Thursday, June 9, 2011

Fast Pass Hell

I may have said before that:

me + people = disaster


This is not always true. Sometimes I can pull it together and behave in a way that doesn't constantly frighten or offend the unfortunate souls that for whatever reason happen to be surrounding me at any given moment.

Today was not such a day. Here's why:

First. Manfriend (formerly known as awesomecool. He no longer updates his blog. Therefore he is neither awesome, nor cool) and I had to drive into the middle of HellTown to get our fingerprints taken. This was of the utmost importance as come Monday, the SuperFantabulous will be unleashed into the classrooms of one of the local high schools. Yikes.

ManFriend had made the appointments online and they were weirdly bureaucratic about the whole thing. For example, we couldn't go to our local RainyTown police and get our fingers scanned. We had to do it only through this super duper special company that wasn't in our state. Bullshit.

Since our abrupt and ill-planned move to HellTown, we've been living in a motel and driving a rented car. You would think that at our age, we would have figured out the importance of careful, well planned cross country moves. We haven't.

The first time we came here, we quickly discovered that ManFriend driving and me navigating was a horrible disaster. After a screaming match that nearly ended in a fiery car crash, we decided that, given my complete lack of direction, I should drive and take directional orders from the map-reading-abled ManFriend.

Thus, it was me that drove for 45 minutes on HellCity's completely irrational, fast paced and rather terrifying tollways, highways, interstates, etc. I nearly ended us when attempting to change lanes right into a ginormous SUV. Whatevs. It was totally in my blind spot.

We arrived at the super duper cool fingerprinting place and checked in.

"Do you have your FastPass forms?" The nice lady that worked there asked.

"What?" We both responded stupidly.

"If you don't have them you have to reschedule. We can't print them out for you here." She gave us a number to call to reschedule and basically told us to fuck off.

And fuck off I would have, had I not just driven the most harrowing 45 minutes of my life.

"You fucking idiot!" I yelled at ManFriend. Cause he totally dropped the ball in printing out OUR FastPasses. Why should I take responsibility for my own fingerprinting FastFuckingPass?

So that was rude and inappropriate.

Next I devised a plan to save me from ever having to drive back to this shithole again.

"Manfriend! We should go around the other offices in this building and beg them to let us use their printers!"

He did not seem convinced. Maybe loudly being called a fucking idiot in front of a room full of strangers put a damper on his mood. Can't imagine why.

"Come on! This is bullshit! I'm not fucking driving back here! Let's go over there!" I yelled.

"Ok."

We ran across the courtyard and wandered into the first office that looked open (after all, it was only 8:30)

We burst in, creepy and sweaty (yes this crazy city is, like, really, really, hot).

"Is there anyway we could possibly use your printer to print out this stupid FastPass thing for the fingerprinting office?!!" I blurted out at the woman who came to see what the commotion was.

For some odd reason she agreed.

However, she had the slowest computer I have seen since dial up become obsolete.

What should have taken five minutes ended up taking twenty. At this point, I really felt I must be in a coma somewhere and am living in a hell of my own design.

"I've seen those fingerprinting ladies turn people away for being three minutes late." She said.

It was not looking good for us.

"I saw a couple that drove all the way from Oklahoma get turned away after driving since five in the morning because the electricity went off."

I began to give up hope.

"They scheduled a bunch of people for the day after Memorial Day and neither of them bothered to show up. All those people were turned away cause the office wasn't even open."

Apparently this fingerprinting establishment has quite a reputation.

Finally the printer spit out our coveted FastPasses. We snatched them up and raced out of the office yelling our thanks as we sprinted toward the fingerprinting place.

"Good Luck!" The woman called out after us. I really felt we would need it.

We burst into the fingerprinting office waving our FastPasses triumphantly.

"You've missed your allotted time. We might be able to get you in, but you'll have to wait." The FingerPrint Lady said.

We sat down.

And waited.

Some guy came in, but his time wasn't until 30 minutes later. WTF was he doing here so early? I thought about asking him if I could go before him. I was totally willing to get my fingers printed and leave ManFriend to his own devices.

So I struck up a conversation in order to get him under my thrall. Turns out he was in RainyTown four years ago. He kept saying something about Cabbage Hill. I had no idea what he was talking about. Thus he completely derailed my plans at FastPass seduction.

Some other guy came in, but he didn't have his FastPass. He didn't even have an appointment, according to the fingerprint ladies. Something was very wrong with this fingerprinting establishment.

There was a lull. The fingerprinting ladies had mercy on us. They called us back. We got our prints done. It truly was a miracle!

"Aren't you lucky you're married to me?" I asked ManFriend as we joyously marched out of there, having succeeded where others have failed, thanks to my willingness to burst into other people's businesses and annoy them for my own benefit.

"Yes. I'm so fucking lucky."

And he is.

4 comments:

Blackchild said...

instead of teaching why don't you set up a fastpass printstation right next to the office.

SuperFantabulous said...

Haha! That's the most brilliant idea ever!

Berly said...

First off I have to say that I think I spend to much time on facebook and nt enough time reading blogs. I keep looking for the damn "like" button.

Secondly, I hate people too. I am lucky to be married to someone who helps me function in public.

SuperFantabulous said...

Yes, it's a struggle, being ridiculously more cool than everyone else.