December 11, 1998
Directionally Challenged


Working on it, whilst blow-drying my pantyhose and putting the final touches on my résumé (how do you spell "espionage?"). You know the drill ... click here to read yesterday's goofball mishmash of day's events ... and check back later.



Later That Morning:

For obvious reasons, my time is somewhat limited this a.m., but I have just enough time to ask everyone to wish me luck on the interview today.  I'm gonna need it.  And not because I'm nervous about the actual interview process, or because I don't think I have a shot at this job. Fact is: I generally knock 'em dead in situations like this. (My secret? I start asking THEM questions ... like, "What's your screen name?") I know that I can get this position if I want it.

Thing is,  I interview in roughly three and a half hours. David estimates that the walk to the bus stop will take me 10-15 minutes ... the actual bus ride, 11-12 minutes ...

... which means that I'd better leave RIGHT NOW to *allow* for ample "Oh-my-god-I'm-LOST-where-AM-I?" time. Because as sure as the sun rises in the west every morning, I will get lost today. To call me "directionally challenged" would be a kindness. I am simply missing whatever key chromosome is necessary to distinguish east from west from left from under. (I also appear to be missing whatever key *chick* chromosome is necessary to enjoy SHOE SHOPPING.  But that's another story for another day.) I can write backwards as quickly as I can write forwards, I can recite all of the books of the Bible (Old and New Testaments), and I have perfect *tonal memory* ... but give me directions to the grocery store, four blocks away, and be prepared to come pick up in another time zone, later that evening.

Sigh.

I'll send a postcard.


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