November 07, 2005

down the rabbit hole.

The pool was where it all started going downhill, in retrospect. The water was colder than usual, I was in the moderate lane because the slow one was too full and the outdoor pool is now closed, and it was too soon after eating (30 minutes, they say. It wasn't enough.)

So I cramped, like they warn you. Left calf went right when the water became warm again, roughly 150 meters in (I usually swim 500).

Stop. Stretch. Breathe. Go.

Right calf at 225m. You can't gasp underwater. Trust me.

Walked out, showered, left. I think, somewhere in there, among the chlorine and pool noodles, my groove/mojo/whatever continues to float, blissfully abandoned amongst the lapping water and cheery flags, free of my (mainly, but not limited to, work/work/work/school) stress and assorted hangups.


Get back to the Orientations Office to pick my iPod up from Rob (don't take your valuables to the Aquatic Centre, the signs say. So I don't.) Plug my headphones back in, wire up (cords go down the back of my shirt, else I swear I'd choke myself inadvertently.), and go to change the song, because Rob had been listening to Blur and I felt like the Cardigans.

It freezes. I grumble, wait, and reset.
The logo flashes, silver on a black screen.
The hard drive makes several ugly, obstructed clicking noises, and then simply shuts down. Sad iPod pops up and tells me to visit Apple Support's website.

I swear. A lot. It looks like a total hard drive failure. It's three weeks old. Part of me is relieved that it happened under warranty. Most of me is mad, though - I didn't drop $540 to have it die on me in three weeks and have to send it in, with only a chance of receiving a new one.

Forward to 4pm. I'm in my office, replying to emails (so far, four people have emailed to say they'll be skipping the next EA meeting. Time management: clearly not a strong suit.) Also, Brie's USB-to-iPod cable in hand, jumping through Apple Support hoops to perhaps restore my iPod. And failing miserably. And trying to resist the urge to two-fist Diet Mountain Dew Energy. Succeed.
Vanessa calls. "Hey, you're scheduled to be here. Where are you?"

Swear some more. Give up on iPod. Run to Gage, return cable to Brie. Then to the bus loop.

Bus to PNE, e-headphone-ated and stuck listening to the conversations of others without actually meaning to; I blame ACF radios and years of headphone usage for allowing me to timeslice well enough to follow two conversations at once. Kill 2.5 hours on MSN, news sites and blogs. Make Apple send me a box to ship my iPod to them so they can send me another one. Commiserate with boss about how stupid this day has been. Get away with breaking dress code to small pieces, and spend shift in a New Pornographers tee and jeans, as opposed to the business casual that is laid out in Policies and Procedures. This is, perhaps, an aluminum lining.

Leave PNE for home. Miss bus. Go to Starbucks to kill the half-hour. Make fun of eggnog barista. Am told that I'll be remembered, because she can ask me if I want Chicken Milk Chai Lattes. I didn't, and don't think that'll change. One Pumpkin Spice Latte and about twently minutes later, I get on the #16. About five minutes later, someone vomits in the stairwell of the bus.Magical. Everyone opens the nearest window and the bus' temperature drops. Huddled in my coat, resenting everyone and everything packed into this metal-and-rubber trolleywired contraption, I remember what the word I'm looking for: Ack.

Ack ack ack, Jackie would say.

Now, I'm writing the first lab report since the ill-fated Crab Paper of first year, on how dilute a solution of orange extract in water can be before it stops being detectable by a variety of noses. Before this month is over, I'll have to write another one about experiments I've performed on a virtual lab rat.

Egh. Ack.
Fuck, whatever. I have work to do.


Anonymous said...

Remeber Fight Club - you can mix orange juice, sawdust, and lye and get napalm. Or dynamite. Or something. But maybe you could napalm the fuck out of that virtual lab rat. If nothing else, it will relieve the stress. Sorry your day was so terrible. Your visit definitely made my day, though :)

Aleksandra said...

Aw, Gerald, that was a terrible day worthy of a John Hughes movie!

And the way you chanelled your frustration and sadness into a snarky but entertaining (sorry, it was - the barfing busrider was the kicker and my personal favourite) story for your blog-reading public is most admirable.

Much love and hugs today, my sweet - I hope things are looking up.

PhotoDiarist said...

Your shitty day brought tears of laughter to my eyes...

You should ask Apple for 100 free iTunes downloads in compensation for your lost time with your iPod. It's worth a try.

Anonymous said...

Oh, Gerald. I mean, my day hasn't been delightfully wonderful... but yours takes the cake. Steals the show. But most importantly, knowing that someone else is suffering from the Dreaded November Shitty Day is comforting.

Hope things go better shortly.


Claudia said...

Aww Gerald. Don't worry, you'll get a new ipod for sure. I got a new one when I got sad ipod'd by my old one.

except I think yours just died randomly... I dropped mine. whatever.

Jackie said...