O NCIS, how I love thee.
So I get up this morning, get dressed, and head to the bus stop for to set my feet upon the first step towards the roundabout of curiousities so gently called 'getting my NREMT certification certified by Contra Costa County.' (another CCC!) (and if you had Tindall and Shi's book for American History, you just snorted milk (or whatever) out of your nose.)
The 74 is, as usual, late. someone has finally toppled the F and the 88 from 'worst AC transit bus EVAR' throne. but it comes, and I bounce along jollily to the Richmond BART station. using 511.org, I know that I need to take the 72 northbound, so I get on the bus.
it goes west. to Point Richmond. then travels back to the BART station I just left from, THEN goes east/north. oh well. an extra 30 minutes of knitting time, right? OH WAIT I left a needle at home. how? don't know. I blame the cat.
So I get off at the appropriate stop, and glance around. hm. problem. looks pretty damn residential. I wander, cursing the lack of cell phone (more on that later), and find an internet cafe.
I caffeinate. mmm, coffee. I sit at one of the computers when it opens up and revisit 511.org. only I've left the address at home, so I look it up online again. it looks slightly different. no matter. plug it in, make it go. the website takes forever, but it finally loads, and I see the squiggly little red line that tells me where I should go...and it ends in MARTINEZ. yeah.
Make a fist with just your thumbnail tucked in it. looking at the back of your hand, your thumb is the peninsula, home of the city (san francisco). right across from the bend of your thumb is Richmond. (not the thumb-crotch, that's San Jose.) Martinez is roughly where your middle finger's knuckle is.
I stare at the screen, contemplating all manner of unpleasant things, then ask to borrow the cafe's phone (no payphone, I think they've gone extinct.) I must look deranged enough that they smile nicely and say no problem and would I like a free refill on your mocha?
I call the office in the hopes that there's some sort of satellite office that I can bury myself in paperwork in and avoid the whole bus-bart-amtrak-bus-bus thing. (which really is bus-bart-amtrak-bus-bus-sub-sub-kartma-trab-sub). what do I get? a happy perky recorded message saying the office hours and that today is closed in observation of columbus day.
yeah. I hang up, accept refill, and retrace my steps to get home around 2:30.
(did you know that in venezuela this holiday is called the day of indigenous resistance? can we do away with columbus day and have Indigenous People who were here before Leif who was here before Some Random Spanish Friar who was here before (maybe Zheng He who was here before) Columbus was here.)
and Thor Heyerdal beat them all. (see 1:46 (marco polo), 2:06 (leif-ur), and 3:19 (columbus) and what he says there?...not 'crap.' also 4:30 (roald), 5:37 (neil), 6:16 (lillehammer), and oh, just watch the whole thing. the subtitles are actually not that bad.)
Anyway. tomorrow I am NOT retracing my steps, because all I have to do to get to the Alameda County Emergency Medical Services office is to take the bus, then the bart, then walk across the street.
why norwegian winters are sometimes a scary, scary thing: the voiceover says "you've seen riverdance...you've seen stomp...now they're here, direct from broadway and west end, welcome the group...
Yeah. The Cat. The Cell Phone. The Mystery.
I'm hoping it's in the car, because it's not under the couch (which is where I found it last time) or under the cabinet (where I found it the time before last). tried calling it and it went directly to voicemail, bugger. so don't try to call me.
I'm not translating it, but it made me snicker and snort the remains of my mocha on the cat.
oh, and there's more. but I'll leave that up to you.