woman's bathroom in an attempt to continue my day long facade of normality and sanity.
I am that good.
My burnt stew, made at 6.30 in the morning and completely ignored by the three other people in the house resulting in a oddly nice tasting char will be covered later.
Because my grip on sanity is, as always, tenuous.
Title Lyric: Last of the Mullets by The Gamits
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