Currently, when I’m not upholding my title as “fiercest job hunter in the urban jungle”, I work as a part time chauffeur/errand queen. Every day I wake up and relive a little more of the plot of Driving Miss Daisy. My employer/ward is approximately 76 going on 110. For the sake of privacy and proper nouns, we’ll call her “Mabel”. She is stubborn, quirky, and the least subtle micro-manager ever. Yesterday she walked me out to the garage and explicitly instructed me to park the car as far to the right as possible following our errands. So I did. Before I left, she insisted on checking.
Now, “Mabel’s” garage is the smallest I’ve ever encountered. More accurately, it’s a large shed. The left wall is primarily storage – hanging lawn accessories, holiday items, etc, all blanketed in dust so that no single item stands out, save for the couple paint cans I almost hit every time I open the driver side door. With a tiny work bench at the back corner on the right hand side, squeezing a vehicle inside the building at all is an accomplishment, but “Mabel” insists I back in to the spot. Even this would be less of a big deal given an adequate driveway, but no – her garage sits backwards, sidled up against one of San Diego’s incredibly narrow alleyways, across from an eight foot high fence. My parking job is always crooked and always incredibly frustrating.
“Mabel” doesn’t drive anymore – that’s why I arrived on the scene in the first place. Still, upon inspection of my parking job she insisted on “fixing” it. I looked on in horror, unsure what she meant and how that would be possible and how I would explain the incident later on to her loved ones. It became clear almost immediately that she was going to crush a yellow hose thing that had fallen to the ground. Out of concern for my nice, intact skull, I didn’t attempt to rescue it. I managed to save the work bench only through an incredibly exaggerated display of shouting and flailing such as I’d normally reserve for dire emergencies or rock concerts. In the midst of this, I got a call for a phone interview with a local business. At the very least, I certainly made an impression with them (luckily, they were nice enough to let me call them back after the crisis was averted). In the end, I am truly in awe of the fact that “Mabel’s” mid-sized sedan still has side mirrors. I braced myself for another battle today, but fortunately, there was much less resistance. Also, I followed her route to the grocery store instead of mine (in some situations, you just have to concede and rack up the brownie points wherever possible).
And that’s your two part intro to my orb of insanity.