Little wins

Today was, let me just call a spade a spade, a total shittastrophe. I stole that phrase or word, whatever you want to call it from a man who sat next to me on a plan that was delayed for hours on the ground on one end, and then had to circle forever on the other end, and finally what was supposed to be 5 hours of my life turned into 10 hours. Me and this man went the entire flight and never said anything to each other, but the minute we touched down and made it to the gate and started to stand up he just said, "Well that was a shittastrophe." And all I could say was, "Did you just make that up?" He said, "I think I did." And I said, "Well, I'm taking it."
So yes, today was a shittastrophe. After weeks, okay, months, of thinking that I have Celiac because when a man happened to be rooting around in my small intestine he said it "looked" like I have celiac...and thinking "better safe than sorry" living my life without wheat (okay, for the most part, okay, for some of the part---okay, for at least 2 meals a day) I finally find out today that it's not the case. Not that my doctor would ever call me back with the test results. Nope---I had to commit to stalking. Not even mild stalking---like 2 phone calls a day stalking. Finally today I get the most Russian administrative person in the world who says, "What's your name?" (think really heavy Russian accent. Think Boris and Natasha. Think "this bitch is probably holding a chilled glass of vodka in her hand right now and wearing a big, fur hat")
I say, "Arianne Ayers, and I'm very concerned that I haven't heard back from the doctor. I've left several messages, I've emailed, and I'm afraid I can't get off this phone until I know if I can eat gluten."
"Okay, be hanging on" she slurs. (Don't fault me here, Russians sound like they are slurring sometimes)
I'm on hold for, no lie, 10 minutes.
"Hello?"
"Yes," I say, "I'm still here.....waiting..to see if bread is my friend."
"Doctor no pick up yet?"
"No, no doctor has picked up."
"What your name?"
So, I repeat my name and she gets my chart.
"You are fine, goodbye."
"No! Wait, do I have celiac? I need to know!!!!!!"
"Hold on," Natasha says. Actually Natasha makes her sound like a sexy Russian, which I am sure she is not, so let's call her Helga or Olga. Olga!
No lie, on hold for another 10 minutes.
"Okay, Miss Ayers. You do not have the syllabus."
"What? Is this a college course? What do you mean syllabus?"
"You," and now she's frustrated, "do not have syllables."
"What? Syllables?"
"Whatever that thing you are worrying about, you don't have. Goodbye." And she hangs up.

Needless to say, I am not feeling satisfied by this diagnosis.

The only thing that cooled my anger slightly was when Dana put on her tutu and danced around the office, saying in a Russian accent, "YOU DO NOT HAVE SYLLABLES."

I hate Olga.

Then off to complete my 2-day if-you-got-robbed-in-a-foreign-country-and-have-an-emergency-passport-and-would-like-to-get-a-new-one-no-one-will-help-you-nightmare. Ugly passport photos? Check. Old passport that somehow made me look like a supermodel and which I hate to be giving up? Check. Special passport form? Check. Check? Check.
I need to expedite this passport, so I need the paperwork to be there tomorrow. I apparently put it in the wrong envelope to get it there tomorrow and the woman behind the window at the post office on 31st street has just been waiting all day to make someone look foolish. Now that someone is me. "Well, somebody put this in the wrong envelope!" She was yelling this and everyone in line was looking at me. You know what, they can snicker all they want, because those different types of envelopes are confusing to someone who basically exclusively uses Fedex in their daily life.
I correct my error and go back to the window. She yells again, "If someone needs their passport expedited then SOMEONE needs to write expedite on the envelope!"
"Okay, really? Cause now you're just being mean. It doesn't say that anywhere!" I was kind of surprised I had the guts to say anything.
"How do you think they are going to know to expedite it?"
"Um, because there are two different PO Boxes listed on here, one for expedited passports and one for regular passports and one for passports that need to be expedited, so I assumed that putting the right PO box on there would clear everything up!"
"You think they're gonna figure that out?" At this point, and not to be racist, but she might has well have added Honey-Chile to the end of her sentence---and not in a sweet way either. In a completely "I'm talking down to you" and demeaning way.
I resisted the urge to say, "Oh, you're right. It's a government agency, why would I expect any intelligence?" If I had said that she probably would have set my package on fire right there---ooh, and tampering with the mail is a federal offense, so she would have gone to jail! Damn, missed my chance.

After those two experiences, pretty much everything felt like heaven. Oh, I made it home before dark, amazing. Oh, I got the DVD player to work right away, awesome. Only one roach? Sublime. A Brita filter full of cold water? Amazing!

Okay, not everything after that was amazing. I still can't sleep. Boo. I would definitely take a sleepless night over dealing with either of those two ladies again...ever.