Yesterday I swam home from the store—not because the eastern coast of the United States has finally fallen into the ocean, which I figure is bound to happen someday, what with global warming and all, but because it was so stinking hot that I was sopping wet for the mile-long walk back. I quite enjoy swimming, but I prefer the type that takes place in a mountain stream or a pool or the ocean that will eventually consume us all.
A few weeks back, on a day that was slightly less hot, I participated in the annual Roll or Stroll to work day. I like that it’s good for the environment, good for my girlish figure, and good for my wallet, but let’s not quibble over details here: my overwhelming motivation for walking to work is to achieve a sublime feeling of smugness. Moral superiority is a sensibility more valuable than gold.
I trek the two mile each way on days that are not rainy, not spectacularly hot, and not dark for the return journey (which, okay, is really not all that many days around here, where the summers serve as practice for spending eternity in the sulfurous pits of hell). But I especially like walking on Roll or Stoll day; in addition to the sheer joy of self-righteousness, I get the chance to earn prizes.
Two years back I won a t-shirt. It is soft and yellow and it makes a snuggly night garment. Last year I arranged my route to take me past two of the booths set up for the day, thereby garnering two granola bars and two raffle tickets, both of which scored prizes: a coffee mug and a gift certificate to a Mexican restaurant, which maybe wasn’t so good for my girlish figure, but anyway.
I intended to hit two booths this year, but I woke up too late to accomodate that longer walking path. I would have swallowed my pride and just driven to work, but my car was scheduled for maintenance; made sense at the time, since I wasn’t planning to drive that day, see? I went so far as to call a colleague to see if I could bum a ride, but she didn’t answer, so I was forced to do the walk anyway, at a very brisk pace, with only one booth on my path.
I grabbed my granola bar. I scrawled my name and number on the raffle ticket. I huffed and I puffed to get to work on time, which is absolutely no fun at all when you’re trying not to spill coffee on yourself.
Later that morning, while working on the reference desk, a call came in for me, from a person representing the city.
“Did I win?” I asked, fondly recalling last year’s Mexican food.
“You won the grand prize!” the caller said. “The bicycle!”
A few things worth noting at this point:
- I do not know how to ride a bike
- I do not have a place to store a bike
- I do not have a way to transport a bike
Ahem. As a matter of principle it is really cool to win a grand prize, but I gotta say, it’s turning into a real pain. I tried to sell it at work, to no avail, so now I’m hoping my craigslist post turns up some hits. At present it is being stored in the garage of a coworker.
(If anyone reading this wants to buy a bike, wow do I have a deal for you.)
The other item of interest this week is the job I applied for on Friday. This job is, and I do not use the word lightly, perfect. I am the perfect person for the job, and the job is the perfect match for me.
Before I jinx everything, I’d like to go on record before any eavesdropping gods of fate that I’m really not that interested in the job, it’s not at all as though I am yearning for them to interview me, honestly my attitude could be described as “nonchalant” and “indifferent,” and above all I am not getting my hopes up about a position that is absofreakinglutely ideal. Nosiree, that’s some other job candidate.
It’s a position as a librarian for a non-profit women’s reproductive health organization, located in Chapel Hill. Not only do I have the right skill set—seriously, it’s not like I have to creatively bend the facts to prove that I’m qualified, I truly do have the experience they need—but I have some serious background in Women’s Studies. Like, I have a degree in the field. (And here everyone thought it was useless!) And I’ve worked in a Women’s Studies office. And I just published a book on Women’s Nonfiction, handily showing that I am both interested in women’s issues AND capable of doing independent research and reference work.
Okay, tell you what: you want to buy the bike, and I’ll throw in a copy of Women’s Nonfiction free. That’s a fifty-five dollar value! Act now! This offer won’t last forever!