Thanks to everyone who replied. I apologize to Sam who has to live in constant fear that someone will see her browsing this site. Personally, I wanted the title to be sort of subtle. But Maggie insisted on three exclamation points following each word!!! Just like that! Oh well. What's life without a little controversy? (Any way to make the title letters bigger...?)

Okay, strange things are afoot since yesterday. I was 100% certain that by now, I would either be enrolled for the Masters in Library and Information Science program at CUNY Queens, definitely employed for the coming schoolyear at a private school for children with communication disorders, or both. As of my writing this, I am no longer certain of either. Having this cloud of uncertainty perched over my head, threatening each moment to let loose a storm of disaster and disappointment—well, I’ll tell you, it’s frustrating. Even more frustrating is that it started off as such a nice day…

9:30—Clock alarm woke me up. First thing I did was call the school that wanted to hire me. Left message. “Yeah, I’ve been mulling over the job offer for the past week. You told me to get back to you before the 26th. Well, good news. It’s only the 15th, and I’m calling to let you know I’m taking the job. Call me back at -------. Have a nice day.”

9:45 to 10:00—Washed, dressed, stumbled out the door. On way to bus stop, dialed number for Queens College LIS office. Wanted to make sure registration is definitely in LIS office.

Me: Hi, Phil X. Grad student. Registering today. Rosenthal Library. Basement, right?

Secretary: Yes, registration will be at the library, starting at noon. Did you already show proof of immunization?

Me: Yeah, well, with any luck I can get there early, so—What was that about immunization?

Secretary: You need to show proof of immunization. Rubella, measles, mumps. The standard.

(Flashback: One week earlier. PHIL opens letter from Queens College. He’s been expecting this—news that he’s been accepted to the LIS master’s program.)

(MONTAGE: “Congratulations.” / “Registration will be at” / “noon until 6 p.m.” / “in person” / “There will be NO registration by telephone.”)

PHIL: NO registration by telephone?! What the hell is this?!

(Phil tosses paper in the air, then storms out of the room to kick a puppy. CLOSE UP of paper as it lands on carpet. TIGHT: “Please bring proof of immunization”)

11:30—Arrived at NYU. Went to Health Center, negotiated way to Immunization Office. Presented ID. Got proof of immunization.

11:45—Hopped Queens-bound R. While on R, checked cell phone real quick to see if anyone left message (Meaning: Did the school left a message?). No message, but phone does not work in subway. Wondered if I got message, but phone cannot retrieve it?

12:55—Queens-bound E finally arrived at Kew Gardens. Walked to Q74 bus stop. Waited with small group of people. HUMID. SUNLIGHT SHIMMERS off the windshields of cars…

1:10—Checked phone again. No message. Seems odd. You’d think the person at the school would’ve at least called me back, let me know they got my message.

1:30—Been waiting for bus in unbearable heat for twenty minutes. Finally see a Q74 crawling up the street.

1:31—Q74 passes without stopping. Driver turns, looks at us with no expression on face as he passes. I seem to be the only one surprised that the bus didn’t stop.

1:32—Turned to other person at stop, a kind-looking old black lady.

Me: This is a bus stop, right?

Black lady: The driver just went on by.

Me: Yeah, I’m aware of that. But buses do stop here on occasion, don’t they?

Black lady: They’re supposed to. If the driver’s behind schedule, they’ll just drive on to the next stop.

(Flash-forward: PHIL walks up behind same bus driver in dark alley. Phil has object in hands, which turns out to be large sledge hammer. Phil walks up behind bus driver, swings at head. Freeze-frame.)

Phil (v-over.): I realize this may be a common thing for bus drivers to do. But even if they’re behind schedule, they should stop the bus and pick up the passengers. Someone should tell them, “Hey, I know you’re called a bus driver, but you’re not actually being paid to drive the bus. You’re bring paid to pick up passengers, and to transport them where they’re going.”

1:45—Another Q74 arrives. This one stops. Got on bus.

2:00—LI Expressway outside window, moving across. Sat and thought, “Okay. I was hoping to get to registration early. Now it turns out I’m late. That’s alright. I have four hours, the bus will be arriving in front of Queens College campus in about a half-hour. I’ll just bring the immunization forms to admissions, then walk over to the library to register.

2:30—Got off bus in front of Queens College campus.

(Note: CUNY Queens resembles a traditional university campus. Cheap-looking facilities are spread out across the length of the property. There are quite a few parking lots. Since this is the summer term, most of the students seem older than university students would be. PHIL wanders past the black corrugated iron gates, a small dark figure contrasted against the blanched concrete.)

2:31—Was happy to be there… until I realized where I was.

2:31:15—Happiness to be there deflated into… mild relief.

2:50—Made my way across campus to admissions office. Sat down in waiting room, a cozy, velvet-colored antechamber. Dim lights. Seats that looked plusher than they actually were.

3:00—Entered advisor’s office. Was told I had to take proof of immunization to Health Center. The Health Center located in gymnasium across campus.

3:20—Crossed campus to gymnasium. Sprinklers were running in front of building. A light breeze made a cool spray, which was welcome at that time in the afternoon. An older woman, who had also been walking along the tarmac, and had a visible tattoo on her left arm, smiled at me at some point and said, “God, that feels comfortable, doesn’t it?” I nodded, said “Sure.”
The woman started trying to chat me up. All I can recall of the next few words she selected was something like “Wish I had those sprinklers back home…” I had trouble thinking of anything to say that wasn’t monosyllabic or wasn’t a nod. At some point, I increased my walking speed, and entered the gymnasium ahead of her. Went from lobby into adjacent hallway.
I had no idea where I was supposed to go. After walking in circles a bit, I doubled back, found someone who worked there, asked him where the Health Center was. It turned out it was in the part of the gym I had been in before. So I re-doubled back, eventually found the right office.
The clerk looked up from her desk. It turned out to be the same woman who had tried chatting me up a few minutes before. I hoped she didn’t think I had purposely snubbed her. While it’s true that I had snubbed her, it was only because of the heat, and because I was in a hurry. She didn’t smile at me, didn’t make much eye contact. Her attitude reflected pure professionalism and ever-widening emotional distance. In other words, she was real cold. I think the lady thought I had purposely snubbed her.
Still, she was a professional, so I got my immunization file photocopied and returned to me. I wasn’t sure if I had to go back to admissions. I explained to her my situation, how I was a grad student, and how I had to hurry and register.
“Oh, you have to photocopy your record,” she said. “Then take it back to the Admissions office. Just come back the way you came.”
I photocopied the form I brought with me, thanked her politely, then headed for the door. The last thing I can remember about the lady that afternoon, she smiled. I was sure it was a friendly smile.

3:50—After waiting again, I found out the lady from the Health Center had pulled a trick on me. I didn’t have to come back to the Admissions Office. I could’ve marched straight on to the library—had I been informed correctly.

4:25—Ran across campus the other way. Arrived at Rosenthal Library looking like a sodden mess. By now, I was certain there’d be a line of registering students going out the door. Doesn’t everybody wait until nearly the last minute? But as I stumbled downstairs, then blundered into the hall outside the LIS office, I realized there was hardly anyone else there. Only this one student ahead of me. I was whooping it up inside my brain, certain that in a few moments, I would be registered for classes. That I would be taking my first step towards a grad degree. I mocked the fates whom I felt had conspired against me.

4:35—My advisor, whom I will call Dr. Rudolph because he had the reddest schnoze I had ever seen—God, it looked like his face had sprouted a strawberry—told me everything was closed except a class on Literature and the Library. He showed me the syllabus, which involved a lot of reading of Shakespeare and other classical writers. Basically, it was a intro-level English course. Fresh out of “--U“ with a B.A. in English and I’m being offered Lit Interp all over again. So I turned it down. I turned it down with no hesitation, like I’d reacted to a mosquito bite. I said “Sorry. Maybe next semester,” and then I picked up my knapsack. I wrapped the straps wet with warm sweat across my grimy shoulders, and I left without so much as a good-bye. Before I realized it, I was standing at the bus stop again.

4:45—Last chance to reach the private school before it closed for the day. The director had already gone home. Her secretary didn’t know if she had received my message. Said I’d call back tomorrow, then hung up and waited for a bus.

5:15—Everybody was so unhelpful. No one seemed to know which bus went back to the Kew Gardens stop. Fed up, I hopped a Q88 to Flushing. Caught a glimpse of the main branch to the Queens Library out the window moving past. Never seemed so far from a goal.

5:40—Hopped the subway at Main St, purple line. Long way back to Sheepshead Bay.

???—Finally got home. Starting writing all of this. Died shortly from exhaustion.


IF YOU’VE EVER HAD A DAY LIKE THIS—LET EVERYONE KNOW! Send your adventure to LIVE! NUDE! GIRLS!
p.s. If the job pans out, I guess I'd be looking for a place in the $700 or less range.