Getting Rattled

I’ll admit to getting a jolly out of taking awful looking algebra problems and getting an answer like “x = 2.” For the most part, I’d have to say that algebra is probably my favorite class this semester…until it comes to taking tests. Mrs. P is kind enough to schedule the tests on a Tuesday or a Thursday because the class period is 25 minutes longer than the other three days of the week.

We had our second test yesterday, and when I got it back today, I was, quite frankly, disappointed with myself. Oh, it wasn’t like I flunked it or even came close to it. The TA sits next to me and heard me groan about my grade and said, “You got an A, and you’re disappointed with it?”

All right, so I got an A, but it was a low A. I really was capable of doing better than I did, but I got rattled halfway thru the test and proceeded to do pure brain-hiccup kind of stuff. The thing that rattled me was a fractional equation. I had multiplied everything by the LCD to get rid of the fraction and had solved the whole problem when I discovered that I had missed seeing a measly “–1” on the end of the problem, which completely ruined the whole thing. It was a rather large problem that had to be erased entirely and started over.

At that point, I began to get mildly panicky because I had so far to go on the test and redoing that problem would really set me back. I reworked the problem and it ended up not factoring, forcing me to use the quadratic formula to get a solution. I was not satisfied with how it turned out, but rather than waste more time on the problem, I went on with the test and planned to look back over it if I had more time.

I finished the test with 15 minutes to spare and started checking it over from the beginning. About halfway down the first page, I discovered I had missed a problem completely. I completed it, but it left me wondering just what all I had missed that my blind eyes couldn’t see.

I went back to the original Rattler and began looking it over. Sure enough, I had subtracted an “X” where I should have added it. I erased major portions of the problem for a second time and reworked it for a third time. This time it factored nicely and I was much happier with it. Just before I handed the test in, I noticed that my answer included one of the restrictions. I wildly scanned the problem again to make sure I hadn’t done anything wrong before erasing half of my answer, which left me with a negative fraction as my answer. That wasn’t much comfort either.

While I did end up getting the Rattler correct, I didn’t have enough time to check over many of the other problems, so I didn’t catch all of the negative signs that I let mess with my head nor did I catch all the times I forgot to use the distributive property, etc. I won’t be able to get a real good look at it until tomorrow because one student had to take it today and so we only got to glance at the tests today.

I’m very thankful that I managed to scrape by with an A. Had the test been extremely difficult, maybe (but kinda doubtful) I wouldn’t be so hard on myself. I guess it all comes down to keeping your cool.

Own a Parking Permit? USE IT!

*Sigh*

It’s official! I’m Super-Annoyed. I only thought I was annoyed before, now I know I am.

Okay, I know I’ve alluded to the Parking Issues at WKU. I don’t know of any other topic on campus that everyone has a strong opinion on as much as parking. If a professor is tired of their students sitting there in silence, all they need to do is mention parking and the students begin to buzz like an angry swarm of bees. There is the cost of parking permits ($75), the lack of parking spaces, the injustice of taking a commuter parking lot and making it half faculty parking, the injustice of being shut out (or run out) of parking structures prior to games, etc., etc.

Last Thursday evening, I took my car to the repair shop after hours and left it there, hoping that they would have an opportunity fix it the next day. I had forgotten to call earlier in the day to make sure they could get to it but decided to take my chances since I had an opportunity to use Jolene’s car on Friday. Though Jolene had a parking permit, I took my permit from the car, just in case they couldn’t get to it and I’d have to leave it until Monday. If that happened, I’d have to borrow Mom’s van and would need the permit.

My car was, indeed, repaired, and I was able to pick it up on Friday evening after work. I transferred all of my stuff from Jolene’s car to mine but failed to pull the parking permit out of my basket of stuff and hang it up. On Saturday, as Kris and I were headed to Bowling Green, she mentioned my parking permit, but it was in the back seat where I couldn’t reach it at the time. I told her that she must NOT let me forget to put it back up before Monday morning. (I think we can all see where this is heading. In hindsight, I should have screeched to a halt in the middle of the road and marched around to the back seat and dug the permit back out.)

Fast forward to Monday morning: I had attended my classes and left my Meteorology class in a very good mood, having just received my first test back with a nice perfect score. I made my way to the car, dodging around the cars cruising the parking lot like vultures. As I reached my car, someone spotted me. They pulled up to wait on me to back out so they could claim my spot. I got into the car and backed out of my spot, keeping an eye on the car waiting. It was inching closer to make sure no one else came out of the blue and took it out from under their very nose.

As I put my car in gear and looked out the windshield, I saw the Offending Paper. My heart plummeted to the very tip of my second toe on my left foot. I knew, without looking, that I had indeed forgotten to hang my parking permit back up. I put my car in park, got out, and snatched the Awful Paper from under my windshield wiper. I glanced at The Citation, expecting to see $35.00 on it—just like the other tickets I’d seen on commuter vehicles parked in faculty parking. My eyes bugged out as they beheld, not $35.00, but $50.00. That’s right—$50.00!!!

I couldn’t just sit and stare in dismay—there were other people coming up behind me. I left the parking lot and pulled into a carwash to read The Citation and accompanying envelope. It gave a number to call if I had questions. Boy, did I ever have a question! “Can you waive it, please?”

I figured there was no time like the present to deal with the issue at hand. I dialed the number and a young lady answered. I pleasantly explained my situation and asked her if they ever work with people on these things. She said that I could go through the appeal process and see if they would approve it. She gave me directions to the Transportation building, and we hung up.

I drove the five minutes over to the Transportation Office and took my Citation and parking permit inside. I was given an Appeal Form to fill out, and they took my permit and made a copy of it. In the appeal spot, I explained my circumstances and requested that they void the citation or, at the very least, reduce the amount of the fine. The Citation was stapled to the Appeal, and the young lady told me that they should have an answer for me in “two to four months.”

Two to four months?? Do they realize how long that is? If it only takes two months that will take us up to December 3rd, which is only two weeks before the semester ends. If it takes longer than that, it will take us past the end of the semester, and I’ve heard that they will not release final grades until all tickets have been paid. That just won’t do! And what if they won’t let me register for classes?? That absolutely won’t do!!

My ride back to Franklin wasn’t a very pleasant one. The conversation with myself was a rather stern one. “It’s time to sit up and Pay Attention!” “But I didn’t mean to do it…” “That was an entirely avoidable situation!” “I just forgo-o-ot…”

I’m noticing a pattern here: I forgot to call the repair shop; I forgot to hang the permit. Just when did I lose it?? I generally try to be cool and collected. I try to keep it all together. I mean, this really would be a perfect Kris Story, wouldn’t it? It would go so well with “A Fit of Dullness," "Parking Blues," and “Joy in the Journey,” wouldn’t it? Is being called Kris messing with my psyche?

So now I wait…and hope…and pray.

*Sigh*

I Lost a Freckle

One single piece of information can make the biggest difference on how a day/week turns out.

While I was at a doctor’s office several weeks ago, I asked the doctor to take a look at a Certain Freckle on my leg that I’d been noticing now for several years. The color of The Freckle was just a tad different than the other million or so that I have, as well as being slightly raised. It looked fairly normal but Fair Skin + Sun = Not So Good Combination, and I’m not overly religious in the Sunscreen Department.

So I asked Dr. N to check it out, just for safety’s sake. He put on his magnifying glasses and peered closely at it. “Hmm,” he said, “it’s not really jumping out at me as being very unusual. We could take it off relatively painlessly, but it doesn’t really look like something to be overly concerned about.” I asked him whether I needed to keep an eye on it or was it just a slightly different looking Freckle to just ignore. “Well,” he said, “I tell you what. Why don’t you lie back on the table for a minute? Sometimes these things look a little different in a different light or position.”

I obligingly turned myself ninety degrees and reclined on the table. He once more bent over my leg, peering at The Freckle. “Nah, it doesn’t really look like…you know, I think that we’ll just go ahead and take it off just in case,” he said reaching for the syringe of anesthetic that, for some mysterious reason, the nurse was already handing to him. He took it and was nearly injecting it in my leg when he said, “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Um, I guess?” I said, somewhat in a state of shock. My mind was reeling. It was shouting, “Wait! I haven’t had time to prepare for this. You know that I pass out easily! Does this mean I might have cancer? You’re doing WHAT??” All of these thoughts ran through my mind in a split second. I felt the prick of the needle and a few seconds later the doctor pulled his gloves off. I figured he would probably go do something else while waiting for the site to get numb.

He told the nurse to put something on the site and said that he’d see me back in the office in a month or so. It was then that I realized that he had already removed The Freckle and was off to see other patients. “But wait!” I thought, “I haven’t had time to finish freaking out. And he’s done? He doesn’t even know that I pass out easily.” I pulled myself into a sitting position and looked at my leg. Sure enough, what had been a Freckle moments before was now a shallow crater about as big around as a pea. The only thing that I had felt was the prick of the needle.

I personally think that his “not jumping out at me/I’ll take it off after all” routine was nothing more than a ploy. His nurse was all too ready with the supplies; I was all too relaxed. If it was a ploy, it worked. If I had gone there knowing that he was planning to remove The Freckle, I’d have worked myself into a freaked-out, nail-biting frenzy that wouldn’t have been a pretty thing to behold. Anticipation is the worst part of something like that.

The nurse put on some ointment and a Band-Aid, then handed me a paper with “What to Do After Surgery” on the top of it. She told me to call back in about a week to get the results of my biopsy. She gathered up a bunch of free samples for me and told me that she’d bring my chart to the front desk in a moment.

As I gathered my things, I wondered if I’d make it to the front desk only to keel over while waiting to pay and make a wonderfully huge scene in the process. The only one of my usual warning signs that I detected was the occasional heart thump that is usually a series of heart thumps. “Maybe I can do this,” I thought. I made my way to the front, lecturing myself the whole way on how “this isn’t a big deal and there’s no need to make a big scene—other people don’t.” I figured surely I could make it to the car, and then if I wanted to have an Episode, I could at least do it in the privacy of the parking lot.

I did, indeed, make it to the car. There was a continual pep talk running through my head. As I was leaving the parking lot, my leg began to protest mildly. I turned up my music, thought of other things, and tried to keep my mind occupied. I went to Office Depot to ship something, then wandered around the store trying to distract myself. I mean, there’s nothing like office supplies to take a person’s mind off their troubles, right? My heart was still doing the occasional thump but I was pretty sure I’d made it through the Danger Zone.

I called the Doctor’s office a week later, but no lab results were in. I called the next day and the next day, but no results. On the third day, they told me to wait to call until the following Monday since the lab was behind. I wasn’t too thrilled at being put off. I didn’t really think that it could be cancerous because “it won’t happen to me.” On the other hand, all those people that you hear about that have cancer are also “me”s, so obviously it’s happening to someone.

I called this past Monday and “the lab results are normal.” It was just a mole. Praise the Lord!

Now all I’m left with is a scab that I’m tempted to pick off (even though it is still firmly attached), an itchy spot on my leg as it continues to heal, and a very relieved heart.

Yeah, this could have been a bad week.

I wonder if the freckle will return when it heals…