One of those days...
Every May Day since I've been in Seattle I have danced in the May with my morris dancing team and the other sides from Seattle. We greet the dawn at Gasworks park, jingling our bells and sipping tea and champagne. Usually there are flowers, and a colourful crowd of pagans circle our makeshift stage cheering and smiling on the entertainment. If it wasn't for my knee I would have been dancing there again, but I haven't danced morris since the accident. The busses don't start early enough to get me to gasworks by 5:45, so without my car I was unable to even join the crowd. Understandably I think, as I was sitting home on Monday, the last day in April, nursing the pain from a root canal session earlier that day, I was feeling sad thinking of the dance I would not do and would not see. The physical therapy hasn't been going well, and I'm back to a brace. The PT guy is at a loss on how I can work to stregnthen it without hurting it, as only one week of exercises have pushed the joint medium high levels of pain, and I'm scared that I will never become close to the dancer that I was, let alone survive the knee-jolting morris dance that I fell in love with in England.
There I was, drowning my fears and shaky regret in the fun and fast sci-fi world of Heroes (television show if you all don't know) when the phone rings. I can tell by the tone of my friend's voice that the news isn't good, and as she winds around trying to get a place to articulate what the trouble is, the pit in my stomach started brewing a hollow gravity charged soup that sucked the warmth from me like a black hole does to light. "Get to it, get to it, get to it..." I whispered in my mind, already guessing what was wrong but needing to hear it, too concerned about my already distraught friend to verbalize my need and make this more difficult. Finally it came out.
We were going to be roommates. In less than three weeks I was to move into the basement of the new house that she was renting. It had been the lucky culmination of over six weeks of hunting for something that would fit my needs, and I had already planned the layout of my room and began setting up my moving day for the day after my birthday. And...well, my friend's landlady had quite simply changed her mind. She had shown up at my friend's house with lawyers, and while she acknowledged that she had verbally told my friend that one female roommate would be ok, she was now retracting that statement and saying that if anyone besides the one on the lease, ie my friend, moved into the house then she would begin looking for another renter. Fuck.
20 or so e-mails and over a dozen phone calls later over the course of May Day morning, I had exactly three prospects, none of them ideal. But first, I had to go back for more dental work so that I could begin the process of getting two crowns.
I'm not fond of this dentist. I ended up at his office at the end of December when I needed to go in to a dentist, any dentist, urgently so that intense pain in my mouth could be looked at. That's when I learned about the oral surgery I would need and about what appeared to be--and indeed was---two failed root canals. I found this dentist short tempered and condescending. I also found him to not be the best communicator, as I did not understand that there was anything difficult about my oral surgery until I tried to go to a different dentist instead of the oral surgeon that he referred me to. (The oral surgeon didn't have any openings for almost a month, and I could barely function for the pain.) When I called to get my records transferred, the dentist yelled at me, citing the risks I would be taking my not having an oral surgeon perform the procedure and aggressively pointing out that if it was simple wisdom tooth extraction that he would be doing in the first place. It was not the best way to find out that your first scheduling surgery would be, well, difficult.
On the subject of difficulty, I should mention that oral work is difficult for me because I have an extremely high tolerance for novacane and process it extremely quickly. In fact, my endodontist told me that in the five years he has worked as a dentist he has never seen anyone go through it as quickly as I do. I told both my dentist and his assistant about this, but I when I starting jerking every time the drill hit my tooth and when tears started streaming down my face, the dentist ignored me. When my breathing started coming in gasps, the assistant asked if I should be given more anesthetic, the dentist said, "No, she doesn't need it." He told me to just hold on because he was almost done drilling, and then proceeded to do some less excruciating work. Then he tried to start drilling into the tooth next door, which would also be needing a crown, and since by this point I could feel most everything going on in that area, I let out a short scream when the drill touched the tooth. He asked if I could hold on a little longer so that he could finish, and I told him no.
When I went out to pay, my face was blotchy from the tears, and it was all I could do to stop from crying again when I found out that instead of $3000 it would be just over $4000.
When we started, the dentist had said that he would be using two posts. I heard that, and assumed that it was normal. When I went to the receptionist, she asked if the dentist had talked to me about the posts, and I told that he had told me he would be using them and then trailed off in an implied question mark. She informed me that they would be $500 extra per tooth, something that I really really wish had been discussed with me prior to all of this. Biting my lip, I handed over my card, and when she asked if I wanted to pay part of the bill now and part when I came back in two weeks, I'm ashamed to admit that I snapped at her and told her that it was all going on a credit card anyway and so that two weeks didn't matter.
Even though I probably shouldn't be splurging on things right now, I bought myself a smoothie.
Dentists can save teeth, but cashiers can save the world...
The girl in the ice cream place greeted me with a big genuine smile, remarked on being slow because of the demonstration parade that was blocking all of 5th Ave from downtown to the Seattle Center, and offered to let me try every flavor of ice cream. I tried three. But her enthusiasm for her work and her product made me feel better, and when I gave her a tip, she and her co-worker burst into a bizarre thank you song to the tune of "Meet the Flintstones". I am not making this up. I also splurged more and bought pirate argyle socks for me and a onsie for my friend Sarah's new baby because I had an hour to kill before heading up to look at the first apartment. I think it was me trying to stave off that sort of drudgery financial fear of having to really focus on every dollar that I spend, trying to push off for an hour or so the college girl that had to make decisions about whether she would eat that day or satiate her mind instead by going to the movie that she wanted to see.
I found myself in Queen Anne right on time to look at the apartment, but I only got the manager's vm. I had an hour before I would be looking at the Wallingford place, so I walked around. Finally the manager called back, saying that she was still in Everett and wouldn't be back for at least half an hour. To her credit, she offered to give me a ride to where I needed to be if I would wait for her. And, she showed up, showed me the place, and drove me to Wallingford. She was nice and friendly and talked about living in Costa Rica in a way that made me more than half tempted to sell everything, fly away, and give it a shot far away from my troubles here. The place in Wallingford was pretty cool, but the roommate was, unfortunately, not....he couldn't even tell me which room would be available because he didn't know yet if he wanted to switch. When I asked him if that was something that he could think about and let me know, as it would likely play into my decision, he said he didn't make decisions in advance. He is a post-grad science major with very poor communication and social skills. Despite the place having a lot of space, reasonable rent, and a good location, it's probably a no-go. I say goodbye and head two blocks up the street to look at the third place, keeping my fingers crossed.
I ring the bell, wait, ring the bell, wait, get no answer. I call and get vm. I call 5min later and get vm and leave a msg. I walk around the house. I call again, wait ten minutes, and call a fourth time saying that It's been 20minutes and that I have to go. Fuck.
Because I'm leaving earlier than I thought I would, I don't have the exact bus route that I need. I try to be creative by bussing to Northgate, and as the bus pulls in to the transit center, I see the bus that I need pulling up. I run up and ask the driver to let me off, but he won't, and I have to ride to other end of the of the lot to the appropriate bay. As I step off the bus, I see the second bus leaving. I run up to it, but it is gone...and, the next one isn't supposed to be coming until 10:05. My phone says that it is just before 9:00. I sit on the bench in the chilly air for over an hour, periodically calling my roommate to see if he can rescue me but only getting vm. I pass the time winge-ing to friends via my cell and playing snake2, one of those cheesey games on cell phones from 2001 (yes my phone is that old).
It was a bad fucking day. At least my eye isn't still swollen shut like it was last week.
There I was, drowning my fears and shaky regret in the fun and fast sci-fi world of Heroes (television show if you all don't know) when the phone rings. I can tell by the tone of my friend's voice that the news isn't good, and as she winds around trying to get a place to articulate what the trouble is, the pit in my stomach started brewing a hollow gravity charged soup that sucked the warmth from me like a black hole does to light. "Get to it, get to it, get to it..." I whispered in my mind, already guessing what was wrong but needing to hear it, too concerned about my already distraught friend to verbalize my need and make this more difficult. Finally it came out.
We were going to be roommates. In less than three weeks I was to move into the basement of the new house that she was renting. It had been the lucky culmination of over six weeks of hunting for something that would fit my needs, and I had already planned the layout of my room and began setting up my moving day for the day after my birthday. And...well, my friend's landlady had quite simply changed her mind. She had shown up at my friend's house with lawyers, and while she acknowledged that she had verbally told my friend that one female roommate would be ok, she was now retracting that statement and saying that if anyone besides the one on the lease, ie my friend, moved into the house then she would begin looking for another renter. Fuck.
20 or so e-mails and over a dozen phone calls later over the course of May Day morning, I had exactly three prospects, none of them ideal. But first, I had to go back for more dental work so that I could begin the process of getting two crowns.
I'm not fond of this dentist. I ended up at his office at the end of December when I needed to go in to a dentist, any dentist, urgently so that intense pain in my mouth could be looked at. That's when I learned about the oral surgery I would need and about what appeared to be--and indeed was---two failed root canals. I found this dentist short tempered and condescending. I also found him to not be the best communicator, as I did not understand that there was anything difficult about my oral surgery until I tried to go to a different dentist instead of the oral surgeon that he referred me to. (The oral surgeon didn't have any openings for almost a month, and I could barely function for the pain.) When I called to get my records transferred, the dentist yelled at me, citing the risks I would be taking my not having an oral surgeon perform the procedure and aggressively pointing out that if it was simple wisdom tooth extraction that he would be doing in the first place. It was not the best way to find out that your first scheduling surgery would be, well, difficult.
On the subject of difficulty, I should mention that oral work is difficult for me because I have an extremely high tolerance for novacane and process it extremely quickly. In fact, my endodontist told me that in the five years he has worked as a dentist he has never seen anyone go through it as quickly as I do. I told both my dentist and his assistant about this, but I when I starting jerking every time the drill hit my tooth and when tears started streaming down my face, the dentist ignored me. When my breathing started coming in gasps, the assistant asked if I should be given more anesthetic, the dentist said, "No, she doesn't need it." He told me to just hold on because he was almost done drilling, and then proceeded to do some less excruciating work. Then he tried to start drilling into the tooth next door, which would also be needing a crown, and since by this point I could feel most everything going on in that area, I let out a short scream when the drill touched the tooth. He asked if I could hold on a little longer so that he could finish, and I told him no.
When I went out to pay, my face was blotchy from the tears, and it was all I could do to stop from crying again when I found out that instead of $3000 it would be just over $4000.
When we started, the dentist had said that he would be using two posts. I heard that, and assumed that it was normal. When I went to the receptionist, she asked if the dentist had talked to me about the posts, and I told that he had told me he would be using them and then trailed off in an implied question mark. She informed me that they would be $500 extra per tooth, something that I really really wish had been discussed with me prior to all of this. Biting my lip, I handed over my card, and when she asked if I wanted to pay part of the bill now and part when I came back in two weeks, I'm ashamed to admit that I snapped at her and told her that it was all going on a credit card anyway and so that two weeks didn't matter.
Even though I probably shouldn't be splurging on things right now, I bought myself a smoothie.
Dentists can save teeth, but cashiers can save the world...
The girl in the ice cream place greeted me with a big genuine smile, remarked on being slow because of the demonstration parade that was blocking all of 5th Ave from downtown to the Seattle Center, and offered to let me try every flavor of ice cream. I tried three. But her enthusiasm for her work and her product made me feel better, and when I gave her a tip, she and her co-worker burst into a bizarre thank you song to the tune of "Meet the Flintstones". I am not making this up. I also splurged more and bought pirate argyle socks for me and a onsie for my friend Sarah's new baby because I had an hour to kill before heading up to look at the first apartment. I think it was me trying to stave off that sort of drudgery financial fear of having to really focus on every dollar that I spend, trying to push off for an hour or so the college girl that had to make decisions about whether she would eat that day or satiate her mind instead by going to the movie that she wanted to see.
I found myself in Queen Anne right on time to look at the apartment, but I only got the manager's vm. I had an hour before I would be looking at the Wallingford place, so I walked around. Finally the manager called back, saying that she was still in Everett and wouldn't be back for at least half an hour. To her credit, she offered to give me a ride to where I needed to be if I would wait for her. And, she showed up, showed me the place, and drove me to Wallingford. She was nice and friendly and talked about living in Costa Rica in a way that made me more than half tempted to sell everything, fly away, and give it a shot far away from my troubles here. The place in Wallingford was pretty cool, but the roommate was, unfortunately, not....he couldn't even tell me which room would be available because he didn't know yet if he wanted to switch. When I asked him if that was something that he could think about and let me know, as it would likely play into my decision, he said he didn't make decisions in advance. He is a post-grad science major with very poor communication and social skills. Despite the place having a lot of space, reasonable rent, and a good location, it's probably a no-go. I say goodbye and head two blocks up the street to look at the third place, keeping my fingers crossed.
I ring the bell, wait, ring the bell, wait, get no answer. I call and get vm. I call 5min later and get vm and leave a msg. I walk around the house. I call again, wait ten minutes, and call a fourth time saying that It's been 20minutes and that I have to go. Fuck.
Because I'm leaving earlier than I thought I would, I don't have the exact bus route that I need. I try to be creative by bussing to Northgate, and as the bus pulls in to the transit center, I see the bus that I need pulling up. I run up and ask the driver to let me off, but he won't, and I have to ride to other end of the of the lot to the appropriate bay. As I step off the bus, I see the second bus leaving. I run up to it, but it is gone...and, the next one isn't supposed to be coming until 10:05. My phone says that it is just before 9:00. I sit on the bench in the chilly air for over an hour, periodically calling my roommate to see if he can rescue me but only getting vm. I pass the time winge-ing to friends via my cell and playing snake2, one of those cheesey games on cell phones from 2001 (yes my phone is that old).
It was a bad fucking day. At least my eye isn't still swollen shut like it was last week.