Registration For Fall Semester
Yesterday was the day that I was finally able to register for fall classes online. Since I’m a part time student I get the last choices, and this fall I will get to enjoy a weekly Saturday morning Intro to Psychology class.
I was expecting to wait on line today, which was the day that I had to show proof of immunizations to the college. I only received the notice via mail on Thursday, and hadn’t had an opportunity to get my ancient immunization records from the safety deposit box at a bank. I thought maybe the doctors’ office would be able to use their permanent files to go about it, so I left my place about 7:30am and headed over to the doctors office, only to find out that I did need my ancient records in hand. Oops.
And they also wanted my blood. WTF?
I can understand my old immunization card is needed to show proof, but anyone can forge one of those cards in less than 20 minutes. My blood? That’s mine, and I don’t want to give it to you just cause you want it.
So I went to the bank with my safety deposit key, I go into the vault, the banker puts their key in, I put mine, theirs turns, mine does not.
Banker: Are you sure you have the right number?
Me: This is the number that was written on my key envelope, it’s the same one on your records.
Banker: Well, are you sure you have the right key?
Safety deposit boxes have those long thin keys, very different from normal front door or car door keys. Please bear in mind that the key fits into the slot, and that the key is not turning.
At this point I wanted to tell her that I did not know what she thought I kept in a safety deposit box, but that I only have one, and it does not have 10lbs of gold in it that would make me have the need to keep more than one box.
Me: What other key could I possibly have that would fit this?
Banker: The box is issued with two keys, sir.
Me: Well, I only have one, and it should work. How else was the lock locked without this key having turned the actual keyhole to lock it?
Banker: We’re going to have to call a locksmith to have the lock popped out.
Me: This key should work let’s try again.
Banker: Oh, look at this. It works now.
Me: (silently in my head) I told you so.
I went back down to the doctors’ office, and informed them of my confusion as to why they wanted my blood.
Their answer was “to prove that you had the shots.â€
Prove that I had the shot? Why did they make this little immunization card that has my immunization records, if you need to take blood to prove that the very same doctor gave me a measles shot ten years ago. I know he wouldn’t remember administering the shot, but would he not believe his own handwriting stating that he had done such shots?
This seemed to work into their logic, and they realized that this piece of paper, which anyone could forge in 20 minutes, was in fact the real deal, and that it was their handwriting, and that they should trust their 10 to 20 year old handwriting.
I want my blood, and I only give it out if I need a test, not if you just feel like giving me a test. This need could be from some mysterious illness that you have trouble diagnosing; an annual checkup, or I might also give it out to a blood center on the occasion. Otherwise back off from what’s mine!
Btw, the immunization card has my height at 59 and a half inches and weighing 74lbs at age 14. I kid you not.
I hoped onto the subway, fell asleep. It was a good sleep, and I didn’t want to wake up, but forced myself to stay awake at 5th Ave, so I would not miss the Lexington stop. Subway sleep is so good and refreshing.
I get to the “OASIS†center. I don’t know how it got that name for sure, but I’m guessing it has something to do with actual help on a timely basis is an oasis similar to that of a source of good drinking water in the middle of the dessert.
The Oasis center had a line out the door. I stood on it for about 5 seconds and realized that this was a special line for something that I probably didn’t need – I only needed to pick up a bill from the Oasis center. So I hoped on the regular line, which was way shorter than the first line.
Someone from behind the desk shouted out the my line, “if you are here to pick up your bill, go to the other line, the other line is for bill pick up only, no questions.†A bunch of people from my line left the short line and went to the long line; I started too, and then realized that the regular line is still able to get serviced with bills. I stayed on the now even shorter line, and got out of there in an amazing 6 minutes, and headed over to the Bursars office.
The Bursars office had a line even longer than the Oasis. This line was a little odd in my head. It seemed more like a supermarket line than a college payment line. There were lots of really old people for a college line, about a dozen or so that I could see at first, I’m talking about senior citizens that are so old they died 15 years ago types of old people, and it seemed as though they had some unwritten code amongst themselves.
One little old wrinkly lady came out of the bursars office and proclaimed that there was no need to wait on this line, and that you could pay at some magical other place that consisted of no lines. All the old people flocked to this lady as if she was giving out free trips to Atlantic City. They went with her to this magical destination of no line waiting, while I stayed and held my distrust for crazy old ladies firmly in place. Other old people came out, and went up to other old people, and got them to follow. I kept thinking it seemed like this was a cult, and that only old people were allowed to join and or only old people were trusting enough to drink the Kool-Aid. I watched as they preyed on each other, picking each other out very easily by their droopy old hanging flesh while we all stood on the lines full of young tight skin similar to my own.
They all also already new one another, which I suppose is fair, since when you get to walk around for 15 years after you stopped breathing you will befriend all the rest that are undead just as you are.
There was one old woman that seemed immune to all the other old people, and she stood behind me. For a moment I let my imagination get the better of me, and let myself be tricked by myself into thinking that maybe this old lady was sent to spy on me, and was in on a plot to uncover the fact that I realized something was up with all these anciently old folk.
At one point she and I actually spoke, and it was at the magical no line waiting area. Sure enough all those other old people were correct, in that you could pay without waiting on line, but you just put your payment into an envelope and put it into a safe.
I didn’t trust this. This was the same guise as putting any type of deposit into an ATM. They cannot be trusted. Envelopes get lost all the time, and you are S.O.L. This old lady had the same distrust for this safe that I had, and after about 30 seconds of small conversation about how people shouldn’t have that much faith in the people that empty and process the envelopes from the safe I realized that I may have just been roped into a conversation with one of the top 10 oldest people at Hunter College.
I had to think quickly and efficiently. The worst-case scenario I could just run down the staircase and away from said old lady. Then a magical old man appeared, he looked as though he just walked off the set of Cocoon III. He was recognized by the old lady behind me, they chatted, exchanged names again (probably for the 100th time), and he was roped into the conversation.
It was as if I was one of those kids from Final Destination, I was lucky and cheated death, only instead of death I cheated conversation. Now I’ll have to walk around and keep an eye out for old people, and make sure that I am not roped into a conversation.
With a whole new semester about to dawn, I think I will have to do some research into this entire all old people know each other phenomenon.