The cracker saga

This is a true story but the names have been changed to protect the guilty (and me)...

John and Marcia were in the kitchen at work. John gave Marcia a hearty bowl of soup that was chocked full of yummy ingredients--shrimp, potatoes, tomatoes...the whole bit.

Marcia remarked that the soup looked absolutely delicious, but she said she needed crackers to make the meal complete.

"Well," said John, "I just gave Cindy a box of crackers for the food drive she's conducting. Maybe you could use those."

Cindy is collecting food that will be put into the backpacks of young children who have very limited access to food once they leave school.

Marcia gleefully marched down to Cindy's office, grabbed the box of crackers out of Cindy's collection box and pranced off to her office.

"Taking food from the mouths of babes, heh?" I said to her as I passed her in the hall. Marcia laughed heartily, thinking I was joking.

She pulled out the crackers, crumbled them on her soup, and joyfully ate her lunch. The remaining crackers were left on her desk.

This has set off a torrent of anger throughout the staff. Emails are flying wildly from one group to the other. One staffer is threatening to pile mounds of cracker crumbs outside Marcia's office.

Another is demanding that she be told to replace the crackers ten fold, right now.

Cindy has already sent an email to Marcia asking her when she plans to replace the crackers...no response yet.

Crunching could be heard coming from behind Marcia's closed door...

24 hours without power.

What did I do?

• Read a book
• Turned the bathroom light on each and every time I went in.
• Went to bed at a ridiculously early hour
• Woke up at 3 am (because I went to bed at 8 pm)
• Burned candles
• Paced back and forth between the living room and the dining room about 800 times.
• Called the power company to see when the power would go on. They hung up on me...
  
• Had a long conversation with a neighbor who has lived next door to me for 7 years. This is the first time we've had an extended conversation.
• Craved a cup of coffee
• Pined for the Internet
  
• Found out there was power in the next town over. Drove there and bought 2 large cups of coffee and hot food. Drove home with my goodies and found out the power was back on.
  

The tax man cometh...

I marched into the meeting room, loaded for bear. I was going to get to the bottom of this tax revaluation. I was going to squeeze an admission of guilt out of the tax appraisal person, no matter how long it took. I was going to stand my ground. I was not going to let up. I was going to leave that room with a lower tax bill! Yeah! Yeah!

Ummm. No. Not quite.

I asked my questions and the appraiser calmly and logically answered. He knew my house inside and out. He knew the kitchen hadn't been updated in 15 years. He knew I have yet to update the bathrooms. He knew I have no garage. (The only thing he didn't know was how long it had been since I had last done my laundry.)

"But you based the value of my home on those gigantic new places!"

"No, I didn't. They're part of your development, so we have to list them, but we didn't compare your house with those."

"But you used homes sold before the housing crash! I know you did. Admit it! Come on. Admit it."

"No. Actually we looked at values in 2009. See (he pointed at a date included on one of the descriptions)."

Crap. He was so reasonable, and he was right.

I went to the tax assessors office to see how much my bill would increase.

I expected to find a wheezened little man. I thought he would be grumpy and ill-tempered...a Bob Cratchet type. But no. The man I found was was pleasant and outgoing. "Come on in. What can I do for you? Have a seat."

He was nice and friendly. How was I going to assert myself to such a nice person?

"They're going to double, aren't they? I just know it. My taxes are going to go through the roof. I'm going to have to move. I'm going to have to start commuting an hour to work. I'm going to have to leave my neighbors. And what about my garden? I'll have to start over, won't I?"

"Nope. Your taxes will go up about $500 for the year. That's not so bad, is it?"

Oh, I said. Oh. Hmmm. But I'm still loaded for bear! I bet there are other people who will have to move! I was still full of bluster and I was looking for a fight. There wasn't going to be one.
Bear. I was loaded for bear. Now what? I gathered my things, gave the guy a sheepish smile, and wandered out to my car. I guess I should be happy, but I'm still a little loaded for bear...

The friendly skies?

Why do I turn into a bumbling idiot when I have to fly?

At home, I carefully pack "only the essentials" in my carry-on bag.

I wear slip-on shoes and the one pair of socks I own that don't have holes in the toes.

I locate the smallest amount of shampoo and conditioner I can find, and I put them into a plastic sandwich bag.

I wash the explosive residue from my hands...in case they're checking.

I wear nice underwear...in case they're REALLY checking...

And yet, when I get to the airport,

• I can't find my boarding pass.
  
• My wallet is stuck in an inaccessible pocket of my bag.
  
• My itinerary with the flight number is no where to be found.
  
• Dollar bills are falling out of my pants pockets (I put them in there so that I wouldn't have to dig through my purse to find my wallet).
  
• I drop my passport while I'm waiting in the check-in line. (Should I feel good that when the man who had the passport seemed a bit skeptical that it was my passport when he compared my picture to my actual face?)
• To top it all off, I end up in the security line in front of an extremely well-dressed, organized, irritated businessman.
  

Well, I'm home now. When they swabbed my hands for explosives, there was no residue and they haven't yet installed the full-body scanner in an airport near me.