Process

Yesterday I had the great joy of physically going to the New Orleans Sewerage (isn’t this “sewage” in every other part of this country??) and Water Board to pay my deposit.

I had applied by phone and initiated service, but I was required to pay a $75 deposit for the service as well as present identification and turn in my signed application while I was there. I thought this would be a relatively simple and quick process. I would walk in and speak to a lady who would point me to the right person to take my money and hand over the piece of paper. Sounds fairly simple, doesn’t it? Well, here’s how it went:

I walked in and there was the expected lady, “the receptionist”, just sitting there studying the molecules. I walked up to her fairly confidently and told her I needed to pay my deposit for water/sewer/trash service and turn in my signed application. She told me “you’ll have to go to that window” (a brief moment of looking up and evaluating my self presentation, which I’m sure failed her “is this person fashionably acceptable” test). She gestured vaguely to a line of about 6 windows each with their own very clearly defined (think movie theater) lanes, none of which was marked in any way shape or form. There was also a lady at a desk who was whispering quietly into her phone on another side of the square but otherwise undivided room. I took stock of the lines and looked back at her for some assistance but she was unconcerned with my confusion and had obviously done her duty. Social gestures here were apparently lost on her.

Following her clear instructions, I decided to head over and walk up to each window one by one in order until they told me I was in the right place, or had me arrested for loitering. I asked and they sent me down the line until I was on window 5, which was where I was supposed to be. The lady asked if I had filled out an application. There was a brief period here where I was shuffling through the pile of papers the water board had sent me in the mail, with her saying “the application. the APPLICATION. The APPLICATION. THE APPLICATION! THE APPLICATION!” (My pile consisted of 3 papers, so this meant that for each piece of paper she was saying “the application” twice as I frantically scanned it to evaluate whether it qualified as "application"). I finally sifted out a paper which she thought fit the bill for what she wanted. I pulled out my pile of cards, to which she responded “You ain’t planning to do nuttin’ wit dem cards is ya?”, which I figured translated roughly to “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but we only take checks, cash or money order.” I pulled out a checkbook and wrote out the check, happy I could finally do something right in this lady’s book. Once done she stared at me as if I had accidentally transplanted my spleen to my nose, and so I was forced to ask “What?”, to which she responded “You got to go visit de lady over at dat desk.” Bizarre that my keen psychic sense didn’t pick this up.

Once finished with the “lady at the window” obviously I was supposed to go over to the “lady at the desk”. I walked over there and heard that she was still whispering (or really talking quietly) to the person on the other end of the phone. I tried my best at the “approach but not approach” approach, but she was quite clearly oblivious to this social game. I was forced to walk all the way up to the desk feeling really rude, but she quickly put me at east when she turned around and bored a hole through the bridge of my nose with her glare. Not sure exactly what I should do, I stood there looking like a complete moron while I was trying to come up with the right plan of action. She finally decided it might be helpful if she told me something, so she said “You got a number?” I cleverly responded “Uhh…” She said “Do you HAVE a NUMBER”, because apparently speaking more loudly was going to transcend the omniscient <-> incompetent barrier. She told me that I had to get a number from the receptionist before I could see her. I took stock of the sea of empty seats and her personal conversation and headed over to the sunshiny receptionist.

I got a number.

I returned and took my seat. While I sat, I read the signs around the office. “Please let us know how we’re doing”. “We constantly strive to provide a friendly and efficient taxpayer experience.”

I waited patiently for the "lady at the desk" to stop relaying her passionate experience to a friend on the phone.

After about 5 minutes she turned around and called loudly out to the empty room: “NUMBER 21!”
Apparently after our previous encounter she was still under the impression that my stupidity could only be penetrated by volume. Either that or the NOLA Water and Sewerage Board is really a clever muggle front for a magical office of some sort, and in reality I was surrounded by people I could not see who were generating enough noise to justify bellowing such as this.

I stepped up to the desk and presented my signed application. She entered something into the computer to reflect that it had been submitted. I was done. The “lady behind the desk” spent fewer than 6 seconds with me. You’ll note that I don’t mention anywhere here where I presented my identification or conducted any other activities that might require my actual presence in this office.

Do we REALLY need three separate ladies with attitudes for this process in an otherwise frighteningly vacant office? Couldn’t we narrow it down to 1, or at the very least, 2?

If only they could dance

Once again while riding on an airplane I found myself completely emotionally unprepared for what the in-flight media had to offer. The first time was when I was flying to Romania and foolishly and totally ignorantly watched A Beautiful Mind. It didn’t turn out well, I was hiding in the bathroom bawling my eyes out at least twice during the movie. At that time I was traveling with a friend who wasn’t really a close enough friend for me to feel totally at ease with blubbering over a movie, especially when in hindsight the movie didn’t justify all the blubbering I did. I think it was because I was emotionally compromised by the stress of travel, and to make matters worse I was pregnant at the time, and didn’t know it.

This time was only slightly different. I was traveling with people I did know very well and who wouldn’t mind my blubbering over the death of a ladybug, never mind a movie. Those people, the ones of which I speak, were unfortunately checked out (i.e. sleeping), and so I was left bawling with the cold strangers of the plane. Interestingly, I think I was the only one bawling. I find that sad and strange.

The In-flight movie this time was Happy Feet. I have been known to blather on and on about how stupid I thought this movie was (after my oh-so-educated viewing of about the first 10 minutes). To my credit, however, I must say that it is the victim of really poor marketing. Also, a slight flaw in the high level plan of “take really cute animated penguins singing lots of music and add an adult theme with zero to little young child plot” kind of killed it for a lot of folks and their young children.

This time, Nikolai was fast asleep sprawled across the three seats, and I was able to watch it in peace (wow…what a concept), and take it for what it was worth. It turns out it was really worth a hell of a lot more than the credit I had previously given it. It had a drawn out story that spanned about 4 plots, which kept you at least interested to the end (unless you’re like me and were spouting tears at the meaningful climactic moments for each plot, in which case you were several notches above “at least interested”). By the end I think I was in tears at least 8 times, and my fellow plane-mates will just have to think I’m a blubbering idiot. I’m ok with that.

It’s truly tragic that penguins can’t dance. Maybe we might take them, and other creatures suffering from our inconsideration, seriously. How else will they get our attention? The truth is they won’t.

If you haven’t seen this movie, DO. If you didn’t enjoy it the first time, think about why you didn’t enjoy it and watch it a second time without preconceived notions or expectations about what it should have been. Take it for what it is and see if you don’t think seriously about the ramifications of every move of your everyday life.

Also, buy the soundtrack. I know I will.

Too many cute things to count

Nikolai has been full of them lately. I just can't even begin to put all the cute things here that he says, but maybe I'll mention a few.

The other day he was standing at the toilet, and it was first thing in the morning. It was a quiet bathroom trip (he must have "company" while he goes...we're gonna have to work on this) while he tinkled away, and he piped up "I'm turning everything my favorite color, mama".

Tonight I was angrily punching buttons on my alarm system which I have yet to make actually work. I would type in the code and push "stay" and it would just beep at me incessantly. So, I typed in the code again and it mercifully stopped beeping but the "armed" light went off. I'm not-really-cursing at the stupid thing when says, "here mama, I'll blow it for you" and points his pinwheel at it while making blowing noises.

Note about the pinwheel: He recently discovered amongst my things a really nice quality wood and thick plastic pinwheel my mother gave to me a year or so ago. He's been dancing around with it and requesting special trips down slow streets where he can hold it out the window so it can spin frantically while he squeals with glee.

WAL*MART owns New Orleans

If you've ever been to L.A. you're familiar with the number of liquor stores there. Wal-Mart stores in New Orleans are like liquor stores in L.A. If you walk 3 ft. you are in another Wal-Mart parking lot. It makes for some pretty convenient setting-up-of-house, though.

Nikolai is 4 today

Well...as much as one can settle in to their new home with no bed, no couch, no pots, no pans, no belongings to speak of.

The house is seeming a bit more like home. Today was officially Nikolai's 4th birthday. We gave him a party back in California so his friends of the last 4 years could be there for the party, but had an unofficial commemoration today as well. We loaded up on Hot Wheels gear (party stuff) and got a helium tank for some balloons. We got him an orange cake from Winn Dixie and had a small but fun party here at the house. He enjoyed it as much as the big party, I think. It figures. I'll post pictures as soon as it seems like an easy thing to get them from my phone to my computer here.

We had a moment of panic when a 36" helium balloon hit the florescent light fixture in the kitchen on the 13' ceiling. It appears to be sort of just dangling there right now, and I don't know if it's made of glass or plastic, so if it hits the bricks it could be really scary. I'm hoping I can afford a ladder sometime soon to at least climb up to see if it's hanging by a thread or at least made of plastic so I don't have to worry so much.

I'm slowly getting used to the noise factor here at the house. Hoping putting furniture and stuff in the house will reduce noise some. I did break down and buy 2 5' x 8" rugs at wal*mart today. At least Nikolai has somewhere soft to play now.

First night in the sinkhole

I spent my first night in the new house last night. A couple of things hadn't occurred to me before I made the decision to live there. The first, of course, was to consider what I was supposed to do with my car, which is at ground level not sea level when parked in the driveway. The second and not so obvious to a not-so-city gal such as myself was noise of cars on Napoleon.

duh.

I was awoken at 5:30 am this morning by the sound of the garbage trucks. They came THREE different times. I think there was a bus. There was some sort of emergency necessitating an entire army's worth of fire trucks and ambulances. I felt like my bed was on the median between the two lanes of Napoleon. Needless to say I'm *not* in a very good mood this morning. I never did get back to sleep. I figure inevitably one of to things has to happen: either I get used to it and can sleep through the racket or I go insane from sleep deprivation.

Home sweet sinkhole

After signing the lease on my new house on Monday afternoon, I was just fartin' around looking at NOLA information and figured I'd do some research on the subject of our sinking city. You can find some interesting stuff if you just google "New Orleans is sinking".

At any rate, I was studying the subsidence map and am proud to announce that of the entire uptown/midcity area my house is smack dab in the middle of the worst known area of subsidence. Go for the gold, I say.

In other news, escrow has officially begun for the Treehouse. Close date is set for 30th of March, I believe.