Wrinkled Irony

Tags

,

Rough and dry on the outside,

An image of a withering flower.

Crumpled up failed artwork

And thrown into the trash.

It is the size of a

Grain of sand hidden under the beach,

A troublesome mite living on the coat of a dog,

A single cracked window on a 100-story skyscraper.

It is as deformed as the Titanic

Rusting at the bottom of the ocean.

 

But, within the rugged exterior

Lies promises of hope and joy,

Sweetness and happiness.

Things none can resist.

It promises a taste as sweet as a newborn baby,

As sweet as first learning to read.

It promises to reward you.

 

Wrong.

It deceived you.

It lied.

The inside is a void, a vacuum:

Nothing more than expected,

Nothing less.

It is a raisin.

A Short Story

Tags

, , , ,

Since I’ve been so busy with school and applying to schools, it has been a looooong time (five months?) since I last posted something (Sorry, to my five, maybe six, followers). But I am here now to remedy that. Below is a short story I wrote for history class several years ago in middle school. The idea was to write a children’s book about a country of your choice (I chose Egypt) and to teach the reader about said country. Unfortunately I don’t still have the pictures I drew for the book, so you’ll just have to use your imaginations. Read on and let me know if you think it has the potential to make for a good educational children’s book!

                “What a day!” Mike said as he came home from his skiing trip. He climbed up the stairs and looked into his mailbox.        

        Hmm, I have mail. I wonder who it came from, Mike thought as he took the letter out. It was from his pen pal in Egypt, Geb. This gave Mike an idea. He wrote:

 Dear Geb,

                I read your last letter and it gave me an idea. I really want to see you, and more importantly, your country, Egypt. I will be over next Saturday; meet me at the airport at 12:45 pm. Please do not be late. I expect to stay with you at your house for at least a week. See you there!

                                                                                                                                                                Thanks in advance,

                                                                                                                                                                                Mike

Mike mailed the letter with a big grin on his face. He had always wanted to go to Egypt, and now it would be even better because his pen pal Geb would be showing him around. They had been pen pals for about two years now and had been writing many letters to each other. Mike was so eager to go to Egypt; he started packing his bags immediately. He made sure to pack a few spare loincloths to blend in with the locals.

                Mike stood in line waiting to board the airplane. For the first time, he would leave the United States and travel somewhere far away and experience an adventure. Before he knew it, the passengers were boarding the plane and Mike was more excited than ever.

                Many hours later Mike was in the plane when the pilot’s voice came up on the loudspeaker. “We will be arriving in Cairo shortly. Please fasten your seatbelts and put your chairs in the upright position.” As Mike woke up from his long slumber, he slid open the small window cover to look outside. To his astonishment there was an extremely bright sun beaming down rays of light and a desert below.

                In the airport, Mike saw Geb waiting for him.

                “Hey Geb!” Mike said as he walked over to greet him.

                “Hello Mike,” Geb responded in English with a heavy Egyptian accent.

                “Follow me to the car,” Geb instructed and motioned him to follow.

                “So, where are we going?” asked Mike excitedly.

                “First, we’ll drop off your luggage at my house, and then we’re off to Cairo’s many tourist attractions. I didn’t really have time to plan anything else. So we’ll just play it by ear.”

                “Wow, this is a lot of traffic,” Mike commented, “Say, is it always this crowded here in Cairo?”

                “Yep, Cairo has 7,947,121 people.”

                “That’s a pretty exact number you got there, buddy,” Mike commented.

                “Yeah, I do my research,” Geb proudly replied.

                “Well, this is my house,” Geb said. It was a medium to small sized house with one front door. Geb showed Mike the contents of his house.

                “Well, it isn’t too much different than my house, only a little shabbier,” Mike said, “But I was expecting more of a mud hut.”

                Geb faked a laugh and then said, “Yeah, if you came here a couple hundred years ago, that’s probably what you would have seen. Oh yeah, you do realize we wear normal clothes, not loincloths.”

Mike put on a pair of shorts.

                Then, Geb said, “Well, now that you’ve reached the 21st century, let’s head out. We’ll walk to the different places because traffic is just too bad today, like it is every day.”

                As they walked down the street in Cairo, Mike said, “Wow, are those donkeys on the road?”

                “That’s right,” Geb responded.

                “And why are all the cars so small, including yours?”

                “Because of the traffic, smart one!” Geb shouted. “It’s much easier to maneuver in crowded conditions like these with a smaller car.” Then Geb took a deep breath and popped a migraine pill to relieve him of his horrible and pounding headache.

                “I was wondering,” Mike asked obnoxiously, “how big is Egypt?”

                “Oh, I’d say it’s about three times bigger than the state of New Mexico.”

                “Cool,” Mike said.

                As they continued to walk down the street, Mike pointed out, “There are a lot of people just walking around and stuff; shouldn’t they all be at work at this hour?”

                “Well this isn’t exactly America, land of the consumers. Only one-third of Egyptians are employed,” Geb said sadly.

                “Well, what are the business hours, generally?” Mike asked.

                “They’re usually from 8:30 am to 1:30 pm or 4:30 pm to 7:00 pm and shops close on Friday afternoons. But, there are also a lot of street vendors in Egypt,” Geb answered.

                “So, 8:30 to 1:30? That’s nothing! Slackers…” Mike exclaimed.

                “No, work here is hard and low-paying,” Geb haughtily informed Mike.

                Mike looked over to his right to see many people praying.

                “Are those people praying?” Mike asked unnecessarily.

                “Yes, yes they are. About 90% of Egyptians are Muslim and the other 10% are Christian. Actually, back in the day, around the year 300 AD, there were more Christians here than Muslims because Egypt was part of the Roman Empire. However, in the 600’s AD, Egypt became part of the Arab empire, therefore adopting the Muslim religion,” Geb explained.

                “Very interesting,” Mike said.

                “You know, Mike, there is a local library. I’m sure you could find many books on the subject.”

                Mike explained, “I only read magazines.”

                “That explains a lot,” Geb said in a serious tone. Mike laughed.

                “Why do the strange people in the red clothes seem to be following us everywhere?” Mike whispered to Geb.

                “Hurry up, let’s get going,” Geb said as Mike hurried to catch up to him.

                “Over there is the hospital. You see, Egypt has many great doctors,” Geb said.

                “Oh yeah! I read that in the magazine on the plane ride over here!” Mike exclaimed proudly.

                “Well, then you’re not completely hopeless,” Geb said seriously. Mike laughed.

                “Ugh, it’s burning here,” Mike said, exhausted from the heat of the sun as it burned him.

                “Yes, indeed. There are really only two seasons here in Egypt,” Geb said.

                “What are they?” Mike asked.

                “Glad you asked,” Geb said, even though he was fairly annoyed, “They’re the hot summers and mild winters.”

                “Wow, if I were back at home where it’s very snowy, I’d say that is awesome, but I’m here, being burned alive,” Mike said.

                “You know, you don’t always have to say whatever is on your mind,” Geb mentioned. Mike laughed.

                “Back in the olden days, the Nile River was the main system of transportation. It’s still used today, just not as frequently. Now, we have roads and highways. Two main highways link Alexandria and Cairo together. Unfortunately most Egyptians don’t own automobiles,” Geb explained to Mike.

                “That’s too bad,” Mike said distractedly.

                “Hey,” Mike said, “It’s those people in the red again. Let’s go.”

                “Speaking of highways, we are going to take one right now so I can show you the pyramids at Giza!” Geb said excitedly.

                “Awesome! I’ve always wanted to see the pyramids!” Mike said with enthusiasm as they entered the cab.

                “Now it is time for you to tell me some Egyptian history while we are being driven to Giza,” Mike said.

                “Okay, fine,” Geb sighed.

                “Egypt was first formed around the year 3110 BC when Upper and Lower Egypt were united by the first Pharaoh by the name of Menes. Now, Egyptian history is separated in times called Kingdoms. There was the Old Kingdom ranging from the formation of Egypt until around 2000 BC. In this time period, most of the pyramids were built. Then there is the Middle Kingdom ranging from 2000 BC until 1500 BC. This was the shortest Kingdom. Finally there was the New Kingdom ranging from 1500 BC until about 1000 BC. Around the year 525 BC, Egypt went under Persian control. Then it was taken by Alexander the Great in 332 BC. Eventually it became part of the Roman Empire.”

                “Wow, that’s very interesting, only it’s all very old. Anything interesting happen here recently?” Mike asked offensively.

                “Well, yeah. In 2004, a couple years ago, more than 30 people died in a bomb attack that was targeting Muslim tourists.

                “Oh, that’s not good,” Mike said sadly.

                “No, it’s not,” Geb said frowning.

                “That’ll cost you two Egyptian pounds,” the cabman said as Geb and Mike left the cab.

                “What’s an Egyptian pound?” Mike asked the cabdriver.

                He responded, “Ask your friend! It’s not like you have not asked him enough already.”

                “Good idea,” Mike said, “So, Geb, how much is an Egyptian pound worth?”

                “About five Egyptian pounds is worth one US dollar,” Geb answered as he gave the cabman the fare.

                “It’s those people again!” Mike said, “And what are they wearing?”

                “They’re wearing our traditional clothing: a long shirt called a galabiyah.”

                “Well, whoever they are, they’re following us,” Mike said.

                “That’s for sure,” Geb said as he looked at the Sphinx.

                “We’ve come to take you in!” the men in the red said to Geb.

                “Why would you want him?!” Mike cried out in utter surprise.

                “Your friend is quite the obnoxious one, isn’t he, Geb?” The man in red said.

                “Hmm,” Geb grunted. “Anyway, who are you people and how do you know my name?!”

                “We’re here to take you to a dungeon to rot and die over many years,” The man in red said laughing, “Just kidding! We’ve decided you’re perfect to star in the new movie, Arabs in the Sun.”

                “But how do you know my name?” Geb asked.

                “Well, son, your name is clearly spelled out all over that big backpack of yours,” The movie producer said.

                “Well, what about me?” Mike asked in a small voice.

THE END

Weekly Writing Challenge: 1,000 Words

Tags

, , ,

I’ve decided to attempt another weekly writing challenge from The Daily Post. This one is to write a 1,000 word story based on the picture below (if you haven’t realized yet, it’s based off the saying, “A Picture is Worth a 1,000 Words”).

A Lone Girl at the Playground

It was September 3rd. The first day of kindergarten, the beginnings of a new life forever. It was a cool, breezy day, as most autumn days are. The sky was many shades of gray (not as many as 50, however, perhaps only 20), as if it couldn’t make up its mind weather to rain or merely cast an ominous shadow.

It was a good first day. Though I left behind many friends from my old preschool, I was quick to make acquaintance with many like-minded girls of my age. It was a good crowd here. We could relate on many levels, and shared many interests. Barbies, dolls, to name a few (or, perhaps, all). I could already spot my future best friends.

Yes, there were boys too. I won’t go too in depth here, but let’s just say I had my eye on a couple of them, and I think they had their eyes on me too. I have that effect on boys. Preschool is over; it’s a clean slate, and I like that.

It was a good first day.

After the dismissal bell rang, and everyone filed out, I found myself drawn to an old carousel. I had already made plans with some new girlfriends to go out that night, but I needed a moment to myself first. I told them I’d catch up with them later.

In what seemed to be only a few minutes, everybody had left the school premise, leaving me alone sitting on the carousel.

Yes, it was a good day, but I couldn’t help but feel immense nostalgia. It may be the first day of kindergarten, the first day of a new life, but it was also the last day of an era. And this carousel reminded me of that.

So long ago, it seemed, I used to love Winnie the Pooh and the other cartoon characters that made up this carousel. When was the last time I watched that show? It must have been weeks ago, maybe months. So young was I back then. Back when life was simple and carefree. How things have changed. Now, I find myself trying to keep up with styles and trends. The Hello Kitty pants I wore that first day prove this new found desire to remain in style; to be trendy.

That day, September 3rd, while sitting on that old carousel, I took a trip down memory lane and reflected on the life I had led thus far. It had been a good life, difficult at times, but good overall. Only then did it dawn on me that I was indeed young for a large portion of my life. And those young days, my cherished childhood, included some of my best memories, maybe all of them.

The time my family saved enough money to go to Disney World, or the numerous trips to the local beach fill some of my happiest memories. The thousands of times I used to spend daily playing with toys blended together, reminding me of how the days used to flow and spill into each other, as if there was nothing to divide them other than the movements of the sun. Not so anymore. The 3 o’clock bell is the new setting sun.

Preschool wasn’t school. It was more of an all-day play-date with a bunch of my friends. The boys had blocks. We had dolls. Neither of us had responsibilities. We were young; it wasn’t school. This is school.

It was frightening. I never was really prepared to grow up, to be old. Yet, that day had finally arrived. I remembered back in preschool when I used to look up at the kindergartners in awe, amazed by their maturity and astonished by their intelligence, never expecting to become them.

Sitting on that carousel, by my new grown-up school, I couldn’t help but to laugh at the version of me from an entire year ago. Way back then I’d foolishly thought I had it all figured out. I’d thought I’d learned my life lessons and planned out far enough in the future. Like two weeks was far enough. I’d known, of course, I didn’t literally know everything, but I’d thought I was pretty damn close. I’d been capable of picking up most of the words when adults were speaking to each other, and I’d been able to count all the way to 20. That’s right, 20. How foolish I was a year ago. Ha! If only I’d known at the time I’d be able to count all the way to 100 (one of the biggest numbers) a year later.

No, I’d been a young girl under the delusion of being old and mature a year ago. I’d been wrong. But this time it was different. This time I was in kindergarten. It really was the first day of a new life filled with responsibilities. The era of a simple and carefree life was finally over; I was old.

The End

There it is, all 1,822 words, that is if we count the picture literally as 1,000 words (the quote is very specific about this). If not, you can do the math.

Epilogue

I find this old writing in a notebook (my old diary that I started in kindergarten if I’m not mistaken) in the attic. Reading through it, I’m reminded of the pride I had when I was a young girl. Although some of the language I used as a kindergartener appears to be surprisingly complex (what kindergartner uses the word “ominous” to describe a shadow? Me, apparently), my heart is softened by the attitude I held back then. I was a very young girl then convinced I was old. In some ways, perhaps, I was right; it was the beginning of something, just not as grand as I expected.

It’s funny how old I used to think I was. No, now I know that I’m truly grown-up.

I then hear my mom call out, “Alexus! Where are you? Santa Clause got a new Barbie doll and Justin Bieber CD for you!”

Doesn’t know Santa that I don’t listen to Justin Bieber anymore? I’m too old for that!

Daily Post’s Writing Challenge

Tags

, , , ,

So after finishing lunch at work today, I realized that I had several minutes left on my lunch break. I decided to check to see any new blog posts, and I found a post by the Daily Post describing their weekly writing challenge called “I Remember.” Here’s a link to it.

On that post there are four different challenges, each involving a memory. The goal is to practice writing whatever comes to your mind for ten minutes. Since I’m starting to run out of time, I’m going to do mine for only five minutes. All the harder.

Prompt I chose:

  • Your earliest memory. Capture every detail. Document the quality of the memory — is it as sharp as HDTV or hazy and ethereal, enveloped in fog? Write for 10 minutes (5 minutes in my case). Go.

When I think back and try to recall my earliest memory, I find it very difficult to distinguish between real memories and dreams I had when I was young. I remember having a LOT of dreams when I was a kid, and they seem even easier to remember.

I think I read somewhere once that our earliest memory is usually around age 3. I think I fall in this category because my third birthday party was probably my first memory (unless, of course, that memory of me as a baby was not a dream).

I was visiting the Philippines at the time with my family, and we were staying at a relative’s house. The two things that I remember best was that 1. it was extremely hot and 2. they gave me way too much food. I have a vivid memory of the food piling up to be at least a foot high, mostly rice. I was young, and it was almost scary.

Anyways, since I’m running out of time (1 minute to go!), I’ll cut to the chase.

My clearest memory at my third birthday party was going to the bathroom to wash my hands. Yes, out of all the exciting things that were happening with tons of relatives around, my most vivid memory was going to the bathroom. Weird, I know, but the most mundane things stick the most, I guess.

Okay, five minutes is up and I have to return to work. Hope you enjoyed my earliest memory.

My Shot at a World Record

Tags

,

As the title suggests, I attempted to break a world record today. It did not go exactly as I expected….

It all started a few weeks ago when I was bored and surfing the web. Like any bored person on the internet, the idea of making constructive use of my time by breaking a world record quickly came to me. So I went to guinnessworldrecords.com to look for a world record that I could possibly beat.

As it turns out, there is a whole section of the website devoted to encouraging people to submit videos of themselves breaking records at home. I looked through the records trying to find something that I could realistically break.

Within the duration of 10 minutes I had become extremely motivated to actually do this (my motivation tends to grow rather quickly, and occasionally die rather fast). This was no longer something to simply pass the time out of boredom; I was now determined. After all, who doesn’t want their own Guinness World Record Certificate proving that they’re one in seven billion, the absolute best at something. Yeah, I thought it would be pretty cool.

The vast majority of records were near impossible for me to break of course. One title was “Most hula hoop rotations while standing on one leg in 1 minute.” Now, I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve considered myself an expert-level hula hooper for a pretty long time. I even won a hula hooping contest at my family reunion several years ago. So, as you might imagine, I was pretty intrigued by the title of this record, and I clicked on it to see the current world record holder.

A moment later the video begins with a small Indian girl holding a hula hoop standing in front of the camera. She’s maybe six. Okay, is she waiting to give the hula hoop to her dad or something? No. When I see that she is about to begin, I laugh. This is gonna be an easy record to beat, I just don’t want to hurt her feelings or lower her spirits for breaking her record.

The hula hoop starts spinning and I realize that it’s my spirits that are lowered, not hers. She moves in perfect rhythm and the hula hoop appears to be electrically powered. I can’t help but wonder if in her short six years this was all she trained to do. ‘Cause it paid off, she mastered the art of hula hooping on one leg.

But all is not lost. There are tons of more records on the website that are breakable. After not even considering several, including the fastest time to drink 500ml water (human vacuum?), the longest paperclip chain in 30 seconds, most start jumps in one minute (I thought I could do this at first… I was wrong), and most leapfrog jumps in 30 seconds by a team of two (I wonder if they realize how dumb they look?), I found it. I found the perfect record to beat. Something that was both doable and prestigious.

Fastest time to eat a slice of toast bread

The current world record holder was 9.83 seconds. Ha! I could beat that. This will be almost too easy. I had already begun fantasizing. How awesome would it be to just casually say in conversation, “Yeah, by the way did I mention that I have the official Guinness World Record for fastest time to eat a slice of bread? I know, I know, it’s pretty awesome.” It was the perfect fun-fact.

Remember, this was a few weeks ago. I quickly became busy with other things, such as my internship which I talked about in an earlier post. So I didn’t have time at that moment to go ahead and break the world record. So I bookmarked the page, and stored it in the back of my mind.

A few weeks later and it’s today. My sister reminds me about the world record I chose to break. Today is the day. Today is the day that I become the best in the world at something. Today is the day that I get the most awesome fun fact ever: World Record Holder of Fastest Time to Eat a Slice of Toast Bread. Today is the day that I get placed in the elite pantheon of world record holders, among the likes of Usain Bolt, Michael Phelps, and Michael Jackson.

We bought the bread and I got ready. The plan was for my sister to film and time me as I made history.

First Attempt: My sister says “Go!” and I begin viciously attacking the piece of bread. From my sister’s, and the camera’s, perspective I’m doing great so far. On track to beat 9.83 seconds. What they don’t know is that the entire piece of bread has clumped up and is stuck to the roof of my mouth. I know it’s hopeless and I realize that his is harder than I expected. By the time I spit the bread out, not wanting to fill up on it needlessly, nearly a minute had passed.

Second Attempt: This time, in an effort to redeem myself, I attack the bread with even more fury. Too much fury. Within the first few seconds, I accidentally bite my finger and yell out in pain. Nevertheless, I courageously continue with the attempt, and finish with a time well over one minute. Yeah, I failed. Quite miserably.

So now my sister wants to give it a try. I laugh, telling her that it’s way harder than it looks. She tries anyway and finishes with the surprisingly fast time of 32.40 seconds. Somehow she got the fourth fastest time, and is officially the third fastest person in the world to eat a slice of bread!

I set out weeks ago on a journey to break a record. I committed myself to it (sorta), and I motivated myself to do it. This was my record, my journey. But at the last moment, as I was failing to even break a minute, my sister came out of nowhere and managed to make the top 3 official fastest bread eaters in the world (I’m sure there are thousands, maybe millions, of faster bread eaters, but it’s the official that matters).

So, I’m back to square one. Maybe I’ll look for another world record to break (probably not). But till then I encourage any of you to attempt one of these records. Who knows? Maybe you have a special talent for hula hooping on one leg.

7 Things I hate about Dr. Phil

Tags

, , , , ,

Warning: This title may be a little misleading… I’ll explain.

I hadn’t been able to think what to blog about today, so I went to generatorland.com (pretty much the first result if you google “blog post idea generator”) to generate random ideas for me.

After clicking the “create” button several times and seeing things like “5 Things I like about 8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter” and other relevant topics *sarcasm*, I found this: “7 Things I hate about Dr. Phil.”

Now, it’s not that I hate Dr. Phil, I just dislike him. I admit that I don’t know much about him and I don’t watch his show, but from what I’ve seen, he’s not someone I’d go to for advice. And I’ve got tons of evidence *sarcasm*:

1. Apparently he’s not even a doctor. Dr. Phil is just a stage name. Is he really licensed to do the things he’s doing?

2. It seems like he tends to exploit his guests to boost his own ratings.

Okay, that’s all I got for the people who were excited to see “hate” and “Dr. Phil” in the same sentence. I warned you…

The real reason I decided to go with the “7 Things I hate about Dr. Phil” topic instead of “5 Things I like about 8 Simple Rules for Dating My Teenage Daughter” was because it reminded me of TV talk shows (okay, there may be a couple other reasons too why I didn’t go with the other one). Talk shows have been something that’s been on my mind lately and I don’t know why.

It’s mostly been questions.

Why do some people go to a talk show for therapy?Why can’t they just go to a regular counselor? Does it really have to be Oprah? Does the audience know if they’re going to get free stuff in advance? If so, how do I sign up? What happens during the commercial break? Do they continue to talk? Fix makeup? Leave, eat lunch, come back? I don’t know.

As you can see the fascinating world of TV talk shows are very much a mystery to me, probably because I don’t watch them. So if any of you have answers to my random and possibly pointless questions, please share!

To leave you inspired, generatorland.com also has a Confucius quote generator. Remember:

A jester may never be comfortable with an old man’s elbow but must dance for a peacock

Getting my Work Permit… Not an easy task

Tags

, , , , , ,

So today I got my work permit for the internship that I’ll be starting next Monday as a software engineer intern. Although I go to a private high school, I still had to pick up my work permit at my local high school. And it was not as easy as I thought it would be.

I got up early today. At 9:00 am (Yes, that’s early, it’s the summer) I rolled out of bed determined to call my local public high school to let them know I’ll be dropping by to pick up my work permit. My parents warned that I would be absolutely screwed if I failed to get it in the morning.

They believed that the high school would be closed in the afternoon and closed all day tomorrow. They believed that if I didn’t call before 10:00 am I would show up on Monday to my internship without my work permit and be fired. And I would fail… badly.

Over dramatic? Probably.

So I call at 9:30 am and talk to one of the administrative people. She tells me to drop by and get one from the high school guidance department. Okay, sweet. I ask what their hours are. Of course, my parents were wrong. They close at 3:00 pm, and are open till noon tomorrow (Friday). I smile smugly. I got this.

It’s 11:00 am and I’m getting ready to leave. My dad, who works at home, is busy with a series of phone calls and cannot drive me, so I plan to go by foot. That’s right. I’m 17 and I don’t have my license, or even a permit. Don’t judge me.

Side note: My older sister, 20, is home during the summer and she recently has become addicted to fitness and exercise. She’s been doing pilates every morning before her co-op (a sort of job college students have) and an evening run every night for the past month. And now she’s encouraging me to follow suit. Now, I’ve always been one to exercise. I mean, I like basketball. Does that count? I just lack the commitment, which means every time I go through a couple week long phase of exercising, I usually stop after that. But after a talk last night, I think it’s time to commit and become absolutely ripped, at least for the summer. As my sister reminded me in the words of Ken Blanchard:

There’s a difference between interest and commitment. When you’re interested in doing something, you do it only when circumstance permit. When you’re committed to something, you accept no excuses, only results

And I’ve been “interested” for far too long.

Now that you have the context, you will understand why I decided to run the two miles to my local high school despite the fact that it was 96 degrees Fahrenheit and humid. For exercise! In hindsight, perhaps I should’ve slowed down a bit.

It’s 11:45 am and I make it to the high school covered in sweat. I’m finally here and I go to the guidance department proudly declaiming that I’m here for my work permit.

She asks for my student ID.

My hand goes to my pocket and I realize that I forgot it at home. I stand motionless for a second.

She asks for proof of my residency.

Nothing. I have nothing. I stand stunned for a minute as she explains to me that I will have to return with these two things.

I slowly walk out the door extremely mad at myself for forgetting those things. But then I remind myself that even if I remembered to bring my passport and student ID, there was no way I would have known to bring proof of my residency as well. Plus, maybe I’ll get some extra exercise now that I have to run back and forth all over again.

As I talk myself back up into a new found level of confidence, I begin running home with a new fervor, faster than before. Too fast. About two minutes later I slow to a walk to catch my breath. Remember, it’s 96 degrees outside.

I resume my run only to find I’m cramping on my left side. The dreaded running “stitch.” I’m forced to walk the majority of the way, only picking it back up for the last few hundred feet. I sprint up the hill I live on and finally get back drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. I know only one thing: there is NO way I’m going to run, or even walk, all the way and back again.

Exhausted, and since it’s half past noon, I serve myself lunch, excited to finally sit down, relax, and eat, and worry about getting the stupid work permit another time. That’s when my dad walks upstairs (he works in the basement), and tells me that he can drive me now, and only now, to spare me from the awful journey by foot. I’m forced to postpone my delicious lunch and grab my student ID, passport, and a random letter from a college to prove my residency (who knew that those college letters actually had a use?!).

We get there several minutes later. I go inside and show the guidance counselor my IDs and proof. Amazing she needs so much proof for a simple summer internship. After filling it out, she hands me my work permit, and I’m just glad it’s over.

At the last minute, however, as I’m about to leave, she says, “Oh dear…” and my spirits drop. Are you serious?! She tells me that I can go now, but I will have to mail her a copy of my birth certificate. My birth certificate! After everything I showed her, I still need proof of my birth place for my teenage summer internship! Not even Barack Obama needed that for his job as president of the US, but, no, I, a teenage kid, needs it for a summer job. What’s up with that?!

Well, I’m just glad it’s over and I finally got my work permit. Things didn’t happen exactly as I expected them to, but when do they? That’s pretty much it for this post… till next time.

First Blog!

Tags

, ,

This is my first post of my new (and first) blog. Initially created with the sole purpose of familiarizing myself with wordpress (which I may be using in the internship I start next Monday, I’m 17 by the way), I hope to continue this blog into my senior year of high school.

So what will I be blogging about?

Well… based off my title, I’ll be writing about RAT (random awesome things), aka: I have no idea yet. Maybe some of you will find these random ideas interesting and will continue to read, but for the most part I will just begin writing whatever comes to my mind… and we’ll see where that takes me.

So I think that pretty much wraps up my very first post… till next time.