Trying for an Ulcer
Before we’re allowed to go to the teacher job fair, we’re required to create a packet. This packet should include, in no particular order and in conjunction with a few other requirements, our resume, our set of references and a philosophy statement. I finished these weeks ago, but I wanted our on-staff, full-time faculty adviser to take a look at them. My philosophy statement uses some pretty tough language.
My appointment was two weeks ago, but it never happened.
She was gone all that first week because her dad died. She was gone all last week for the same reason and it was spring break, besides. Therefore, at yesterday’s very first opportunity and at the early hour of 9:15 a.m., I called to schedule something for this week.
The voice coming over the phone tells me that she has plenty of openings for rescheduling this week. Naturally, all of these openings are between the hours of 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. I don’t know about your school’s schedule, so I’ll fill you in: I’m still going at 3 p.m. I’m not sure about her schedule.
You’d think she’d stay as late into the night as it would take to catch up on appointments, especially considering that she was the one who was gone for the last two weeks. I suppose she is, and all those slots are filled, but I am unsympathetic. After all, I am the wronged party, he opined haughtily.
I told the receptionist that yes, indeed, I once had an appointment and, during the alloted appointment time, our full-time faculty adviser had been unavailable. I went back and forth between being placed on hold and bickering for some time until I pulled the “I guess I’ll just have to go without an appointment, then” card.
That worked. I talked to the adviser herself, though undoubtedly in an appointment at the time. It turns out our adviser would be just able to squeeze me in Wednesday at 3:30 p.m.
There are so many ways that this could have been a whole hell of a lot easier. I won’t go into details.
Moral of the story? Never do anything at the last minute. Note that “at the last minute” apparently means six weeks in advance.
Every day, we experience a thousand moments, each of those moments setting in motion a thousand slightly different possibilities in the future. When we make these choices, we are thrust toward another day's crossroads, where we have another thousand choices.
Given the infinite number of choices we make in a lifetime, why do we choose so many of the same routes and make just as many of the same mistakes as our parents and grandparents?
I plan to learn from their mistakes. Let's see how far I get.
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