Tag Archives: moritification

GreyHELL [UU AuD Interview Part I]

10 Mar

I wrote notes about my trip, but was too tired to organize them into a decent post.  So that’s why I’ve been back home for a week and a half and you’re just now hearing about the big trip.  I have less then 2 months of this horrible swing-shift schedule left, and I can’t wait for my energy and motivation to return!  Here’s part I of the series:

I had no experience with Greyhound buses.  The only thing I really knew about them, is all of my high school sports teams wanted to charter one.  Other, richer, teams got to charter a “real” bus and my small high school teams were very envious-we were stick on our big, yellow bus for even the longest trips.  Even when we had to drive 8 hours to Las Vegas for the STATE track meet.

Laurel's pics 157

I had to get myself to Salt Lake City for an interview, which I thought was overkill.  Most audiology programs don’t interview, and I feel they should have done Skype at most.  It’s a lot to ask of poor college students to pay to go to Utah–in the middle of a semester.  But I knew I should attend if invited, because if only unconsciously-it would go against me if they didn’t meet me in person.

I checked into the airlines, hoping the lower fuel prices would mean cheaper ticket prices.  And of course that wasn’t the case.  What would be a 10 hour drive, was going to be more then $400 for one person.  And that isn’t feasible on my minimum wage when I’m saving for a move–and tuition.

Trains are few and far between, and surprisingly expensive as well.  Driving through Montana or Idaho in the winter with my 1994 car was not super-stable either.  I would be horrified if I had car trouble or got caught in terrible weather over a mountain pass.  There was just no time to mess around with all the possible driving scenarios for an interview situation.  So it looked like the Greyhound would be my cheapest option.  $163 for a round trip.  Which meant Cool could go too–and that’s a LOT better!



-We didn’t want to leave our cars anywhere in the vicinity of sketchy downtown.  And I thought our bus was leaving at 11PM when my coworkers were in the busiest part of the work-day, and my Aunt would be asleep.  It was only the day before we left that I realized it was 11AM.  Twelve hours longer?!  It was too short of notice by then, so we were going to cab it.  But while I was checking prices I saw the Lyft app.  Normal people (not licensed cabbies) drive in their (clean, less then decade old) cars with the punch of the app button.  And it’s HALF the price!  We tried it and it worked out fine–I recommend it.

-We got to the bus station around 9:30AM.  It had an air of desperation and felt old, maybe dirty.  It’s set up a little confusing and we started out standing by the train station til we realized it was closed all day and that wasn’t right.  We wandered to the unmanned Greyhound counter next and since no one was there I grabbed some luggage ID tags and began filling them out.  After 5 minutes, the gal came out from the back (what, was she on a smoke break?!) and did our paperwork.

-We went upstairs and sat on 2 of the 4 available chairs.  People started to arrive, coughing and sneezing (openly, no covering the mouth here) as they did.  Most were dressed in sweats, a few had pink or blue hair.  Some were obnoxiously rowdy already.

-After an hour or so, our bus began to load.  I sat down and was instantly uncomfortable–uh oh.  Bus #1 had incessant, loud-talker.  The guy who knows everything, has done everything and goes on and on and on.  And on.  There would be no napping.  And I had to utilize my ipod (at too loud of a volume level) early on to drown him out.


-We were scheduled to transfer in Pasco.  Why our route didn’t go straight down to Walla Walla, I don’t know.  I used every bathroom we stopped at during this entire journey, not wanting to use the Greyhound’s small, and sure to be dirty bathroom.  The people at this station were very diverse:  Lots of hispanics, some Asians, blacks, Middle-Eastern–I had no idea southern WA would have diversity.  And of course one erratic white man talking to himself, pacing, flailing his arms, and throwing his lunch pail against walls. . .

-Bus #2 was comfortable.  The driver did not announce when we were loading and barely indicated which (of 4) buses was ours.  He also hardly talked during the 1.5 hr journey to random Standfield, OR. . .  It was a weird, brief trip and I’m not sure why they did it that way.  This would become the strongest theme of the Greyhound-weird routes, random stops, taking forever longer then it should.

-At the Oregon stop we got to a Pilot center with built-in McDonalds and lots of parking for semi-trucks.  It looked like our driver pulled into the McDonald’s drive through.  And all he said, was this was this bus’ last stop and all of us going to Denver had to get off.  Everyone was confused.  Where were we?  Where was the bus stop?  Would another bus be arriving?  I wasn’t going to Denver–would MY bus be arriving?  How long until the next (hopefully correct) bus take to get here?  I noticed as we got off, that everyone else had the same shell-shocked, nervous demeanor that I did.  This somehow calmed me, because I figured at least we were all in the same boat bus.  And people were trying to ask driver #2 clarifications as he unloaded our checked luggage.  He seemed impatient and just kept saying this was the last stop for this bus. . .  Had our driver quit his job in the middle of his shift??  I did not know.


-I hate McDonalds–but luckily we had packed snacks and Gatorade.  We used the bathroom, then found a tiny platform with a semi-hidden Greyhound sign along the side (as opposed to in front or beside) the wood.  We sat atop and watched a gal scream at her male companion for awhile.  Hopefully they would not be coming on our next bus.  Then a bus came and unloaded.  It was ours?  Driver #3 was belligerently crabby.  We started to load the bus, but he ordered us to line up and he took all of our tickets at once, while screaming at the smokers.  Six people lit up–and this made me very unhappy–stupid Oregon.  Once he took our tickets, we again tried to load the bus.  Cranky driver yelled to stay in line while he loaded the luggage.  Finally, after 40(?) minutes, we loaded without getting shouted at.  I took the first available double seat, because I didn’t know how many available seats there would be.  This bus was already full of tired, greasy-looking people.  And it smelled of old grease from fast food.  They talked loudly throughout the trip, and Cool became obsessed with her cell phone.  I could not sleep at all.  The driver gave a litany of rules in an angry voice and we drove another hour and a half before stopping for an hour dinner break.  The tall dude (screaming recipient of earlier) kept coming to the front of the bus where his angry gal was.  She would glare horribly, and even went to the back of the bus once to stay away from him.  We stopped for a 20 minute bathroom break and some other dude from the back told the driver someone had a knife.  I knew instantly it was the erratic tall guy.  And that guy kept coming up to the front to see her–I knew he’d eventually stab her or do something crazy.  And the driver eventually yelled at them to stay seated and quit coming back and forth.  Not 5 minutes later tall guy came up, lingered in the isle, went back, then came up to sit in a front seat.  He had not listened at ALL.  After that break we stopped for another hour at the Boise Greyhound station.  Erratic tall guy got kicked off the bus, because apparently his knife had already been taken once previously.  There was a lot of drama with the meth–heads (once we got a better look closer up we saw the facial sores and telltale thinness) getting kicked off the bus.  She was “up” crying without tears, wailing to the ticket guy, and lolling on the floor.  He was in a dazed state sort of wandering aimlessly.  It took an hour for them to finish their calls and their drama and leave the station.  And I guess our bus was waiting on them, because our 20 minute break turned into more like 80 minutes.


-We finally got back on the bus after midnight (13 hours into the trip), but people still had screens flashing, and were talking.  I finally slept lightly out of sheer exhaustion, but had a problem.  Suddenly, my stomach was really hurting.  And it had quieted on the bus except for some snoring.  I woke up because I farted!  This NEVER happened to me!  Once in kindergarten I accidentally farted in school and was mortified.  I tried to deny it, but Bryce Fuller called me out–which everyone knew anyway.  To this day I’m embarrassed about it.  Anyway, the leather seats amplified the sound.  I tried to remain perfectly still so I didn’t tip off anyone paying attention that it was me.  I was so embarrassed!  But let’s be real, in this crowd, on this bus–farting wasn’t the worst thing going on.  So I was embarrassed, but not as much as real life.  I was also so, so tired.  I hadn’t slept the whole day (16 hours) til then.  I drifted back off, but the same gas occurred twice more.  I audibly farted 3 times in my sleep!  I have no idea if anyone heard or if they knew it was me.  Some things are better never to know–I’ll tell myself they were sleeping and missed it.  But even so, I couldn’t go to sleep at all for fear of more gas.

road to UU

-We arrived in Salt Lake City at 6AM.  18 hours of travel and sleeplessness.

I’ll tell you about the trip and the return trips in another post since this one has gotten quite long.

Tight–but not in a good way.

19 Oct

Horrible, horrible, embarrassing moment of today:

After work, I walked to the coffee shop across the street to study while Cool interneted.  I drank coffee and studied, not paying attention to anyone else inside the place.  After an hour and a half, Cool and I were good and caffeinated and sort of chatting–as we do–still not paying attention to other people.

Cool brought up Northface and I said how I would like to buy one of everything in the store when I’m all rich.  Then, because I have a vandeta against black yoga pants–and spendex in general, I clarified my initial statement and said, “Except black yoga pants.”

black yoga pants 2

I’m not sure why black yoga pants are such a hot trend, and I constantly see gals of all shapes, sizes, and ages wearing them whereever they are.  I posted pics on here of relatively thin people wearing them–that are made to look fat/bulgy in places–just to illustrate that no one looks good.  Believe me, there were a lot of terrible pics of less fit people too–but you can imagine.

You either have a VPL (visible panty line) or let me ask this–you can’t wear underwear, right?  Because even thong lines would show.  And I see some people wearing black yoga pants EVERY day.  Please tell me they have multiple pairs and are not wearing the same pants, sans underwear, day in and day black yoga pants 3out.  *shudder*  And they are not breathable (another problem for hygiene) and don’t TELL me something that tight is comfortable. . .  Anyway, it’s an awful, unflattering look.  And of course when we got on the topic inside the coffee shop I said so.  And out of the corner of my eye, I saw an employee come and begin emptying the trash (which was immediately next to our table).  But still, I didn’t look at them at all–I couldn’t have told you if they were male or female–let alone what they were wearing.

Do you see where this is headed?  So I’m going on and on to Cool about how the ONLY people that look good in unflattering spandex are super-models and ballerinas, before walking across the room to hand in our dirty plate.  Once I was all the way across the room, headed back to our seat I noticed that the employee emptying the trash. . .  Was a chubby gal–wearing blue spandex pants.

I felt awful!  She was red-in-the-face.  I was mortified, because our comments must have seemed so pointed to her–because we didn’t shut up even when she came in proximity.  So I’m sure the poor girl thought that not only we were talking about her, but we didn’t stop because we wanted her to hear.  Not how either of us roll, but the yoga pants 1damage was done.

I just wanted to leave immediately, tail between my legs, but Cool’s laptop took forever to shut down and we had to stand there, while the gal had to come baaaack to our area with a trash bag.  It was horrible, mean, and awkward, and I need to learn to shut my fat mouth–in public.

So I hope that gal doesn’t go home and cry herself to sleep on our account.  We hadn’t even seen her, and didn’t intentionally target her or anything.  And I don’t want to make anyone (especially women who already have so much beauty-industry pressure placed upon them) feel bad about themself.  It was really $hitty. . .

But I do still stand by my loathing of spandex.  In the niceest way–ladies, spandex doesn’t look good on anyone.  Your weight and shape don’t really factor into the equation–so unless you are a Victoria’s Secret Angel (average Victoria's Secret Angels Visit SoulCycleage = 21 years; average height = 5’10”; average weight = 110 lb; putting their BMI at an appallingly under-weight 15.8–women that tall should weigh a mininmum of 130 lb) you shouldn’t wear them.  I myself am petite (which made today’s incident seem even worse) but I would look icky and chubby in spandex pants.  They would make my thieghs look huge!  The pants aren’t designed for real women.

Coffee shop employee, I apologize if I hurt your feelings–it was not intentional, and I will keep my dumb mouth shut in public about such matters–you didn’t look any worse than anyone else who wears those.  But again–people, just don’t wear those things–they are ugly and make everyone look fat/unfit/odd-shaped.



12 Jul

Well I’m finished with the bulk of hell week, as I have been calling it, at work.  Mostly, I’m tired.  Too tired for annoyance evil Barbieeven–and for me, that’s really saying something!  I was also relieved that I didn’t get screamed at or reprimanded today, and I didn’t walk off the job.  Though I’m certain the week before our receptionist’s vacation, when I’m needed to work extra may have had something to do with that–just my cynical side coming out.  Anyway, so a good end to a tedious week.

Today, something happened though, that will go down in the books.

Let me start by saying I wasn’t fully present.  Since it was hell week, I was armed with energy drinks. sour candies, jelly beans, etc. . .  And I AM hypoglycemic, but it usually doesn’t bother me too much anymore.  I just know if I eat sweets in the morning before I’ve eaten something more substantial I’m going to have a problem.  This is why donuts do not even appeal to me any more.  I had an energy drink this morning–which isn’t too unusual.  Then, some fried food for lunch, tacos or some such thing (all microwavable Mexican is the same) along with just the start of a 2nd energy drink.  I was super-tired and still had a crazy Friday afternoon to get through.  Anyway, I ate a bag of jellybeans throughout the morning and lunch as well.

Kidron's Camera 042

After lunch people were asking me various questions, and I was getting side-tracked easily.  Not too surprising since my low points are always in the afternoon, and I was especially tired today.  But when I was taking vitals/history, my head felt weird.  Not really a headache, but sort of a preliminary dizzy feeling, that made me notice a difference.  But I continued on with my job, gathering info.  I got sweaty, then a sudden starry/woozy feeling passed over me, making me grab the counter for stability.  I was about to pass out and make a scene.  I didn’t want to make a big deal though (especially since I knew it was low blood sugar caused by my own stupidity) so I just finished rooming the cat while holding the counter.  I’m tough like that.

I quickly (if not incompletely) summarized the cat’s history to the vet, said I needed to have peanut butter before I passed out, and ran upstairs to do so.  Luckily, I keep a protein on hand just for that very reason, and greedily spooned some in my mouth with trembling hands.  I didn’t feel normal immediately, but went in the exam room to help restrain, figuring all I had to do was stand against the counter.

The vet was saying the cat had a possibility of ring worm, and asked the owner if she had any ring worm lesions.  The lady said she did have a spot on her leg, but didn’t know if it could be the fungus.  So my vet agreed to look at the leg so we could better diagnose the cat.  The owner said, “Oh my skinny legs” which I took to be a disclaimer of her calves she was about to show off.  What the client was actually referring to was her tight-fitting pant legs.  She proceeded to quickly un-do the button of her jeans and pull her pants down from the waist.

Bom bomNormally, I would have been appalled, astounded, embarrassed, entertained.  As it was, I was still trying not to pass out and all I could muster was to avert my gaze so my psyche did not have to be scarred by some client’s undercarriage.  The vet, must also have been taken by surprise, but she professionally looked at the leg without reacting at all to the disrobing.

It wasn’t until about an hour later that I even remembered to mention the episode to my co-workers or tease my boss about the situation.  I will definitely always remember the day a client took her pants off while I was in the room though 🙂  There is never a dull moment in veterinary medicine.

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Called Out

12 Mar

File under: Oversensitive? Maybe. Within My Rights as a Student? Def.

bee 2

The scene: 100+ students sitting in the auditorium facing the stage waiting for class to commence. The instructor and 2 apparent guest speakers or people with announcements are on the stage. Quiet falls over the room, and the Prof soups up the power-point where our notes will be. All students are looking ahead to see where class will take us today.

Then my name (and mine alone) appears on the first slide. For ALL to see. And my Prof says, “If your name is on the screen please come to the front.” Everyone in class wonders what is going on and looks for the (one) person to stand up. . .

Well, I did not get on the stage for all to see. And I did not think the episode was appropriate–college or not. Turns out, the Overall website for the course, Canvas, (comperable to Web-CT, Blackboard, Angel, *insert fad college interface here*) didn’t recognize my e-mail. And the Prof thought I wasn’t enrolled in Canvas. Which I have been–in both my classes for the record. He had already chastised me and 3 others to change our default e-mail to the school address (which I did). Then, he sent a halting response to an unrelated e-mail question, barking that Canvas was a course requirement. But I AM on Canvas. And I changed the stupid e-mail even though I never check my school account. So I think he has a mind to shame me in front of the class about it.

I went up AFTER class, and another gal came up and said her grades weren’t getting posted on Canvas either. So turns out the mistake was HIS after all.

Anyway, I certainly did call HIM out on his unethical treatment towards me and told him he embarrassed me by writing my name only on the power-point and trying to call my on stage alone, in front of the entire class. And Cool thought I shouldn’t, but it really did bother me. Because that shouldn’t happen. . .


28 Dec

pseudo mossI had probably my most embarrassing moment in an exam room EVER today.  I bring it up on here, because two people already know about it.  And I know they’re talking about it–so I might as well find a way to laugh about it too.  Except, my face still reddens every time I even think of it.

I was taking vitals on a kitty owned by a lesbian couple.  Not that it’s a factor in the story–I just notice these things you see.  We account for less then 10% of the population–females probably even less then that, and rural-ish conservative areas even less, so it’s something exciting when I see not one but two lesbians.

I was asking the history, asking questions about the cat.  Anyway, I’m not sure what occurred at all.  But suddenly something icky flew out of my nose.  I had not seen that coming, and hadn’t expected it.  Not only did it fly out of my nose, but it landed on the cat.  And I could SEE it.  I was horrified, not wanting to call any more attention to the scene by acknowledging it, but obviously, if I could see it so could they.  I didn’t know what to do.

There are some people like mothers or ultra-friendly clients that would break the tension by saying, “Oh you should SEE what comes out of my kids!”  or, “Hey!  That’s exactly what the cat has been doing!”  Not these two.  They just got quiet and stood there kind of sternly.  Watching what I would do next.  So by instinct, I just reached out with a bare hand and plucked it off the cat’s fur, which I’m sure they watched me do.  It was like, “Nobody saw this and that didn’t happen.”  But it HAD happened.  I tried to compose myself and hide it in my fist while I finished up taking the heart rate.  And I’m certain they knew why I was only using one hand and had a closed fist.  The cat was a little wiggly while I was trying to osculate and I opened my other hand, but the grossness was still in it.  So I just had to deal one-handed.  It was terrible!

And for so long–the substance was still in my hand.  And when I needed my hand to type, I couldn’tpseudo-seaweed wipe it anywhere, because the gals would totally know.  And I didn’t want to wash the hand and call more attention to the episode.  So I just didn’t type the vitals in the computer at all, instead making a hasty retreat.

Then, the doctor (of course) needed me to go back in the room to restrain the cat while she stained its eye.  So I had to face the lezbos again.  I.  Was.  Mortified.

Near Tears–at School

1 Oct

I had been looking forward to school a lot, because I hated work (a lot) last week and even yesterday–when things were supposed to be better.  I always look forward to my school days, because I can see my classes taking me somewhere.  And it feels good to learn.  Most of the time.

Though I had practiced constructing a cleido larynx twice (once in the summer, and once two weekends ago) my in-class attempt. . .  Well, sucked.  I didn’t finish.  And here’s why:  We had an hour and the instructions were very specific.  The prof had asked us to show various, structures on the cartilages.  And before I knew it, most of the class had been checked off by the T.A.s that they had completed the structure and were able to point and name each item.  And I had just finished my last cartilage!  I still had to construct and place all ALL of the muscles!  And there were a LOT.  I was embarrassed for being so slow, frustrated that my larynx was all whack and unfinished, and sad I was about to get a horrible grade in a class where there are no points to spare.  I tried to salvage the thing by hastily throwing random muscles in the most obvious of places, but my hands were shaking, and there were only three people left in the room.  When a T.A. asked if I was ready to be checked off (she was the last of them to leave) I had to regretfully and with tearful voice tell her I was not finished.

And to make matters worse, my professor, oblivious to my crises came over and started chatting with my about dysphagia–an interest of mine–but not during emergency laryngeal muscle construction.  Finally, I told her that I was the only student that hadn’t finished the lab and I never got checked off.  It was–mortifying and terrible.

She just asked me to point out what I did make.  And she kept saying things like, oh you weren’t supposed to do that muscle–it’s too difficult.  And that muscle is hard to construct so I didn’t ask you to make it. . .  Then, she informed me that the larynx wasn’t for a grade (which I’m pretty sure I saw in  various places that it was for points), and signed off my check-off sheet.  But the result didn’t make me feel any less awful.

And I did look at the syllabus and the lab sheet and the thing was worth 20 points.  And I want to EARN my grades.  A 4.0 is no good if it doesn’t really belong to me.  So I went home and made laynx #4, which is pictured here.  It’s still not as great as I’d like, but I made it under class conditions with an hour time limit–so I could say I had also done the lab.  And I e-mailed the pics to my Anatomy professor–to prove I could make a clay larynx, and show her I am not a total laryngeal muscle-loser. . .


16 Jan

I was determined that the second half of my day would be better.  I found my next lecture location 110-C and sat outside of it, reading my notes.  Class began at 1:30 PM.  At 1:20 PM, I started seeing a lot of students down the hallway.  I could hear them saying, “110-B–I thought the schedule said 110-C?”  And in answer, “No, the schedule was wrong-we’re 110-B now.”  Meanwhile, I was still alone outside the door to 110-C.  1:28 PM, and I was still by myself at 110-C, so I figured mine must be the class that had switched rooms.

I walked to where the rest of the students were headed.  And before going in the doors, stopped 3 girls that were saying, “But my schedule said it was 110-C. . .”  I said are you going to. . .  [I couldn’t remember the exact title of my course] Speech, umm Disorders?”  And they said, “What class?  mhm mhm [unintelligible] Disorders?”  “Yeah this is it–the schedule was wrong.”

Relieved I had avoided a blunder I squeezed behind a row of students in chairs to sit in the 2nd row middle.  I wanted everyone to know that though I was new and inexperienced, I am very serious about my studies.  A guy sat next to me and asked if I was new here.  And I said this was exactly my second class.  He said, “Oh welcome, we are all grad students.”  I didn’t find it too strange, because at Mizzou I took plenty of classes with grad students–they would just have higher standards, extra projects, and more expectations.

Then, the professor came in.  His power-point said Speech Disorders–was that my class?  I know it was something disorders. . .  The prof looked at me.  I figured, like the other instructor, he saw my face as new.  And he started saying if you got an e-mail don’t worry.  Since I didn’t receive ANY e-mails, I didn’t know if he sent me one or not.  Looking at me, he continued, “We had some confusion about who was supposed to be in the class.”  I started to think maybe I was in the wrong class.  I zipped my backpack in anticipation of a quick exit.    Blah blah so if you don’t belong here. . .  But there was not going to be an easy way out of here.  I was front and center, and there were at least 2 students on either side of me.  I was freaking out!  As soon, as the instructor paused, I grabbed my coat, scarf, notebook, and backpack and said, “Speaking of confusion and being in the wrong place–I think I am.”  While frantically scooting behind the other students.  The other kids snickered and he made some sort of joke. I was mortified.  I said, “I’m sorry” and tried to get to the door as fast as possible, and relishing the laughs, he said, “You’re welcome to stay!”  And I muttered something I don’t remember now and fell out into the hallway, cheeks red.

Could this day get any worse???