I am often so wont to find a quiet place where I can write/think about ideas that the stress gets to me. When this happens, I find that vigorous exercise is the only thing that keeps me on an even creative keel. I am too chubby to jog of late. Lifting barbells and other very heavy things is the very definition of barbarism as far as I am concerned, and this includes "machine" weights. I prefer nonviolent forms of Tai Chi and yoga, as I find these both vigorous and soothing, which in addition to making me physically lithe and limber, puts me in an ideal state of mind to conduct my writing. My gym also has a cozy and a (usually) quiet lounge, where I can ply my craft of writing as often as I am wont to.
One very serious problem I have is with the evening receptionist, who may be about the worst listener I have ever encountered. She towers nearly a full foot over me like some kind of WNBA center, which by itself is intimidating. In my head, I call her the "Ice Queen" because the more dire/desperate the circumstances I describe to her (i.e. a typo on the latest newsletter, the music from an aerobics class interrupting my concentration) the more dismissive and ignorant of me she becomes. On one occasion I politely asked her "why they let all these God-damn children run around like a bunch of inbred apes" and she just stifled a sneer and walked away without another word and without doing anything to address the problem!
I have done everything to put her at ease and be friendly that I know how to do; described various ideas for novellas or chapters from the same, explained several times that I am a professional writer, and even loaned her brochures from writer's workshops which I find interesting. During my attempts at intellectual conversation, she just sits there at her desk going through a stack of papers that I am convinced she keeps hidden at her workstation for occasions where she needs to ignore me, and any reply at all is a monosyllabic "uh-huh" and frankly, dismissive. She simply shuts me out and continues to focus on her "work."
Everybody else there is kind and polite, I once had a 45 minute conversation about my literary ventures with a personal trainer while he was working with a client. On another occasion, one of the gym's managers invited me into his office to "have a quick talk" wherein I shared my writing aspirations, suggested several kinds of writer's workshops I'd be willing to teach (for very little money, given the value of my services,) and also described several structural improvements that needed to be made to the gymnasium. At the end of the conversation, he mistakenly gave me a brochure for social and health services, and has not yet followed up on my request to furnish me with the brochure on local writer's workshops I'm certain he intended to give me.
The other day I arrived at my usual time and to my horror, someone was sitting in MY seat. The big cozy one facing AWAY from everyone else so they can't bother me. Worst of all, the only other seat was pretty far away from the outlet so I would have a hard time plugging in my laptop (which I like to keep nearby so I can use askjeeves.com for any questions about scientific accuracy during my writing, which I do by hand, as true genuises are wont to do.) Now, my cord COULD have reached one of the plugs behind the reception desk, but Ice Queen was working and when I asked to plug my computer in one of those outlets she just flared her nostrils at me and made up some lame excuse about needing them for the gym's computer, and kept saying "no" even when I very genteely asked her several times.
Well, it so happens I keep a 30' extension cord in the trunk of my Prius just for emergencies like this. I ran out into the parking lot, brought the cord back and ran it across the breezeway to plug in my laptop. Perfection. I spend the next several minutes putting the pencil to the paper, recording my musings, thoughts and ideas for posterity with the occasional askjeeves search to verify I was, indeed, correct.
Then without any warning, my laptop goes flying off the little table! I watch in total horror as some little idiot, who was running and carelessly wrapped himself in my extension cord, goes careening into an elderly woman carrying a cup of hot coffee with my beloved Dell Laptop in tow! Warrior instincts rising within me, I leap out of my seat and grasp for the laptop, which just escapes my grip and smartly smacks the edge of the next table over, slightly cracking the frame around the keyboard.
Time stands still. I am furious beyond words. The collision of youth and crone is creating a cacophony of howling and crying that is grating on my nerves like some kind of cheese grater. "SHUT THE HELL UP!" I snap at the petulant pair as Ice Queen comes striding over to see what has transpired. I can tell by her outraged expression that she's just as mad as I am at the little brat who has ruined my laptop, and she quickly rushes over to soothe and hopefully silence them while I collect my thoughts and come to terms with the vandalism the little hooligan has inflicted on me.
After several moments, the confusion is ceased. Junior has fled the scene with his mother, and you would have thought he would wet himself with the way he was carrying on crying. The elderly woman is getting her hand bandaged and pressing an ice pack into her forehead, being tended by one of the staff whose name I can't be bothered to learn. Ice Queen comes striding over, as Ice Queen is wont to do, with my extension cord coiled around her arm. She stands towering over me from a good three feet away like some kind of stoic tree, like a villainesque version Wonder Woman. Her gaze is lowered in a way I imagine an executioner looks at the condemned. It chills me to my very core, and the realization hits me that - true to form and despite my optimism, Ice Queen blames ME for this entire debacle!
"Is this your extension cord?" She asks flatly. I stifle a whimper and clench down to avoid soiling myself.
"No." I reply, voice wavering under the crushing weight of my unfettered sense of intimidation.
"Then whose is it?" she asks through clenched teeth, her voice dropping an octave. Her glare bores into me as though it's physically pushing me back. I feel like a four-year old little boy.
"I don't know." I replied sheepishly. That's all the response I can manage. My lower lip is quivering as I attempt in vain to imitate composure. Ice Queen goes striding off - with MY extension cord! I gather my belongings and head out the side door, using my askjeeves app to find a local attorney who specializes in lawsuits. You do not break MY laptop then humiliate ME and steal MY extension cord and not be taken to task for your temerity in a court of LAW!!
This isn't over. Not by any measure.
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