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I was looking through all my pictures that I had taken a while ago and not gone through, and I came across this one that was on a door in the office I work in. It’s the funniest thing because we all thought that one of his legs was on wrong, but that is not the case, because on the reverse side of each of the leg is white. Anyway, the rest of the week we all spent time trying to walk the way the Santa would have to walk. It was very funny, I was reminded of it when I saw the picture and thought I would share.

It is Sunday night. I am at my house bored out of my mind. I just thought I would write that. I think I will go read some more. Maybe I will play with my bunny. I feel she feels neglected sometimes, with me being away at school. I wish I could bring her. I hate my dorm room. I spent the day yesterday with Courney. It was fun, we finally got to talk about lots of things that we needed to catch up on. We also told stories of the stupidest things that we have done. I will list some of them for your amusement.

I drove my car to the mall with Noel. My car. When we leave I always walk to the passenger side instead of the driver’s side. This isn’t so bad, but when Noel is driving, and I walk to the drivers side of his car it is much worse. I cannot drive a stick.

Courtney was at a restuarant and went to the restroom. She walked in, used the toilet, and began washing her hands when a man walked in. She then preceeded to run out of the men’s room.

I locked myself out of my dorm room one night. I was dropped off, and my car keys were in the room. It was past eleven, which means the front desk was closed. I decided I would have to go find my RA, wake him up, and make him go get a key to my room, that’s what he’s there for right? Well I couldn’t remember the exact room he was in, just that he was on the first floor. I walk over to the hallway and knock on a random door. Someone not Nick (the RA) answers and looks half dead. I ask him where Nick’s room is, he tells me two doors down. I thank him. I walk down the hall and knock on the door. No-one answers. As I knock again I see someone come out of their room and they are giving me a really weird look. He says to me: “Can I help you with something?” I told him that I have to talk to Nick, I locked myself out of my room. He gives me another very strange look, and asks: “Can’t you wait???” As he asks me this, I notice that the door I am standing in front of says “MEN” in big letters. Nick’s room was the door after that which read “NICK - RA” really really big on the door! I am so stupid. Now everytime I see that guy who questioned me about knocking on the men’s room, I hide my head.

Courtney told me a really really funny bank story, I will share this last one with you. When she was in high school, her and her mom opened her up a bank account. She was a member of the Standard Federal Bank. So one day her and Mike (her boyfriend) went to take out some money. She called her mom and asked where the bank was located. Her mom told her it was by West Road and Hall Raod. They drove to the bank on the corner of West and Hall, and went inside. When they got to the counter Courtney gave them all her information, and to her surprise she was not in the system. Courtney couldn’t understand. She eventually realized that the big sign that said “Old Kent” meant that she might be in the wrong bank. She told me last night that it was not the fact that she was in a different bank that was pathetic, it was that she didn’t think it made a difference what bank it was, that every bank should give her money. She asked the teller if she could take out money, but by then her terribly embarassed boyfriend dragged her out of the bank.

Well these where some of our laughs last night, I hope you enjoy them. I am going to do something else now.

Goodnight.

Today I had to visit the Secretary of State. I needed to renew my license. This is my story:

I walk into the office. I go in the IN door, not the OUT, because they are right next to each other, separated by nothing, but it is still imparitive that you enter through the IN door. As soon as you walk in, you are facing a red dispenser on a stick, standing in front of you. From this point on you have lost your name. Your name means nothing, it is erased, it belongs to the “state” now. You are now……..number D-23. Once you have your new identity, you look up at the crowd who is staring at you because you are the “new” member of the number group. You desperately look for an empty seat, preferrably one not next to number 17, who has mad cow disease, or number 20, who does not know the proper use of deoderant, or number 8, who has so much snot in her nose that she when she inhales, you feel like she just went to the bathroom in her chair. Ah Ha! an empty seat on the end. I sit, and still I am stared at. Some of the numbers smile at me, because they know they are before me, they are a younger number, they get to have there identity returned to them before me, they are happy. Some look nervous. I look over and see that number 12 has ripped his number in half. He is also sweating. I wonder what he has done. Then I wonder if he is actually number 21, and is trying to steal number 12’s place. I actually don’t care either way. As long as number 32 doesn’t pull that crap, I’ll be calm. The people at the desk call out the numbers like it is the most painful thing for their mouths to say. “Number….. 9″ Of course number nine jumps out of his chair and runs to the desk, for if you do not jump up at the exact moment of being called on, you will lose your chance, they go right on to number 10, who looks at you from across the room, eagerly smiling, knowing that he will pounce in a second if you should miss your cue. I pull out my palm pilot and begin to play Sokoban. I beat one game. I am bored. I look at the big clock-like thing on the wall and it reads 16 in big red numbers. Number 16 must be at the big desk. I wonder which one is number 16. As I am watching, number 20 get’s up. He is old, he is at least 70. He walks right up to the desk, which is, as we all know, completely against the rules if you have not been summoned. Since he is old, it takes him about a minute to get up there. I watch with anticipation with the rest of the numbers, to see what is going to happen. He interrupts the lady in the middle, who politely ask’s him to have a seat until he is called. He says that he has been here for an hour and his number has not been called. I watch the lady, she is mad, you can tell number 20 has ruined her life. She asks with the most annoyed tone of voice “Well what’s you number then!?” He says number 20. She tells him that she is working with number 16 now, and that he will be called shortly. He ask’s why he has to wait so long. She is outraged now, she tells him in her fake polite voice, grinding her teeth as she spits out “Your number will be called SHORTLY!, Please have a seat SIR!” They stare into each other’s eyes for a moment and then number 20 gives up. He has fought for us, he has lost. As he makes his way back to his seat he mumbles “The people here are all rude Dickers.” I wonder what a “Dicker” is, I have never heard that word used before. It might have been a word from the 40s for all I know. Everyone returns to looking at the ground and waiting for their number to be called. After a while number 22 is called. I feel excited, for soon I will have my name back. I did not realize, however, that number 22 was here for a triple-bypass surgery. Twenty minutes went by, and finally, number 23 is called, I jump out of my seat and rush up to the desk to show them that I have not yet left. My “teller” does not look at me, does not smile, she only ask’s: “what are you here for?” I hand her my license renewal and tell her I am here to “renew my license”. She looks away and types something into the computer. “LICENSE!” She demands to me. I reach for my wallet as she begins to tap with her long red nails on the desk like it is taking me 10 years to pull out my license. I hand it to her, and her stubby little hands grab it and begin to type in my information. I pay her $18 and I take a picture in front of the blue screen. “You’re Done.” That is all she says. She does not look at me, she does not smile, she does say anything else. I feel sad for her. She is pathetic, she is a sad human, she hates her job, and she hates people, I feel like punching her in the face and telling her to get another job. I turn around and I walk out. I am not a number, I am Stephanie again. I am out of that place, a wasted 45 minutes of my life, a pointless journey, it’s all over.