Just Another Ordinary Day

I almost didn't get logged into this blog tonight. I was struggling to remember what is supposed to be a unique username and password combination. I find it both amusing and frustrating that in order to be considered a good, wise citizen we are supposed to a)choose a username and/or password that is such a unique combination of letters, numbers, and symbols, that no one will ever be able to hack into our most sensitive information (ie. Facebook account, Audiblebooks.com, savethechildren.org, etc) and at the same time b)never use the same username/password combination that you're currently using for another account. I've concluded that this is utterly impossible. Once I find my "unique combination", I'm using it for everything. Oh, because I forgot about rule c)never, ever write the username/password down anywhere. I don't know about you, but I have only so much room in my brain for that kind of thing. Like I said, once I've cleverly devised my system - that's the system I'm using. If anyone does ever figure it out, we're clearly toast. Our bank accounts, IRS files, DNA samples, Blue Jays Kids Club account information -- it will all be public record. Let's just hope that never happens. I know that this runs contrary to every film that they ever showed us about the End Times in Baptist church growing up but I for one am eagerly anticipating the day when they will just implant microchips under our skin. No more passwords. Just a simple scan. Seriously - I will gladly give up my privacy if it means never having to remember a password again. I recognize that this may be considered by some to basically be the Mark of the Beast, but it's a risk I'm willing to take.

My husband has just informed me from the kitchen that I might not be doing my full part for the environment as I keep forgetting to bring my used sandwich bags home from work. Note to self: must work harder on this.

A short tale about one of the events of my day: A gentleman of a certain age, let's call him, "Methusalah" or maybe just "M" for short, came into my office to sign up for a fall semester class. This is all well and good. This is what I get paid to do. When I think about it even now, I still can't quite put my finger on where the conversation started. But this man had a WEALTH of stories and somehow they were all interconnected. I was treated to tales of gang bosses working down on the pier, unsolved mysteries, Elvis impersonators, cases of mistaken identity, a burning house, several sailing accidents, the state of Canada's emergency rooms, the Grand Canyon, drunk driving, unrequited love, walking through a plate glass window at the local Chevy dealership, Cadillacs, ministry by dogsled in the Northwest Territories, the Residential Schools scandal, Geronimo, flash flooding, summer camp, and the exorbitant salaries of longshoremen. This was accomplished without taking a single breath. At one point I wasn't sure what I should do -- it was clear that he could have gone on for hours, with each story leading (naturally of course) into the next. Once I was sure that I had more than taken care of the issue for which he first came into the office, I stood next to my desk with my coffee cup in hand. Surely this would be a signal to any person. But "M" was undeterred. Finally I managed to extricate us both from my tiny office into the outer office, wherein lay the door to the outer world. We began to say our good-byes and then - "Can you tell me when that class is?" Escape had been within my grasp, but I watched it slip away, like a longshoreman through a plate glass window. We went back into my office and my response to his simple query prompted a new line of storytelling. I refused to sit this time, and perhaps it was my walking out of my office that led him to follow me and ultimately tip his proverbial hat on the way out the door into the hallway. The rest of my colleagues looked at me with eyes as big as saucers and a look on their faces of part admiration / part utter shock. The conversation in my office had kept them spellbound for 30 minutes and the morning's productivity was effectively in the toilet. "M" will be returning as a student. I'm not sure if I should mention it to the professor.