What is reality? Is it something we make, or is it something that just is?
If we TRY to make reality what we want it to be, can we succeed? Or will we find out 25 years later that the last 25 years have been a painful delusion - a disappointed & useless hope - and everything we ever wanted just plain isn't?
Is reality something we find or something we make?
Or something we decide we'll take?
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Miscommunication is Key
Dear Beloved Person,
You know how we had that big miscommunication about me booking you a flight out of Jacksonville at 11:30 am, and you telling me a week later that you weren't coming into Jacksonville until after 2:00 pm?
Well... I just wanted to say thank you. I've never felt so needed, so wonderful, so appreciated! And just to make sure there are no further miscommunications between us, let me tell you just what you have done for me.
1.) Your sweet attitude reminds me of an innocent 5 year old. Many a beautiful memory of mine involves babysitting, and you have taken me back to the days of macaroni and cheese that isn't good enough because it doesn't have hot dogs in it.
2.) How did you know I'm a big history buff??? Your treatment of me takes me me back a century and a half. Pre-abolition. While I can never truly appreciate the ins and outs of slavery, this must be at least a small piece of what it feels like to be there for the sole pleasure of a master's every whim.
3.) Even though we had a miscommunication about your flights, thank you for emailing me at least twice every day about the same things and ignoring my responses when I answer your questions. Nevermind that I've assured you three times already that yes, I will copy your upline on the email about your hotel reservations, and nevermind that I told you they wouldn't be done for several days because of difficult communication with Singapore. When all is said and done, your emails and emails and emails make sure I know what your specific preferences are. Because, of course, we wouldn't want you to, you know, forward your hotel reservation on to your upline. That would take far too much effort.
4.) And finally, when you are emailing me further instructions, thank you for never using complete sentences. It's a real mental challenge for me to figure out if "depart Charlotte" means you are going to book a ticket from Charlotte to Jacksonville or if I am supposed to be booking you out of Charlotte instead of Jacksonville. It's like Sudoku. I get all giddy in the face of these brain teasers. Really, that miscommunication must have been my fault. I failed the brain teaser you gave me.
I hope I've said it enough, but just in case, THANK YOU!!! If you'd like, I can send UPS to your home to pick up your tiara so I can polish it for you. Just say the word!
Love,
Somebody Else's Assistant That You Treat Like Your Slave
You know how we had that big miscommunication about me booking you a flight out of Jacksonville at 11:30 am, and you telling me a week later that you weren't coming into Jacksonville until after 2:00 pm?
Well... I just wanted to say thank you. I've never felt so needed, so wonderful, so appreciated! And just to make sure there are no further miscommunications between us, let me tell you just what you have done for me.
1.) Your sweet attitude reminds me of an innocent 5 year old. Many a beautiful memory of mine involves babysitting, and you have taken me back to the days of macaroni and cheese that isn't good enough because it doesn't have hot dogs in it.
2.) How did you know I'm a big history buff??? Your treatment of me takes me me back a century and a half. Pre-abolition. While I can never truly appreciate the ins and outs of slavery, this must be at least a small piece of what it feels like to be there for the sole pleasure of a master's every whim.
3.) Even though we had a miscommunication about your flights, thank you for emailing me at least twice every day about the same things and ignoring my responses when I answer your questions. Nevermind that I've assured you three times already that yes, I will copy your upline on the email about your hotel reservations, and nevermind that I told you they wouldn't be done for several days because of difficult communication with Singapore. When all is said and done, your emails and emails and emails make sure I know what your specific preferences are. Because, of course, we wouldn't want you to, you know, forward your hotel reservation on to your upline. That would take far too much effort.
4.) And finally, when you are emailing me further instructions, thank you for never using complete sentences. It's a real mental challenge for me to figure out if "depart Charlotte" means you are going to book a ticket from Charlotte to Jacksonville or if I am supposed to be booking you out of Charlotte instead of Jacksonville. It's like Sudoku. I get all giddy in the face of these brain teasers. Really, that miscommunication must have been my fault. I failed the brain teaser you gave me.
I hope I've said it enough, but just in case, THANK YOU!!! If you'd like, I can send UPS to your home to pick up your tiara so I can polish it for you. Just say the word!
Love,
Somebody Else's Assistant That You Treat Like Your Slave
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Happy Customer Service Appreciation Week!!!
Every now and then, people crack.
This is known to happen among the customer service profession. You get that one customer... that one completely awful jerk who just pushes all your wrong buttons... while your supervisor is penning up an essay to you on how you can improve your dismal sales... while your coworker throws grapes at your head. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year... until one day...
CRACK.
Today, when Hal came in dressed in Zebra-spandex leggings, a T-Shirt with a Superman-esque "H" drawn on, a red diaper outside his leggings and a cape, I feared for my life. Hal is a supervisor. He doesn't even have to deal with the customers.
For a brief moment, curiosity overcame my fear. What could possibly have caused a supervisor to suffer a complete mental break??? I got up from my desk... my wonderful, non-customer-service desk on the other side of the corporate office, faaaaar away from the customers... and ventured into my old grounds. Many a torturous day had been spent there, attempting to convince customers that we really were sorry UPS broke their package, and no they would not have to pay return shipping, and yes we would get that replacement out to them as quickly as possible, and for Pete's sake, stop throwing a tantrum! Holy cow, it's still within our promised 10 days, and I am not part of a conspiracy to take your money and not give you your product! Grow up!
I deliberately avoided my old desk. No need to bring those memories back. Instead I wandered to the side where Hal sits. There he was, in all his diapered and caped glory. All I could think was, "Wow, for being so big under that cape, those zebra pants sure make his legs look trim."
But then I saw Ryan. Ryan is Hal's boss. He had his hair dyed orange, a straw hat, a fake handle-bar mustache and a fur coat that went to his knees.
Claudio, the training supervisor, was in the process of ridding himself of a sumo suit. Everyone was calling him cheap and telling him he had to wear it all day.
Craig, Ryan's boss, was dressed as a "sweat pants cowboy." I don't really even know what that is, but somehow he managed to do it.
Carma, my old supervisor came by. She always looks fantastic - long, blonde hair styled perfectly, makeup perfect, clothes the pinnacle of style and designed just right for her body type. She had her hair in curlers, a dumpy, floral dress and apron, lines drawn into her forehead and around her eyes, 80's-hooker eye makeup, and topped it off with a rolling pin as an accessory.
Then there was Tylor, the schedule guy.
He was a banana.
Apparently, they all cracked.
Jeff and Steve had accompanied me on my jaunt through the customer service department. As Jeff took in Tylor's banana suit, he felt compelled to offer a compliment.
"Wow, Tylor. That suit is very apeeling."
Tylor shrugged. "Thanks! Hal told me earlier there was no way I could top his diaper. I told him that Depends."
Oh geez.
I snapped a couple pictures, then made my way back to my desk as quickly as I could. If insanity is contagious, I had to get out of the customer service department post haste. I know I'm safe here.
At least... for now.
This is known to happen among the customer service profession. You get that one customer... that one completely awful jerk who just pushes all your wrong buttons... while your supervisor is penning up an essay to you on how you can improve your dismal sales... while your coworker throws grapes at your head. Day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year... until one day...
CRACK.
Today, when Hal came in dressed in Zebra-spandex leggings, a T-Shirt with a Superman-esque "H" drawn on, a red diaper outside his leggings and a cape, I feared for my life. Hal is a supervisor. He doesn't even have to deal with the customers.
For a brief moment, curiosity overcame my fear. What could possibly have caused a supervisor to suffer a complete mental break??? I got up from my desk... my wonderful, non-customer-service desk on the other side of the corporate office, faaaaar away from the customers... and ventured into my old grounds. Many a torturous day had been spent there, attempting to convince customers that we really were sorry UPS broke their package, and no they would not have to pay return shipping, and yes we would get that replacement out to them as quickly as possible, and for Pete's sake, stop throwing a tantrum! Holy cow, it's still within our promised 10 days, and I am not part of a conspiracy to take your money and not give you your product! Grow up!
I deliberately avoided my old desk. No need to bring those memories back. Instead I wandered to the side where Hal sits. There he was, in all his diapered and caped glory. All I could think was, "Wow, for being so big under that cape, those zebra pants sure make his legs look trim."
But then I saw Ryan. Ryan is Hal's boss. He had his hair dyed orange, a straw hat, a fake handle-bar mustache and a fur coat that went to his knees.
Claudio, the training supervisor, was in the process of ridding himself of a sumo suit. Everyone was calling him cheap and telling him he had to wear it all day.
Craig, Ryan's boss, was dressed as a "sweat pants cowboy." I don't really even know what that is, but somehow he managed to do it.
Carma, my old supervisor came by. She always looks fantastic - long, blonde hair styled perfectly, makeup perfect, clothes the pinnacle of style and designed just right for her body type. She had her hair in curlers, a dumpy, floral dress and apron, lines drawn into her forehead and around her eyes, 80's-hooker eye makeup, and topped it off with a rolling pin as an accessory.
Then there was Tylor, the schedule guy.
He was a banana.
Apparently, they all cracked.
Jeff and Steve had accompanied me on my jaunt through the customer service department. As Jeff took in Tylor's banana suit, he felt compelled to offer a compliment.
"Wow, Tylor. That suit is very apeeling."
Tylor shrugged. "Thanks! Hal told me earlier there was no way I could top his diaper. I told him that Depends."
Oh geez.
I snapped a couple pictures, then made my way back to my desk as quickly as I could. If insanity is contagious, I had to get out of the customer service department post haste. I know I'm safe here.
At least... for now.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Life is Risky
I got my Health Evaluation Results today. It's some thing my work does every year where they stab you in the arm, laugh maniacally as you bleed, and try to convince you they're "testing" your blood. If your blood makes them laugh maniacally enough, you get a discount on your health insurance.
They took my blood back in November or something like that. Now, almost a year later, they sent me a booklet with the results that I looked up online 1 month after the fact.
My results gave three warnings. THREE!!! Can you BELIEVE it? I'm going to die. I know I am. Slowly. Painfully. It'll probably take close to 60 years, it'll be so slow and painful. All because I had 3 warnings show up from my blood results.
What's wrong with me?
Well, let me tell you.
1.) My TSH (Thyroid Stimulating Hormone) was ... gasp!... NORMAL!!!!
However, and I quote, "It is estimated that ten percent of all Americans will eventually develop a thyroid abnormality by the age of fifty. Therefore [they] recommend periodic thyroid testing in the future." Since it's virtually impossible for me to be included in the 90% of all Americans who won't eventually develop a thyroid abnormality by the age of fifty, I am clearly at a high risk for future complications.
2.) My blood test showed a slightly elevated iron level.
NOOOO!!! I have too much iron! "High iron levels are most commonly seen with high intake of iron rich foods and/or excessive use of iron supplements." Do you hear that? Do you know what that means? It's basically a scientific confirmation of the little saying, "You are what you eat." And apparently I eat too much iron. Therefore, I am iron! I am going to become completely made of iron, and look like Victor VonDoom. Or, on a more optimistic note, I may become Iron Ma- ... Woman. Iron Woman. Iron Female? Iron Lady? Irony?
Ahem.
Anyways...
3.) And this is the worst of all, I am at a high risk for sleep apnea while lying down to rest in the afternoon. Not at all when sitting quietly after a lunch without alcohol, or while stopped for a few minutes in traffic. In fact, I'm at no risk at all while sitting and talking to someone, and only a low risk while watching TV. But give me a nap in the afternoon, and that latent sleep apnea is sure to crop up!
When all is said and done, only one conclusion can be drawn from my blood. I am at high risk for being alive, which therefore puts me at high risk of eventual death.
How will I ever survive the next 60 years?
They took my blood back in November or something like that. Now, almost a year later, they sent me a booklet with the results that I looked up online 1 month after the fact.
My results gave three warnings. THREE!!! Can you BELIEVE it? I'm going to die. I know I am. Slowly. Painfully. It'll probably take close to 60 years, it'll be so slow and painful. All because I had 3 warnings show up from my blood results.
What's wrong with me?
Well, let me tell you.
1.) My TSH (Thyroid Stimulating Hormone) was ... gasp!... NORMAL!!!!
However, and I quote, "It is estimated that ten percent of all Americans will eventually develop a thyroid abnormality by the age of fifty. Therefore [they] recommend periodic thyroid testing in the future." Since it's virtually impossible for me to be included in the 90% of all Americans who won't eventually develop a thyroid abnormality by the age of fifty, I am clearly at a high risk for future complications.
2.) My blood test showed a slightly elevated iron level.
NOOOO!!! I have too much iron! "High iron levels are most commonly seen with high intake of iron rich foods and/or excessive use of iron supplements." Do you hear that? Do you know what that means? It's basically a scientific confirmation of the little saying, "You are what you eat." And apparently I eat too much iron. Therefore, I am iron! I am going to become completely made of iron, and look like Victor VonDoom. Or, on a more optimistic note, I may become Iron Ma- ... Woman. Iron Woman. Iron Female? Iron Lady? Irony?
Ahem.
Anyways...
3.) And this is the worst of all, I am at a high risk for sleep apnea while lying down to rest in the afternoon. Not at all when sitting quietly after a lunch without alcohol, or while stopped for a few minutes in traffic. In fact, I'm at no risk at all while sitting and talking to someone, and only a low risk while watching TV. But give me a nap in the afternoon, and that latent sleep apnea is sure to crop up!
When all is said and done, only one conclusion can be drawn from my blood. I am at high risk for being alive, which therefore puts me at high risk of eventual death.
How will I ever survive the next 60 years?
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
To write, or not to write
Let's say, hypothetically speaking, that I was writing a story on my blog, and I got sick of writing it, for whatever reason. Whatever typically refers to deciding it was a dumb story, and I never should have started it in the first place.
If anyone wants me to keep writing it, say so. Otherwise I'll assume the rest of the world agrees with me and leave it shamelessly hanging where it is.
If anyone wants me to keep writing it, say so. Otherwise I'll assume the rest of the world agrees with me and leave it shamelessly hanging where it is.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
In the midst of pretending like I'm having adventures, I have an ACTUAL adventure.
Friday afternoon. I got off work. I got in my car. I started heading toward my temporary dwelling place.
A rush of discontent flooded through me. I was going to have to go back to that place that wasn't my own, where the actual tenants of the apartment may or may not be barely tolerating having between-housing-contract students bumming off of them. I wasn't ready to go back there yet.
So I went for a drive.
I ended up in Idaho.
After a lovely night/morning/early afternoon with my brother and his wife, they left to take a friend to Boise, and I decided to just keep driving and go take some pictures in Yellowstone. It was a beautiful drive through the Teton pass! Giant pines and sapphire rivers tipped with white. Mountain wildflowers everywhere. Yeah. I was in heaven. And then I hit Jackson Hole, WY and took a picture of that antler-archway thing (turns out they have like 5 of them), and then I drove past the Grand Teton. There was lots of haze. Apparently Wyoming is having fire problems too, sadly.
And then there was Yellowstone. It was just getting to be dusky when I came across Black Sand Basin (picture hell steaming up from just beneath the surface, killing everything in its wake) and that was perfect! The tourists were clearing out, and I got some incredible pictures.
I stopped at one last place for a picture of a white waterfall pouring down a white-and-orange rock, then decided I had to get to my hotel room. It was getting dark, and there wasn't much more for me to take pictures of in that light - or lack thereof. I packed my camera away and started driving.
As I was driving, I was seriously disappointed by the lack of wildlife. Last time I was in Yellowstone, there were bison all over the road, elk, and we even saw a mother and baby moose. So far, the wildest life I'd seen was a shirtless hippie on a bike.
And then I killed Bambi.
I swear, he just appeared in front of my car! How do deer do that???
There was a flash of golden fur, just enough time for me to gasp, a THUNK, and the next thing I knew, Bambi was flying over my car (in the air) and landing just outside my passenger window.
I looked at the hood of my car. From my vantage point of behind the wheel, it appeared to be in proper order. My first instinct was to keep driving - drive to help.
Then my brain came back from its flight of fancy and reminded my first instinct that if you drive a car after breaking your radiator, you will demolish the engine, and that deer hit the front of my car. I wouldn't make it more than a mile at most.
So I pulled off onto this little one-way side road, got out, and took a look.
The entire front of my car was smashed in. Coolant was pooling on the ground beneath it, and a bloody chunk of meat nicely complimented the smear of deer poop over the hood.
I pulled out my cell phone, trying to figure out if I should dial 911 or information and ask for the park rangers. I opened the phone and... no service.
I had no phone.
And no car.
Completely alone.
At night.
In a bear-infested national park.
Even though I'm pretty wary of strangers, I didn't have much other choice. I needed help. My past "distress signal" for when I can't do anything with my car is to open my hood and stand there looking helpless. Inevitably, a guy will stop and ask if he can help. I'll explain the problem and he'll jump my car (in the past, that's been the only problem I couldn't fix on my own enough to get to a mechanic, though I've still never had to change my own tire. Something about fighting lug nuts in a skirt tends to attract helpful guys too). So, I made sure my hazards were flashing bright, and went to open the hood.
Heh. Nice try.
The bumper was so thoroughly wrapped around the hood of the car that no matter how hard I pulled, even though I could squeeze my little fingers in there and unlock it, that hood was not budging.
A car approached.
I said a fervent prayer, Please, oh please, don't let me get picked up by a sicko, human trafficker or anyone who would hurt me, and then used body language in the fading dusk light to attempt to convey distress.
It drove by.
I went back to fighting the hood, and another car passed. Then another.
The urge to cry rushed in - I couldn't spend the night in Yellowstone, and there was no way I was going to make it the 20 miles or so to the gate. What if I ran into a bear? I bought a pocket knife at the gift store, but a 1 inch blade wouldn't stop a grizzly. Or an angry moose. Or a wolf. Or a serial killer. My stomach knotted up, and I tried to force the nausea down. Really, this was ridiculous. Puking wasn't going to fix anything, so why did my stupid biology decide to respond to crisis with it?
Headlights approached, then slowed down. I held my breath. A rescue? Please? Not a serial killer? A couple flashes of my 2 semesters of jiu jitsu bounced across my mind before vanishing from my recollection entirely. The car pulled onto the side road where I waited, looking appropriately helpless and distressed.
Two Asian men got out of the blue SUV. Neither of them spoke much English.
"You... you have... accident?" one of them asked me.
I nodded. "Yes, I hit a deer."
"Another car?"
"No... deer." I tried miming a bouncing deer with my hands. Pretty sure I looked like a moron.
His eyebrows bunched together in total confusion.
"Animal?" I tried.
He knew that one. "Aaaah! Ah, animal! You hit animal!" He pulled out his cell phone, registered the lack of service, then turned to his friend who was brandishing a map, written in what appeared to be Chinese (pretty sure it wasn't Japanese, but I don't know enough about Asian languages to know any more than that). They chattered back and forth for a bit before he turned back to me.
"You alone?"
Do I admit that? Well... clearly I am alone, so I'd be a total idiot to try to claim I wasn't. "Yes," I said in my helpless voice. They appeared to be nice enough, the helpful sort, rather than the sociopath sort, and I wasn't getting any creepy warning vibes. Though, I'm not sure I'd be able to feel creepy warning vibes through that pesky nausea anyway.
He pointed to the map. "We go west gate. We get rangers. You come."
Option #1: Get in the car with strangers, get to the west gate, get help from park rangers.
Option #2: Don't get in the car with strangers, stay by my car, hope they aren't offended and are capable of explaining what my situation is and where my car is in their limited English.
I said another quick prayer for safety and went to get my stuff. As I was collecting my valuables, I wrote a quick note:
"Two Asians, dark blue SUV, Utah plates, license plate # ..7 3ND."
I left it on the seat and picked up my bags. It was as good as I could do, and if it came down to a worst-case-scenario, I could use that note as incentive to not kidnap me.
The drive to the west gate was incredibly long. At the speed they were going, it took us about 30 minutes, and I spent the whole thing trying to calm my nerves. The unknown was killing me. I knew I'd have to deal with towing the car and finding some way to get back to Provo. I could probably call into work on Monday if I couldn't get back in time. Barry and Jessie were close enough to come get me... all of that was fine. It was a distant, "I'll deal with that later," that I didn't really even have to think about. But right now, right in that moment, I had no idea what was coming. I was trusting two complete strangers - strangers who had a dead-silent Asian girl in the back seat who wasn't wearing any pants. I looked at the bright skin of her legs and wondered where her pants were and why she was so quiet. Was she shy, and she was actually wearing super-short shorts that I just couldn't see? Or was she their first victim from earlier in their trip.
Disclaimer: In defense of my sanity, I did not treat my imagination as though it were a sentient being. But conversations are easier to follow than stream of consciousness soooo....
I smacked my imagination upside the head.
Shut up already! These guys are helping you!
But what if they pass the west gate and keep going, refusing to stop?
Well... then I'll demand in a firm, harsh voice that they stop, and if they don't, I'll know it's time to use a contingency plan.
Great. What's your contingency plan?
You're the paranoid one. You come up with it yourself.
Alright, you know that teeny knife? If you get it into their artery, right on the neck, you can probably kill them.
Probably??? Where are you getting your information?
Got any better ideas? Anyway, stab the one in the passenger's seat first - the driver is directly in front of you, and will have a harder time blocking. Get the passenger first, then the driver, then jump forward and grab the wheel.
Yeah, so the bleeding driver can get his arm around my neck and choke me. Nice one.
Not if he's dead, he can't!
I don't even know if stabbing him will kill him! Besides, then I might get arrested for murder.
It's self defense.
Yeah, which they'll decide after six months to three years of jail time.
You have to have a contingency plan. Odds are you won't have to use it. And besides, risking jail is better than getting raped and cut up into little pieces, or sold on the black market and shipped off to a sex factory in Beijing.
Alright, so what's the rest of this stupid plan? I stab them both with my one inch knife, kill them, jump forward to grab the wheel, and get stabbed in the back because the girl sitting next to me is secretly a samurai and has a katana hidden at her feet?
Now you're just being ridiculous.
Uh huh. Because defeating two Asian guys with a pocketknife isn't ridiculous. Besides, these guys are listening to Celtic Woman of all things! They're not serial killers.
It's a ruse. They're trying to lure you into a false sense of-
Alright, I'm done thinking of contingency plans now. I'm going to close my eyes and just wait to get to the gate.
Try as I might, I couldn't relax. My brain wouldn't let me do it. Stupid phrases like, "keeping your guard up" and "being ready for anything" kept flashing through my mind. So I contented myself with watching the road, counting the passing minutes and running my finger over the word "Yellowstone" that was carved into my little pocketknife.
Finally, the gate came into view. I could see a ranger walking on the far side of it, but the exit appeared to be unguarded. The Asians slowed a little, but then just drove through... and kept going.
"Stop here," I ordered, my hand tightening around the knife.
The car slowed just a little.
"STOP!"
The driver slammed on the brakes.
I grabbed my purse, my camera and my computer bag, and threw the door open. I tried to make my voice sound a little less freaked out, and a little more grateful. "Thank you for the ride. I'm going to go talk to that ranger now."
"Okay. We wait for you."
The girl finally spoke, in very good English. "You can leave your bags here. It's okay."
Ummmm... no.
"No, that's okay. I'd rather just keep them with me. Thanks, though." As the door opened and the light came on, I stole a glance down to see if she really wasn't wearing pants. Hot shorts, light-colored hot shorts.
I jumped from the car and high-tailed it to the check point. The ranger let me into her little box thing and called Comms for me. Once we had established that a park police would be by to get me and take me to my hotel, I walked part way back to the car, waved, gave them a thumbs up and yelled, "Thank you so much! Everything's good now!" The driver gave me a thumbs up back and drove away.
I sighed in relief as they left. For all my paranoia, they were really nice guys.
I started calculating tow-truck prices, and my phone rang. It was Jessie.
"Hey, Savannah! Just calling to check on you and make sure you're safe."
Rather than bother with a stupid question like, "How'd she know???" I could only fight back the urge to cry as it settled on me just how thoroughly I was being looked after. Not only was I given a safe ride to help, but my family got the warning that I was in trouble. My mom called me with the same question, and later told me she had gotten a really strong prompting that she needed to pray for my safety. Not only was the message given to my mom (who, by virtue of her maternal role, is more or less obligated to worry about me), but Barry and Jessie got the divine memo too. I was so relieved to talk to Jessie and Barry, who promised to come get me, and tow the car home for me.
After that was waiting for the police, explaining that I wanted my brother to come get my car - not pay for a tow truck - and filling out paperwork. Oh, paperwork. Really... they wanted me to draw a diagram of the accident. Okay, first of all, I'm no artist. Second, how do you diagram hitting a deer? So, I drew a road, arrows indicating the direction I was going, a stick-figure deer bounding across the road (complete with a lovely rack of stick antlers), a SPLAT bubble, squiggly arrows indicating the direction my car limped, and a smoking car just off the side road. The police saw it, started to smile, and then squelched his reaction with a very serious look. Fine. Don't appreciate my art. I put my heart and soul into that diagram, you heathen.
Oh, and people kept asking me if the deer was dead. Yes. The deer is dead. The deer is very dead.
After paperwork was done, the police took me to the hotel. I walked in to be greeted by... A DEAD DEER! Seriously, wouldn't you know it? Whoever decorated the Stage Coach Inn has a real fetish with dead animals attached to the wall. Dead deer. Dead moose. Dead grizzly bear. Antelope, elk, wolves, bison, even a mountain goat. The morbid irony of seeing the very species I had just pummeled to death sitting on the wall, surrounded by a multitude of its late forest pals was a perfect end to a horrific night.
Now I'm sitting in a hotel lobby in Montana. I'm just waiting for Barry and Jessie to come with a trailer, haul my car out and take me back to Provo. When I got up this morning, I was greeted by the face of a MASSIVE bull moose. Next to it was a buffalo large enough to squash my car flat. Just down the stairs was a big, hairy grizzly bear. All I could do was look at the three of them and offer another silent prayer.
Heavenly Father, I am very, very, very thankful that I didn't hit that.
A rush of discontent flooded through me. I was going to have to go back to that place that wasn't my own, where the actual tenants of the apartment may or may not be barely tolerating having between-housing-contract students bumming off of them. I wasn't ready to go back there yet.
So I went for a drive.
I ended up in Idaho.
After a lovely night/morning/early afternoon with my brother and his wife, they left to take a friend to Boise, and I decided to just keep driving and go take some pictures in Yellowstone. It was a beautiful drive through the Teton pass! Giant pines and sapphire rivers tipped with white. Mountain wildflowers everywhere. Yeah. I was in heaven. And then I hit Jackson Hole, WY and took a picture of that antler-archway thing (turns out they have like 5 of them), and then I drove past the Grand Teton. There was lots of haze. Apparently Wyoming is having fire problems too, sadly.
And then there was Yellowstone. It was just getting to be dusky when I came across Black Sand Basin (picture hell steaming up from just beneath the surface, killing everything in its wake) and that was perfect! The tourists were clearing out, and I got some incredible pictures.
I stopped at one last place for a picture of a white waterfall pouring down a white-and-orange rock, then decided I had to get to my hotel room. It was getting dark, and there wasn't much more for me to take pictures of in that light - or lack thereof. I packed my camera away and started driving.
As I was driving, I was seriously disappointed by the lack of wildlife. Last time I was in Yellowstone, there were bison all over the road, elk, and we even saw a mother and baby moose. So far, the wildest life I'd seen was a shirtless hippie on a bike.
And then I killed Bambi.
I swear, he just appeared in front of my car! How do deer do that???
There was a flash of golden fur, just enough time for me to gasp, a THUNK, and the next thing I knew, Bambi was flying over my car (in the air) and landing just outside my passenger window.
I looked at the hood of my car. From my vantage point of behind the wheel, it appeared to be in proper order. My first instinct was to keep driving - drive to help.
Then my brain came back from its flight of fancy and reminded my first instinct that if you drive a car after breaking your radiator, you will demolish the engine, and that deer hit the front of my car. I wouldn't make it more than a mile at most.
So I pulled off onto this little one-way side road, got out, and took a look.
The entire front of my car was smashed in. Coolant was pooling on the ground beneath it, and a bloody chunk of meat nicely complimented the smear of deer poop over the hood.
I pulled out my cell phone, trying to figure out if I should dial 911 or information and ask for the park rangers. I opened the phone and... no service.
I had no phone.
And no car.
Completely alone.
At night.
In a bear-infested national park.
Even though I'm pretty wary of strangers, I didn't have much other choice. I needed help. My past "distress signal" for when I can't do anything with my car is to open my hood and stand there looking helpless. Inevitably, a guy will stop and ask if he can help. I'll explain the problem and he'll jump my car (in the past, that's been the only problem I couldn't fix on my own enough to get to a mechanic, though I've still never had to change my own tire. Something about fighting lug nuts in a skirt tends to attract helpful guys too). So, I made sure my hazards were flashing bright, and went to open the hood.
Heh. Nice try.
The bumper was so thoroughly wrapped around the hood of the car that no matter how hard I pulled, even though I could squeeze my little fingers in there and unlock it, that hood was not budging.
A car approached.
I said a fervent prayer, Please, oh please, don't let me get picked up by a sicko, human trafficker or anyone who would hurt me, and then used body language in the fading dusk light to attempt to convey distress.
It drove by.
I went back to fighting the hood, and another car passed. Then another.
The urge to cry rushed in - I couldn't spend the night in Yellowstone, and there was no way I was going to make it the 20 miles or so to the gate. What if I ran into a bear? I bought a pocket knife at the gift store, but a 1 inch blade wouldn't stop a grizzly. Or an angry moose. Or a wolf. Or a serial killer. My stomach knotted up, and I tried to force the nausea down. Really, this was ridiculous. Puking wasn't going to fix anything, so why did my stupid biology decide to respond to crisis with it?
Headlights approached, then slowed down. I held my breath. A rescue? Please? Not a serial killer? A couple flashes of my 2 semesters of jiu jitsu bounced across my mind before vanishing from my recollection entirely. The car pulled onto the side road where I waited, looking appropriately helpless and distressed.
Two Asian men got out of the blue SUV. Neither of them spoke much English.
"You... you have... accident?" one of them asked me.
I nodded. "Yes, I hit a deer."
"Another car?"
"No... deer." I tried miming a bouncing deer with my hands. Pretty sure I looked like a moron.
His eyebrows bunched together in total confusion.
"Animal?" I tried.
He knew that one. "Aaaah! Ah, animal! You hit animal!" He pulled out his cell phone, registered the lack of service, then turned to his friend who was brandishing a map, written in what appeared to be Chinese (pretty sure it wasn't Japanese, but I don't know enough about Asian languages to know any more than that). They chattered back and forth for a bit before he turned back to me.
"You alone?"
Do I admit that? Well... clearly I am alone, so I'd be a total idiot to try to claim I wasn't. "Yes," I said in my helpless voice. They appeared to be nice enough, the helpful sort, rather than the sociopath sort, and I wasn't getting any creepy warning vibes. Though, I'm not sure I'd be able to feel creepy warning vibes through that pesky nausea anyway.
He pointed to the map. "We go west gate. We get rangers. You come."
Option #1: Get in the car with strangers, get to the west gate, get help from park rangers.
Option #2: Don't get in the car with strangers, stay by my car, hope they aren't offended and are capable of explaining what my situation is and where my car is in their limited English.
I said another quick prayer for safety and went to get my stuff. As I was collecting my valuables, I wrote a quick note:
"Two Asians, dark blue SUV, Utah plates, license plate # ..7 3ND."
I left it on the seat and picked up my bags. It was as good as I could do, and if it came down to a worst-case-scenario, I could use that note as incentive to not kidnap me.
The drive to the west gate was incredibly long. At the speed they were going, it took us about 30 minutes, and I spent the whole thing trying to calm my nerves. The unknown was killing me. I knew I'd have to deal with towing the car and finding some way to get back to Provo. I could probably call into work on Monday if I couldn't get back in time. Barry and Jessie were close enough to come get me... all of that was fine. It was a distant, "I'll deal with that later," that I didn't really even have to think about. But right now, right in that moment, I had no idea what was coming. I was trusting two complete strangers - strangers who had a dead-silent Asian girl in the back seat who wasn't wearing any pants. I looked at the bright skin of her legs and wondered where her pants were and why she was so quiet. Was she shy, and she was actually wearing super-short shorts that I just couldn't see? Or was she their first victim from earlier in their trip.
Disclaimer: In defense of my sanity, I did not treat my imagination as though it were a sentient being. But conversations are easier to follow than stream of consciousness soooo....
I smacked my imagination upside the head.
Shut up already! These guys are helping you!
But what if they pass the west gate and keep going, refusing to stop?
Well... then I'll demand in a firm, harsh voice that they stop, and if they don't, I'll know it's time to use a contingency plan.
Great. What's your contingency plan?
You're the paranoid one. You come up with it yourself.
Alright, you know that teeny knife? If you get it into their artery, right on the neck, you can probably kill them.
Probably??? Where are you getting your information?
Got any better ideas? Anyway, stab the one in the passenger's seat first - the driver is directly in front of you, and will have a harder time blocking. Get the passenger first, then the driver, then jump forward and grab the wheel.
Yeah, so the bleeding driver can get his arm around my neck and choke me. Nice one.
Not if he's dead, he can't!
I don't even know if stabbing him will kill him! Besides, then I might get arrested for murder.
It's self defense.
Yeah, which they'll decide after six months to three years of jail time.
You have to have a contingency plan. Odds are you won't have to use it. And besides, risking jail is better than getting raped and cut up into little pieces, or sold on the black market and shipped off to a sex factory in Beijing.
Alright, so what's the rest of this stupid plan? I stab them both with my one inch knife, kill them, jump forward to grab the wheel, and get stabbed in the back because the girl sitting next to me is secretly a samurai and has a katana hidden at her feet?
Now you're just being ridiculous.
Uh huh. Because defeating two Asian guys with a pocketknife isn't ridiculous. Besides, these guys are listening to Celtic Woman of all things! They're not serial killers.
It's a ruse. They're trying to lure you into a false sense of-
Alright, I'm done thinking of contingency plans now. I'm going to close my eyes and just wait to get to the gate.
Try as I might, I couldn't relax. My brain wouldn't let me do it. Stupid phrases like, "keeping your guard up" and "being ready for anything" kept flashing through my mind. So I contented myself with watching the road, counting the passing minutes and running my finger over the word "Yellowstone" that was carved into my little pocketknife.
Finally, the gate came into view. I could see a ranger walking on the far side of it, but the exit appeared to be unguarded. The Asians slowed a little, but then just drove through... and kept going.
"Stop here," I ordered, my hand tightening around the knife.
The car slowed just a little.
"STOP!"
The driver slammed on the brakes.
I grabbed my purse, my camera and my computer bag, and threw the door open. I tried to make my voice sound a little less freaked out, and a little more grateful. "Thank you for the ride. I'm going to go talk to that ranger now."
"Okay. We wait for you."
The girl finally spoke, in very good English. "You can leave your bags here. It's okay."
Ummmm... no.
"No, that's okay. I'd rather just keep them with me. Thanks, though." As the door opened and the light came on, I stole a glance down to see if she really wasn't wearing pants. Hot shorts, light-colored hot shorts.
I jumped from the car and high-tailed it to the check point. The ranger let me into her little box thing and called Comms for me. Once we had established that a park police would be by to get me and take me to my hotel, I walked part way back to the car, waved, gave them a thumbs up and yelled, "Thank you so much! Everything's good now!" The driver gave me a thumbs up back and drove away.
I sighed in relief as they left. For all my paranoia, they were really nice guys.
I started calculating tow-truck prices, and my phone rang. It was Jessie.
"Hey, Savannah! Just calling to check on you and make sure you're safe."
Rather than bother with a stupid question like, "How'd she know???" I could only fight back the urge to cry as it settled on me just how thoroughly I was being looked after. Not only was I given a safe ride to help, but my family got the warning that I was in trouble. My mom called me with the same question, and later told me she had gotten a really strong prompting that she needed to pray for my safety. Not only was the message given to my mom (who, by virtue of her maternal role, is more or less obligated to worry about me), but Barry and Jessie got the divine memo too. I was so relieved to talk to Jessie and Barry, who promised to come get me, and tow the car home for me.
After that was waiting for the police, explaining that I wanted my brother to come get my car - not pay for a tow truck - and filling out paperwork. Oh, paperwork. Really... they wanted me to draw a diagram of the accident. Okay, first of all, I'm no artist. Second, how do you diagram hitting a deer? So, I drew a road, arrows indicating the direction I was going, a stick-figure deer bounding across the road (complete with a lovely rack of stick antlers), a SPLAT bubble, squiggly arrows indicating the direction my car limped, and a smoking car just off the side road. The police saw it, started to smile, and then squelched his reaction with a very serious look. Fine. Don't appreciate my art. I put my heart and soul into that diagram, you heathen.
Oh, and people kept asking me if the deer was dead. Yes. The deer is dead. The deer is very dead.
After paperwork was done, the police took me to the hotel. I walked in to be greeted by... A DEAD DEER! Seriously, wouldn't you know it? Whoever decorated the Stage Coach Inn has a real fetish with dead animals attached to the wall. Dead deer. Dead moose. Dead grizzly bear. Antelope, elk, wolves, bison, even a mountain goat. The morbid irony of seeing the very species I had just pummeled to death sitting on the wall, surrounded by a multitude of its late forest pals was a perfect end to a horrific night.
Now I'm sitting in a hotel lobby in Montana. I'm just waiting for Barry and Jessie to come with a trailer, haul my car out and take me back to Provo. When I got up this morning, I was greeted by the face of a MASSIVE bull moose. Next to it was a buffalo large enough to squash my car flat. Just down the stairs was a big, hairy grizzly bear. All I could do was look at the three of them and offer another silent prayer.
Heavenly Father, I am very, very, very thankful that I didn't hit that.
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