The sound of fury, cont.

When we last saw our plucky heroine - me - she was railing against the injustices of the world, one of which involves vapid asshat tenants who’ve damaged the apartment they were renting from her, yet somehow believe the magic Apartment Faeries will be by to fix things. Right.

So, as security guard/officer is moving towards me, I dodge past him and dart out – and here’s where my intense training comes in handy – and stride briskly towards the elevators, even as I hear a “Miss! Miss! Hey…..” behind me. My hearing, it is not so good anymore, so who can blame me for continuing to walk?

Of course, once I get in the elevator, I start kicking the side panel. That is, after I pound on the buttons to get me back to the lobby, so I can walk over to the OTHER elevator bank to get back up to my original floor. Kick kick kick. Have I mentioned yet that I’m in a federal building? Pound. Kick. Hell hath no fury like a woman getting screwed over, as they say.

I get into my other elevator, and of course as the doors close, a couple of people come meandering in. Fine. Hurry up already. Then this keeps happening. What, like there aren’t 12 other elevators here for all you slow-walking, strolling lollygaggers to choose from? And they are strolling towards the elevator, continually getting the doors to re-open just as they’re almost closed. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“Oh, come ON! Sure, why doesn’t EVERY SINGLE PERSON in this building STUFF into THIS elevator?”

Yes, I say this out loud. Suddenly things get vewwy vewwy quiet in the elevator, as no one dares say a word to me. One guy looks over, sees my fulminating glare and the Fuck Cancer hat, and quickly looks down. That’s right buddy. Just don’t fucking mess with me, okay?

I get back to the first room, have to wait in line again, then finally it’s my turn with my original hapless clerk.

Me, snarling, as I slap the papers down in front of him: How do I pay? Apparently having tens of thousands of dollars in cancer bills isn’t enough for these people!

Hapless clerk: You’re a survivor?

Me: Unless I have a coronary in the next 10 minutes, I guess you could say so.

HC: Oh, well, congratulations, that’s great! And they wouldn’t waive the fee?

Me: No! Can you believe that?

HC: That’s not right.

Me, slightly mollified since he’s being all sympathetic: I know! So when these idiots, my former tenants, lose their court case, what papers do I need to file a counter-suit?

HC: You can pick those up across the hall. Good luck! Keep surviving!

Slightly less grumpy – though we’re talking one grade down from nuclear level now – I go over to the cashier line and wait there.

Friendly older Indian gentleman hapless clerk: Next! And how are you today miss?

Me, bitingly, again slamming the papers down in front of him: Oh, I’ve had better days, trust me.

Though I didn’t want to be totally rude, so I add:

Me: And how are you doing today?

FOIGHC: Oh, I am well. I do not let things trouble me, as it is not worth it.

Me: That’s great – you probably don’t have clown former tenants wasting your time and money like this. Say, how do I get the court date changed? I’ll be out of town on that date, the 7^th.

FOIGHC: The date cannot be changed usually – you can send someone in your place.

Me, getting back up to nuclear level again: Oh SURE, like I’ll find someone who wants to go to small claims court for me. Are you serious??

FOIGHC: You can go across the hall to fill out a form to see if it can be changed.

Me: Fine, I’ll do that. (slight pause) What??

He’s looking down at my passport, looking up at me, looking down, up. Opens his mouth to say something, stops. Clearly reluctant to speak.

Me: What?!

FOIGHC: Miss, I am sorry….but your passport is expired.

So I can make it through airports without them noticing or caring, yet here when I’m trying to pay some ridiculous fee, this is a problem??

“Oh for chrissa……fine, here! Have a crumpled piece of paper then!” I snarl, slamming it down. (Yes, this could be known as The Day of Snarling and Slapping Down Papers.)

That works for him, so we finish up pleasantly enough, and I go across the hall to fill out more papers and wait in line yet again. I’d like to know, when I ask the judge to make bitchwhore Casey Moll pay my fees, can I factor in the huge timesuck that this has all been?

Apparently the “change the court date” concept is a gambit used by some people to put off court indefinitely, because the clerk is amazed when I tell him that yes, I can show up for a continuance hearing on the 5^th or 6^th – I just can’t make the 7^th. So that’s done, but now I have to go to the post office to send bitchwhore a notification of this via registered mail. Though of course first I need to go put another gazillion dollars in the damn parking meter. And it’s still blizzarding.

I can only park at this meter until 4PM, so after I pay, I have a tough decision to make: go to the Thompson Center to send registered mail, or to the outdoor Chriskindlmarket for some glogg? I won’t have time for both. And actually, not a tough decision at all. When I get to the Market I accost the first people I see who look like they’re holding a warm cup of something.

“That looks like it’s glogg,” I bark. “Where’d you get it? I need a drink, now...”

“Right around the corner at that booth,” they reply. “It’s really good!”

“Excellent – thanks!”

I get my glogg, then go to stand in the potato pancake line. The woman in front of me idly glances at me, looks at the FC hat twice, then smiles. After I get my pancakes, we wind up sharing the same little table nearby, in the snow and bluster. Ahhh……it’s amazing how a bit of warm festive alcohol - not to mention piping hot potato pancakes - can instantly improve a person’s mood.

Me, expansively, to the guy with the woman who was in front of me in line: That’s a Hawks hat, isn’t it?

Guy: It is! Most people don’t recognize it, since it’s just the symbol from the sleeve of their jerseys.

Woman: By the way, I like your hat.

Me: Thanks!

Woman: At first I thought it said Fuck Cancun, like you were embracing the harsh elements: “Bring on the snow and sleet! Who needs warmth?!” Then I looked again and realized what it said – that’s even better!

Me: Fuck Cancun – that’s a great idea. I should start an offshoot company, personalized hats that say “Fuck whatever”!

Woman: Absolutely!

And as we stand there chatting happily in the glow of the twinkling Christmas tree lights and amidst the festive German Christmas music, I feel my frozen little heart start to thaw out, as I vow, as god is my witness, to make sure the bitchwhore gets a day in court like no other, buried under pictures and other evidence galore. My mood thus lifted, I go buy some more vegetable ornaments to go along with my potato from last year, swig down some more glogg…and make a wide berth around the federal building before I get the hell out of Dodge. No sense taking any chances.