A Chain Reaction

It was Monday morning and I was in a hurry to make it to my appointment with the accountant, trying to arrive before I needed to be at work. I was hyperventilating about tax issues and my status as an independent contractor with my own recently formed corporation created to allow me maximum freedom from the demands of the man. But I was terrified by the costs of that freedom, as I contemplated my accountant giving me a long overdue reality check. Naturally, the weather had been brutal, with 50 mile an hour winds the previous night and when I stepped into my rather small garage, my feet touched ice and I braced myself for a fall just before breaking through ice and finding myself standing in 4 inches of water. I quickly accessed how far my new Uggs were submerged, and pissed I had not purchased and used a water resistant spray, thinking I already had a can, but of course, didn’t or couldn’t find it, screamed fucking shit, and ordered Beardog into my backseat (he always comes to the office with me because my boss loves dogs – being a proper English person, and there is already one other Chow mix who comes daily to our building. I squeezed into the front seat – my garage is tight, as I said – and began pulling out and realized I was stuck, my wheels spinning on the ice as water splashed madly on the walls, the tables, the summer clay pots, the garbage cans. It was basically like being in a car wash. I moved forward a bit and then backward for about five minutes, trying to rock my way out of being stuck, and as I finally got unstuck found the only way my car would get enough traction to move was if I backed out in such a way my right review mirror was knocked off (already did that once last winter and had to have a new one put on) - fucking shit, I screamed.

Once at the accountants, I waited for about thirty minutes to see Fred, who apologized for the wait, and I smiled and said no problem, of course you are always willing to kiss your accountants ass. And, after chatting realized I didn’t have my ducks in a row, and needed to find about 300 receipts and get busy deducting stuff if I didn’t want to be in deep shit with the IRS – fucking shit I screamed, once back in the car and on my way to work.

Later, after we had lunch downtown, my friend asked to borrow my car to get back to her job – no problem, I said, and as she backed out of the parking space in front of the restaurant and started to move forward, an SUV backed into my side door. Kartika, she screamed, it wasn’t my fault. I know, I said, she backed into us. It was seven degrees and we got out of the car and a sweet girl of about 22 walked over saying she is was so sorry, it was her fault, and she would pay. I don’t know what to do, I said. And of course, my friend took charge saying, Kartika we have to call the police and called 911, and a young cop came to the scene and I noticed he is the son of a friend of my friend, and of course, I remember seeing him once when he was twelve. He asked for her license, which she readily produced, and at that moment I realized I did not even know where my own license was (I was uncredentialed), and thought, wow, I am lucky I wasn’t driving. When the policeman asked for proof of my insurance – I told him I would be right back in a jiffy and ran quickly around the corner to my insurance company where they produced a copy of proof of insurance and put it in a nice blue plastic folder (I was deeply impressed and resolved to immediately place it in my glove compartment and never remove unless to present it to an officer after an accident). When I returned with proof of insurance, the officer kindly remarked “that works for me.” Fortunately, he didn’t ask to see my current registration, because it was not in the car. But immediately upon leaving the scene, I drove to the courthouse to pick up my current license plate and registration one day before my deadline.

Upon returning home from work that evening, I went through a basket of purses in my closet and finally located my license, discovering it had been expired for one year – fucking shit, I screamed while throwing purses into the corner of my closet. The next morning I drove illegally to the courthouse to renew my license, and was told I needed to take the written test. Do you want to study, asked the lady at the desk. No, I said, I’ll wing it. I took the test and failed. The lady then informed me that had I passed the test, they would not have been able to give me a license any way because the name on my social security card and the name on my license did not match (after 9-11 they always check on this) and I would have to resolve this before getting a new one. Oh shit, I said, now I have to hassle with getting that duck in a row. So, I called the social security office and was told I had to bring in proof of my name change - an original copy of my divorce papers and some other form of ID such as a doctor’s record – so I spent two hours trying to locate my divorce papers to no avail and the next day paid the court house $10 to get a copy. Then I went to the doctor’s office to get a copy of a record and was told I needed to pay $150.00 on a past due account before they would give me my record. Oh shit, I said, concerned about my checking account balance. This was not a good week on the surface of things.

However, I am convinced the chain reaction caused by a large number of AWOL ducks, was indeed a blessing. In one week, I got a new social security card and license, paid off my doctor’s bill, had updated my license plates, and had current registration and proof of insurance in my car. I had also asked to be made a permanent employee at my company and was on my way to having taxes taken out of my paycheck and would be enrolled in a health insurance plan the following week along with other employee benefits. One week later, we had layoffs at work and I just got hired before the hiring freeze.