My Ominous Next Door Locker Companion

*UPDATED*


Referred to as, Yellow Lock.

Dear: Yellow Lock,

Hello, we have not yet met, I am the locker adjacent to yours, and I have a few concerns.

One, I have never seen you, we should get together for coffee, or Booster Juice. Get to know one another, for I imagine we shall be sharing locker vicinity for the remainder of the year. And what better way to get over the initial awkward get to know you conversation then with a tasty pomegranate-y fruit drink in hand?

Two, Your locker is starting to smell bad. In fact it has passed the small, easily ignored, stink of over ripe squashed fruit. And yesterday I thought I heard something scratching the door from the inside. Also, there is a line of gross smelling sticky stuff dripping out of one of the vents. It is concerning. So that leads me to believe one of three possibilities.


                 1. You have a dead body in your locker 

     - in which case I retract my offer of Booster Juice
2. You have somehow successfully created a door into Narnia
3. Your Locker is haunted.

I am an optimist, so I am leaning towards two. If it is three though, I would like to know immediately. You should Ghost bust that shit.

Three, your evasive techniques are impressive. Sometimes (and I am not proud of this) in between classes, I run up to the lockers and try to catch you in the act of opening your locker. So far, all of my attempts have been futile. Do you even exist, Yellow Lock?

Should I send out a search party? 

Impatiently Yours,

Teagan

The Trials of Being Broke, and Busted Zippers

(I realize that this could seem very offensive and racist but I promise you I am neither of those things and this is the retelling of an actual event)

Today, my fathers zipper broke on his hunting jacket. Being the amazingly caring and thoughtful daughter I am, I said I would take it to the “Stitch It” in the mall where I work.

Picture this: A professionally dressed girl with a chagrined face, walking to the seamstress, carrying a dirty camouflaged jacket. That literally has twigs sticking out of it. (I could not make this up)

I have about T-minus two minutes to make it to work on the other side of the mall and I have to stand in a line. The type of line that looks like its starting to move... but oh, wait, its not.

Checking my phone I realize in dismay that I am already late for work, and that I went on a spending spree the day before, that left my bank account at the nice round number of: One dollar and Fifty Seven cents. 

When it is finally my turn, I get up to the till and there is this small asian woman at the till. Her head barely clears the register. Her accent so heavy that I have to think really hard, and do a lot of guessing to decode the english from her accent.

Me: The zipper is broken, can you please replace it?

Stitch it Employee: It broken? I fix it no time.

Me: Great! Thank you so much! I’m actually late for wor....

Before I can even finish the end of my sentence she has scurried away from the till to her fixing table. She begins hacking away at pieces of the zipper, while my lateness for work builds up quickly.

Me: (Yelling over zipper hacking and grumbling people behind me in the growing line) Could I just leave it here and pick it up later?! I’m late for work!

Stitch it Employee: I finish now! You see zipper good as new! 

Me: It would really be better if I could pick it up later! I don’t have any money! Could you just replace the whole zipper and that way I can pick it up when it’s done?

To me, this seemed a logical enough idea. This was a win-win solution I had come up with. I would get to go to work-mind you very late, and then I would have the money transferred into my account. And she would get paid. I was quite proud of my problem solving skills. The Stitch it Employee, however, did not agree.

Stitch it Employee: Nonononononono! It more expensive that way! See? I fix it already and it cheaper! You pay now, take jacket now!

(In hindsight I can’t really blame her for not wanting to keep the jacket, it smelt funny and it had twigs all over it.)

The level of agitation coming from the line behind me was becoming unnecessary. They were not late for a still relatively new job! They were not being forced into paying for something with money they did not possess! I tried to reason with the Stitch It employee truly I did. Either she did not understand, or she enjoyed watching me suffer. And Oh, how she made me suffer.

Stitch it Employee: You pay now. See? I fix jacket and without new zipper! It works now, you pay me.

Me: (With growing frustration) I realize you fixed it already. That’s great. Thank you. But I’m already very late for work, can I please pick it up later?

Stitch it Employee: You here now! Pay now!

At that point she had already rung everything up, and had her hand out waiting for my card. The people behind me were becoming louder and unreasonable (this was not my fault) and I was becoming desperate to avoid humiliation. I begrudgingly handed over my shamefully empty card.

I punched in the required information with nervous fingers, and took a deep breath as the information took what seemed years to “Process...”. Then with the most shrill shrieking sound I have ever heard, the machine repeatedly beeped at me and flashed the word DECLINED.

Stitch it Employee: (Practically shouting) You declined. 

(Uncomfortable shuffling sounds in the line behind me.) 

Me: I know. I told you I don’t have any money.

Stitch it Employee: It only 11.18! You no have 11.18?? I save you money and you can no pay for 11.18?

(Let me just say that at this point she was annunciating well and projecting her voice, so that the people in the very back of the line could hear what was going on)

Now, I was going into meltdown mode. I was beginning to picture the Stitch it Employee as an angry monkey in a blue vest hopping up and down screeching. And myself as the person who was regretfully without a banana. My brain was not functioning properly it was only focusing on three things.

My Brain: late late late, embarrassment and shame, late late late

Finally I focused enough to thrust the twiggy ridden jacket into the Stitch it Monkey’s arms and say clearly:

I HAVE NO BANANAS! 

Which of course, was a mistake. And I didn’t mean it. Although it did make everyone stop talking so I had a chance to say this:

I mean... I have no money. Keep this here, and I will be back for it before you close to pick it up, at which time I will have the monkey. MONEY!

Then with what very little dignity I had left, I wrote down my name and cell number and slid it over the counter. I gathered myself and turned, onto the confused and evil glares from the line-waiters.

And speed walked the heck outta there.

I was twenty minutes late for work. At the very least my managers have a sense of humor.

Later...

Stitch it Employee: (with a raised eyebrow) Oh, You back...

Lesson: Always have money or bananas on hand when in Stitch It. Those Employees will fuck with your pride.

Out of the Toaster and into the Toaster Oven...

A lot of people take the transition from High School to University really easily.
That was me up until it hit August 30th, and I realized, Oh shit, I actually have to go now. It's not just some mythical place that I will probably go to in some point in my life. Like a gynaecologist's office, or Narnia. 


There were things I needed to do and learn before I even entered this big foreboding building. 


I had to learn how to successfully take a city bus, and not wind up in a place where I have to be wearing sensible shoes, should I need to run away from a drug fiend/rapist. 
I had to buy and transport textbooks. I had to get a student ID. I had to get a calendar, with this years date on it! I had to figure out what classes I had actually signed up for, and where the hell they were! I needed to purchase a laptop. I needed to figure out how to use the track pad on said new laptop! I NEEDED SCHOOL SUPPLIES!


No Mother, there just doesn't seem to be enough time to complete all this before the start of school. Oh well ...better luck next year?

In the end, I did get the school supplies and learn how to use the track pad.
I became fairly sure of where my first, where my second, where one of my classes were. 
I got a student ID, was told it was the equivalent of the holy grail to my life as a mature university student, and was warned to NEVER lose it. (or it would have to be replaced with a fee of $25)
I bought the devastatingly overpriced textbooks, and the realized there was another thing I need to add to my list of things I needed. 
A Job.


Luckily, I have friends who know that I have a similar mental capacity to that of a small confused animal that has just been shot in the ass by a tranquilizing dart. 
They taught me how to use the bus, and forced me to pay attention to street signs. They walked me to the correct floor of my classes, so that I wouldn't just keep riding the escalators up and down because it was fun. They sat with me at lunch. Things were going well that first week of September. 
In fact I was feeling pretty bad ass.
Look at ME. I'm an ADULT. Ha-ha, I'm responsible. 


Devastation and destruction of my happy adult mentality struck in the form of my first essay. When I realized that, HIGH SCHOOL HAD NOT PREPARED ME FOR ANYTHING! It was all a lie. I only knew one format! It was the 'Shit that was due yesterday??' format. Now I was hearing things like APA and MLA and HIJKLMNOP-A. 
And wait.. that cant be right? It's worth 20% of my GRADE?
But not only that, a chapter test? A chapter test from what? We weren't assigned anything to read! 
Panic filled my face as I frantically poked my seat partner. 


Me: "When did he tell us to read something?? Where was I? Was I in the bathroom?" 


The look I received can only be described as: Condescending and the classic 'you dumb ass' face.  


Seat Partner: "You're supposed to read the text book, *stress on the 'you dumb ass' in her voice* he posted what chapters to read on the website." *adding in eye roll for good measure*


Apparently there was a website.  


Needless to say, all that hard work my friends put in? Destroyed in less then a half hour. At that point my brain went from being: 


I am a capable responsible adult. Look at me! I can ride the escalator to the right floor and then get off all by myself. 


To: 


OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!! WEBSITE?THERESAWEBSITE? CHAPTERTEST? TEXTBOOKS? ESSAYFORMATESSAYFORMAT! SOMEONES SCREAMING IS THAT ME? BRIGHTLIGHTS FEELINGDIZZY TWENTYPERCENT???!!!!


I personally apologize to anyone who was on the bus home with me that evening.