A good day

The front of the building, which cozies right up to a very busy street in the city (of which my little burg is a 'burb), is shrouded in secrecy behind plants and bushes and flower pots and a long orange awning.

The "lobby" is just an old covered porch. On one end is an ancient fireplace and on the other is one of those slate zen waterfall dealies. The seats in the "lobby" are white wicker rocking chairs--far more uncomfortable than they look.

The receptionist is dressed to kill {{{in some other, arctic, climate}}}. Black blazer. Black mock turtleneck. Black knee-length skirt. Black panty-hose. Black flats. Black barette. Hair? outlandishly unblack. Her hair is so not black, it's damn near see-through.

The form I'm instructed to fill out is short and rudimentary*. On the whicker side table to my left is a two foot high stack of hair/nail/beauty magazines.

The woman that comes out after 25 minutes is also named Amanadoo. Isn't that hilarious!!! No, it is not. But she is laughing so I too will feign gaiety. She is dressed exactly like the receptionist, only in brown. Her hair, eyes, nail polish---everything---is brown. As the interview goes on, the thick brown circle (which you suppose was created by eye liner, though all evidense points to a melted brown crayon) around her eyes will become a distraction. But for now you're just glad to be relieved of that remarkably uncomfortable white wicker rocking chair.

This other Amanadoo's office looks exactly like your grandmothers guest bedroom, replete with a daybed in front of the picture window.

She has an hour-long speech. You are required only to throw out the occasional "uh huh" or "oh yes maam!"

At the end, she asks you what you think. You don't know what you think, you havn't heard a word she's said...her eyeliner coupled with her awful coffee breath was too mesmerizing and you are weak. But you manage to sqeak something enthusiastic out with a smile and she tells you that CONGRATULATIONS, SHE THINKS YOU'RE GOING TO DO GREAT AT THEI SCHOOL!

You say thank you, you sign some things while she chats about the weather and the school and the students. She tells you that you are going to do just great, she can tell. YOU, she says, INSPIRE OPTIMISM. Phhh, whatever. Optimism, schmoptimism...you're going to school! You give her some money, say thank you a hundred and six more times and you're outta there.

To celebrate you head over to Starbucks for a mocha frappachino (no whip cream please) and a gift card for S's twentieth birthday. You cannot believe that S, now a senior in college, is 20 freaking years old. That means that YOU have been hanging out almost two decades.

And now you've found what you want to do at last!

You have had a good day!