What Next?

 

Have you ever been going through your day, minding your own business, not hurting anyone, in fact possibly trying to be helpful when the caca hits the fan? I know you have. It happens to everyone; I'm certain of it. What I don't understand is, why does it happen with such regularity to me?

When I was living in Hoonah, the only way off the island was either by boat or plane. As most of you know, I happened to be in an airplane that crashed into the water in February. That was more than a -Oh woe is me moment, but I survived it, so life goes on. However, the other way off the island, as I said, was by boat, usually the Alaska Marine Highway system. A ferry. I happened to be on a ferry that broke down so many times in my forty five years there, that the ferry terminal assistants used to ask me when I was planning on traveling, so they could schedule a trip at a different time.

When I was writing my first book, I wasn't too familiar with computers. I'm still not, but I guess I know more now than I used to. On more than one occasion, I would be writing along, happy as a clam at high tide. I would hit some button on the key board, the screen would ask me a question to which I didn't know the answer. The answer was always yes or no, and inevitably, I'd choose the wrong answer. What are the odds? I mean, they're fifty/fifty, but how could I choose the wrong answer every time? It's infuriating.

The same thing happens to me when I'm shopping. There are three or four checkout lanes open. I survey the line at each lane, see if the cashier looks competent, how much groceries the people in front of me have, try to compare how fast each line is moving, and then choose one. Of course, miraculously, the line I'm in has someone that has an item without a price on it, so they need to go check it out, or the person wants to use a check that needs to be approved by management, who is neck deep at the customer service counter, or the customer can't get their credit card to work. It happens so often that I have no choice but to resign myself to it, knowing full well that if I were to go to one of the other lines, something similar would happen.

This same principle is at work when the traffic is stopped for something like road work. There will be two lines of traffic. I will of course be in the line that the guy who is directing traffic for some reason or another hates. Perhaps he sees his ex in the front car and wants her to suffer or something, I don't know. While I may have taken a leak before I left the house, by the time I've waited in line for traffic to move, I've got to pee so bad I can taste it. Frankly, it can throw me into a bit of a panic.

The latest fiasco in the Botts saga is my cell phone disappearance. A lady in church had mentioned that she needed a hand getting her household goods moved into three moving Pods this past Saturday. She's almost disabled, in part because of her weight, and her husband had a stroke some time back, and can't do much at all. I didn't have anything else going on, so I decided to go help. I'd been at their house before, and I knew what to expect. While she wasn't exactly a hoarder, she had a lot of stuff, and it was in quite a state of disarray. I joined a handful of other volunteers and started loading stuff into the pods. Frankly, I was moving at a fairly good pace and was feeling proud of myself. I was getting hot, so after an hour or so, I took off my jacket and laid it down somewhere. It just so happened that I had my cell phone in it. Don't be alarmed, it was only a cheap flip phone. I'm not going to spring for a thousand dollar phone just so I can talk to someone. Anyway, it was raining, and I made enough trips to the pod that I was starting to get wet. I decided to put my jacket back on. I started looking for it, and couldn't find it anywhere. It wasn't a good jacket, just something to work in, but it was off by itself, so it never occurred to me that someone would pack it up and put it in one of the pods. I tried calling the number, but the ring tone must have been turned down. Apparantly, it was nestled deeply into the bowels of one of the hundreds of boxes in the pods. Allrriightyy then!

I don't know when the pods will be picked up. I guess it doesn't really matter. Eventually they will be relocated to North Carolina. By the time she gets around to unloading them, years could pass and rodents could have eaten the jacket and moisture ruined the cell phone. I didn't have any important information on it, and it was time to get a new one anyway. On the plus side, it wasn't an Iphone, or I'd still be unpacking those pods.

Have you ever been going through your day, minding your own business, not hurting anyone, in fact possibly trying to be helpful when the caca hits the fan? I know you have. It happens to everyone; I'm certain of it. What I don't understand is, why does it happen with such regularity to me?

When I was living in Hoonah, the only way off the island was either by boat or plane. As most of you know, I happened to be in an airplane that crashed into the water in February. That was more than a -Oh woe is me moment, but I survived it, so life goes on. However, the other way off the island, as I said, was by boat, usually the Alaska Marine Highway system. A ferry. I happened to be on a ferry that broke down so many times in my forty five years there, that the ferry terminal assistants used to ask me when I was planning on traveling, so they could schedule a trip at a different time.

When I was writing my first book, I wasn't too familiar with computers. I'm still not, but I guess I know more now than I used to. On more than one occasion, I would be writing along, happy as a clam at high tide. I would hit some button on the key board, the screen would ask me a question to which I didn't know the answer. The answer was always yes or no, and inevitably, I'd choose the wrong answer. What are the odds? I mean, they're fifty/fifty, but how could I choose the wrong answer every time? It's infuriating.

The same thing happens to me when I'm shopping. There are three or four checkout lanes open. I survey the line at each lane, see if the cashier looks competent, how much groceries the people in front of me have, try to compare how fast each line is moving, and then choose one. Of course, miraculously, the line I'm in has someone that has an item without a price on it, so they need to go check it out, or the person wants to use a check that needs to be approved by management, who is neck deep at the customer service counter, or the customer can't get their credit card to work. It happens so often that I have no choice but to resign myself to it, knowing full well that if I were to go to one of the other lines, something similar would happen.

This same principle is at work when the traffic is stopped for something like road work. There will be two lines of traffic. I will of course be in the line that the guy who is directing traffic for some reason or another hates. Perhaps he sees his ex in the front car and wants her to suffer or something, I don't know. While I may have taken a leak before I left the house, by the time I've waited in line for traffic to move, I've got to pee so bad I can taste it. Frankly, it can throw me into a bit of a panic.

The latest fiasco in the Botts saga is my cell phone disappearance. A lady in church had mentioned that she needed a hand getting her household goods moved into three moving Pods this past Saturday. She's almost disabled, in part because of her weight, and her husband had a stroke some time back, and can't do much at all. I didn't have anything else going on, so I decided to go help. I'd been at their house before, and I knew what to expect. While she wasn't exactly a hoarder, she had a lot of stuff, and it was in quite a state of disarray. I joined a handful of other volunteers and started loading stuff into the pods. Frankly, I was moving at a fairly good pace and was feeling proud of myself. I was getting hot, so after an hour or so, I took off my jacket and laid it down somewhere. It just so happened that I had my cell phone in it. Don't be alarmed, it was only a cheap flip phone. I'm not going to spring for a thousand dollar phone just so I can talk to someone. Anyway, it was raining, and I made enough trips to the pod that I was starting to get wet. I decided to put my jacket back on. I started looking for it, and couldn't find it anywhere. It wasn't a good jacket, just something to work in, but it was off by itself, so it never occurred to me that someone would pack it up and put it in one of the pods. I tried calling the number, but the ring tone must have been turned down. Apparently, it was nestled deeply into the bowels of one of the hundreds of boxes in the pods. Allrriightyy then!

I don't know when the pods will be picked up. I guess it doesn't really matter. Eventually they will be relocated to North Carolina. By the time she gets around to unloading them, years could pass and rodents could have eaten the jacket and moisture ruined the cell phone. I didn't have any important information on it, and it was time to get a new one anyway. On the plus side, it wasn't an Iphone, or I'd still be unpacking those pods.