03 January 2014
0340 hrs
Hello
Again, Dear and Patient Reader . . .
I would like to share with you
some events from the past couple of days.
Are you ready to listen? Shall I
continue? Splendid!
I met a woman; I know, I know .
. . You all are saying, NO WAY! But, ‘tis true. Don’t worry, y’all . . . I met her online. Actually, she found me- the means in which
she did so are classified- and she left a message telling me that she was
intrigued, er OK, curious is
the word she used . . . I would not want
to give y’all the wrong um . . . setting, here.
At any rate, she leaves me means to reply, should I so desire, being
forthright to inform me that the setting was NOT a dating site. OK, fair ‘nuff; no one mentioned dating. Fine as Frog Hair, so far. (Ever seen frog hair? No?
That’s how fine it is!)
So then she proceeds to tell me
that she is single, has had a few of us dogs sniffing around her a bit,
etc. I say Hmm, I see . . . Hmm I gotcha- I
mean, she need not paint a picture, right?
She is not looking. Message more
than well received.
So I ask, Gee, did something I say indicate that I was looking for something more
than a friend? The very next email
she s-p-e-l-l-s it out for me saying (I paraphrase) I’m not looking for a partner . . .
Well, I
think, No shit . . . haven’t quite broken your code yet, lady . .
.
So in my next response, I, er,
respond with (and I was polite, Patient Reader . . . You worry too much!) Well, Nice Lady (I
paraphrase, again . . .) that’s
good. I understand . I am not looking for a partner, either. And besides, you live so far away, it would
end up being a long-distance relationship . . .
and we all know how well THOSE work out . . .
Or something along those lines . . . again, I paraphrase. So guess what? Never heard back from her. Is the whole world just fucking nuts?
I lost my keys today. Yep, locked out of my own house with
groceries both warming and cooling in their sacks, as I had just gotten home
from the store. Funny thing is, they could
be at the college or on the bus . . .
Who knows?
Even more funny than that,
since I am between phones, I was at the college taking care of something that I
could have done over the phone. Y’all
know the phone story, I think. Maybe I
didn’t give the details, I don’t remember.
Anyway, I am without a phone until my student aid comes in, so for
another coupla weeks or so.
Anyway . . . I bought an eBook
for one of my classes. Ever do that,
Patient Reader? DON’T! You’ll regret it. They at the bookstore on campus printed one
out just for me, lil’ ol’ me, and the back of the card had, of course,
instructions. Great, right?
Haha. I scoff <scoff scoff>. Well, I get home and log on to the
bookstore’s website, as per the card, but unfortunately, they did not mean MY
school’s bookstore website. Better yet,
they did not specify which bookstore’s
website. But they did have SOMETHING . .
. Can you guess what it was? Yup. A
Customer Service telephone number! Jesus
Harold Christ on a Rubber Fucking Crutch.
So I have to wait until after
the holiday, when they (my bookstore) re-opens.
So I set that aside.
I decide to get the web-based
homework interface for my hybrid mathematics course. I tear open the shrink-wrap on both the book
and the card that will enable me to access this aforementioned homework software. I get about 2/3 of the way through the
registration process when I discover I need my Class Code to finish and
access. Hmm. I don’t have a Class Code. I was never issued a Class Code . . .
SO I think, Aha! I
will email my future math professor.
Brilliant, right? I even got a
response, Dear and Patient Reader. It
said, and again I paraphrase: “Cunning
Fennec Fox, I sent emails out to everyone with the Class Code on Monday. If you didn’t get it then there must be
something wrong with your email address.
Fix it.” And that’s it. No Class Code in the email this Professor
sent me.
So I do my due diligence. The school does INDEED have my correct email
address. I got a response the same day
from the bookstore, to whom I told my heart-wrenching tale of woe regarding the
eBook (no help whatsoever in the email).
The school OBVIOUSLY has the right email address, right?
So I emailed the prof
back. I say that the school does have
it, and if I was not part of her mass mailing, then I must not be enrolled in
her class. So then I guess I would see
her maybe next term.
I went back up to the bookstore
because, not to put too fine a point on it, I could not phone them, and the
first two people I talked to told me, No,
don’t go to OUR website.
Well, again, No Shit. The second person, to be fair, told me that I
was to call the Customer Service number on the back of the card, which was ever
so helpful . . . wait . . . no it wasn’t!
Finally, Helper Number
Three. She takes me past the little
waist-high swingy-door thingy directly to Emerald City, where I could see the
Forbidden View They Who Lord Over Us have, and I could sneer down my nose at
the scummy student body, too. Cept I
didn’t.
No, Shmarbara (I changed her
name for the story) WENT ONLINE and LOOKED UP THE WEBSITE FOR ME. She even allowed me to go through the whole
registration process- she went so far as to read me the long-ass numbers from
the card as I typed them in.
Turns out that I needed to go
to 3 different websites just to get to the point where I needed to enter the
activation code that was on the receipt I left at home. Yes, Patient Reader. I wasn’t returning the damn thing . . . Who knew I needed the receipt?
Well, at least she got me that far . . . she even wrote down all of the URL’s that I
needed to finish once I had the receipt in hand. I thanked her, and on my way out I even told
her boss, Shmony (not his real name, either) what a wonderful person she was
for going way above and beyond Her Duty to assist me. (By the way, no one knew about this website
debacle; Shmarbara and I were winging it).
So I imaginating-ly (?) doffed
my imaginary chapeau and I was
off. To the grocery store. And somewhere between there and here, I lost
my keys.
I am going to the Management
Company of my apartment complex to see if they’re the ones from whom I get
another key, and if not them, then who is . . .
Why don’t I just forgo the 2
bus rides it takes to get there and just call them? C’mon.
You know.
So I have a friend who is going
to house-sit while I run all over the county, getting patches for the stupidity
holes. Stupidity for everything; losing
my keys; believing my friend who said that no matter what, I wasn’t going to
lose my phone service . . . you know,
STUPIDITY . . .
So I guess I will leave it at
that for now. You’ll get the rest of the
story when I post next, and you know that it won’t be simple, and you know that
it won’t be resolved tomorrow. I just
hope I don’t end up climbing a tower with a rifle. Fingers Crossed. Haha.
Please don’t call the cops. That
was just a joke. A Joke!
Stay tuned, Patient Reader. More hilarity to ensue, and as always, I
remain,
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The Cunning Fennec Fox
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