Change of Plan

My first year back in school is over and I made it through my second semester with an "A" in my baking class (guess Chef Rudi kinda liked me after all!) and a "B" in Purchasing. And now, I'm changing my major, I am not going to become a pastry chef after all! Goodbye very ugly black slip resistant shoes and tall chefs hat. Hello pen and paper. I'm going to change my major - Creative Writing! Business? Marketing! Hmmm.....more on that later.

Guess what else? I'm seeing someone - a life coach. I know, I did say The Secret is stupid and now here I am paying someone to help guide me on my life path. But it works, or at least I think it is working. Already I've come to the conclusion that someone that cannot even decide what to make for dinner 100% of the work week and up until a few short weeks ago thought folding referred to laundry, probably shouldn't try and become the next Paula Deen. That said, I'm a little surprised by the fact that this baking class led me to such self-discovery. I even got to like my extremely stern teacher. He really is a great teacher, he's just hard, and since most people want to take the easy way out, which is definitely not an option with him, they knock him. I can't, he really is good at what he does, and he cares. Sure, I was almost reduced to tears one class and a few times I had myself a good old-fashioned passive aggressive under my breath swearing/muttering tirade while rolling out my dough, but in the end, I realized, Chef Rudi made me a better person and definitely a better baker, although I'm not sure that's saying much (about my baking, not the better person stuff.) And just so you know, I already decided this before I had my practical baking test, before he judged my tray of baked goods, eyes twinkling, with a "not much to complain about here" as he graded my work. I may as well have won the Nobel Peace Prize I was so excited to hear that come out of his mouth. I've come a long way since being yelled at for stretching the gluten out of my dough or making gloppy tart glaze.

So, back to the better person stuff. You see, when the semester started, I was of the impression that at my age, I could not do certain things. Among them, stay anywhere with a "Holiday" or an "Inn" or a "6" or an "8" in the name, live without a Starbucks first thing in the morning, stand on my feet for a full 5 hours without a break and not go to the ladies room whenever the mood strikes, which with me is about 20 times a day, and as we all know I was incensed at the thought of not having a locker to call my own. But, I found out I am a lot better at buckling down than I thought I would be. Of course I got my locker by saying I had a medical condition, but other than that slight freak out I did what I was supposed to, and I'm proud of myself for that. Sure, when you are 18 or 19 no breaks for 5 hours is not a big deal, it wouldn't have been to me back in the Duran Duran day, but now, that seemed like a jail sentence. And I lived through it, and now I may be a tad less demanding in my every day life. I can roll with it a bit more. I'm not as rigid, demanding.

One thing I have noticed is that a lot of times as we get older, supposedly wiser, more successful and settled, we also get more set in our ways and things that we accepted in our earlier years are beyond comprehension to us now. And it's not just me. Many a morning my sister, 3 years younger than I, will call me and the beginning of the call starts with "I'm old - you're not going to believe what I did" to which I either reply that I, too, have done that very thing or I top it with an "I'm old" story of my own from the previous day.

Remember when you were barely out of your teens? Did we think anything at all of sleeping on the sofa in our best friends college dorm, the one that had springs that poked us in the back all night while the fluorescent lighting buzzed on and off? We slept. We didn't worry about how soundly, or how long, or even how comfortably. If we ordered a cheeseburger and it came with mayo and we hate mayo even more than we hated the fact that even though we asked for it without mayo and the waiter ignored us because he knew the tip wasn't going to be anywhere near the acceptable mark, did we complain to the manager? No, we scraped it off and ate the burger and left our paltry tip, not because the service was bad, but because we didn't know you tip 15% to 20% for good service and about 10 for bad. We thought nothing of running out of toilet paper (nowadays I have to have at least 10 extra rolls in wait), hand soap (today I require at least 5 extra bottles on hand) or toothpaste (minimum stock 2 extra tubes) not to mention water. We didn't run around with bottled water, we drank, gasp, from the tap, and sometimes when we went to that pretentious little French restaurant on Ventura Boulevard we drank Evian, but we certainly didn't have to have a mini Aquafina bottling plant in our extra fridge out in the garage.

Now that I have conquered said hardships and a whole year in school with very good grades I might add, I am ready to do something I have always wanted to, but have been too afraid to try. I, Suellen Meyers, am going to write for a living. I want to write, become a writer, get paid to write, make a living writing. I changed my major and am going to re-take a basic English class from my college days long ago as a refresher, plus, a Critical Thinking class from back in the day as well. From there, I will most likely do creative writing and possibly a fiction class. Which brings me to my blog. I get that my few followers may have dropped off the wayside by now, and really, is license to bake the apt title now? But, I have a new goal for myself. I am going to write every day. I am going to talk about my journey, as well as adults trying to figure out what to do in their second or third or heck, even fourth careers, and adults going back to school. In this economy, lots of us are not working, and reinventing, and I'm right there with ya. But, my year in Pastry served me well, it was a year in which I gained a lot of insight, a stronger backbone, and an 18 year old BFF! When all is said and done, I thank Chef Rudi for helping me relax a bit and realize hard work, even for old dogs, can teach us a few new tricks, or maybe, bring us back to some old ones.

15-33-51

Did you know baking, well, professional baking, revolves around formulas and ratios and a few basic mixing procedures? I didn't. How innocent I was, just thinking I was baking up a batch of simple Toll House cookies. Little did I know how the complicated actions and reactions of ingredients and their ratios to each other were hard at work behind the scenes.

And after attending 2 Baking classes I realize had I known 40 years ago what I know today, I sure would have paid much more attention in Math class. As I've mentioned before, math is not my forte, unless you want to know how much those $95.00 jeans will cost you at a 15% discount. I can do that in my head in under 10 seconds because of my retail days. Need to figure the tip, ask me. I'm a walking tip calculator. But, ask me anything fractional or algebraic or remotely formulaic and I glaze over and start drooling like the village idiot. I don't get math. So, this may pose another slight challenge when trying to adjust a formula for say 24 croissants as opposed to 200. Apparently professional bakers can figure this stuff out at the blink of an eye and not even pull a small pocket calculator out of their tall baking caps.

My Baking teacher terrified me, first by reputation and then in person, the first time I encountered him, which was last week. He is the definition of stern. He does not repeat, he does not take breaks (or so he said, he kindly granted us two of them today) and he does not tolerate any bend, sway or breakage of his kitchen rules. He assigned us 6 chapters to read the first week. He is all about us being responsible for our own learning. Ask questions, there are no dumb ones. Except when we do ask and he thinks it is. Like last week, I could see his wanting his students to participate in class. Truthfully, I don't usually say all that much, as I have enough to do to keep up with the note taking and controlling my mind wandering. But, I decided I would ask a question no matter what, as he wants questions, and I want to be a star student. So I did, and all I could come up with during his explanation about the required absolutely adorable designer chef uniforms (you don't believe that do you?) was to ask if we needed the neckerchief part of our uniform. He practically spat a "YES - IT'S ON THE LIST ISN'T IT VILLAGE IDIOT?" at me. I didn't ask why we need it, but I did have a mind wandering wonder about it. What purpose does a neckerchief have in the bakeshop? I get the chef hat, the pants, non-slip shoes, chef jacket, apron. But a neckerchief? Who even says neckerchief these days. On this past season of Top Chef Mattin wore one, but he is a French guy, so that explains that. It's not like it is going to help you if you sweat, it's around your neck. If I sweat while in the kitchen, it is usually my brow, not my neck, doing the sweating. I'm putting this on record, I'm against the neckerchief. It's purpose-less.

Now aside from the designer duds we have to wear in the kitchen starting next week, we are not allowed to have anything on our nails (goodbye perfectly done Ballerina Slippers manicure) and we are allowed no food or drink in the kitchen. This poses yet another challenge for me, as I eat about every 2 or 3 hours and drink more than a pack of camels do all day by 7 a.m. causing me to go to the bathroom about 3 times an hour. If I detour from my norm, I don't feel all that well. It's what my body is used to. Now, I figure I can get around this by having food and water in my culinary locker. Oh, wait, locker assignments started Tuesday, and when I went to claim mine Wednesday morning, there were none left. I'm number 24 on the waiting list. Plan B - I stuffed a half a peanut butter sandwich in my hoodie pocket and spent the first 3 hours of class uncomfortably shifting in my seat trying to make sure Chef did not see it - it would have caused a Gordon Ramsey if he had. One guy brought in a bottle of water to the bake shop, after being told absolutely no food or drink as of this week, and let's just say the backlash wasn't pretty.

I actually lost sleep last night trying to figure out the whole non-locker logistic. I'm a handbag carrying kind of gal, I am not a carry stuff in my pockets kind of girl, and it really threw me. But, I decided there were much worse inconveniences in the world and I had to suck it up. I did ask Chef if it would be possible to bring in a cooler with snacks, due to the fact I have to eat for medical reasons, and leave it in the Culinary Offices. But not wanting to break rules (there's no sandwich in MY pocket!) before clearing the cooler with him all I could think to do was to have the contraband on me in case of emergency and hide it from him. He glared at me, paused to consider a response, and said "we'll make arrangements." During break one I ran out to my car and scarfed down the now flattened sandwich. To my surprise, Chef poked his head out the door to tell me to come in immediately to see Chef Steve for a locker.

There is a God.

My (second) First Day of School

My second semester in school starts tomorrow and I am actually really excited. What a difference from a few short months ago when I was a back to school newbie, I was so nervous back then, now I am a seasoned pro, ready to take on academia. Well, that was until I saw my 772 page Professional Baking book.

Seriously, I can't even carry it. I think they should have textbooks for different age brackets. The just out of high schoolers, no matter if they fell into the jock category or not, are young and they get the heavy books, they can handle it. The at risk for osteoporosis group consisting of anyone who has been driving for at least 25 years, gets an abridged book, or maybe a paperback smaller version. Perhaps I will run for class President and that will be my platform. For now, I'm going to have to hire someone to carry that damn baking book to and from class for me. I know they have tutors for hire, what about toters?

While standing in line today to buy my books I became bored, and also I needed a distraction from the large smelly guy standing in front of me that kept brushing up against my hand with one part of his torso or another. Just about the time I was about to take out my Whole Foods Lavender spray sanitizer, and bathe myself in public with it, hopefully washing away any germs said smelly guy deposited my way with his insidious inability to stay in his own space and not invade mine, I was called to the next open register. Imagine my giddiness, I had only waited 45 minutes!

I find it funny that I seem to have the wrong idea about what my classes will entail, until I get my books and open them up. Much to my surprise, Hospitality Purchasing is another (like Sanitation last semester) earned certificate course. It's taught by my Sanitation Instructor. I think he is the certification king. Anyway, I don't know what I was thinking, but, I was under the impression it would focus on purchasing equipment and supplies, to set up a kitchen or restaurant. Sure, the book does cover that, in a short LAST chapter. The class will focus on purchasing food items, and the safety regulations in doing so. Now that I read about it, it makes sense. Come to think of it, had I read the class description prior to signing up for it perhaps I would have saved myself the surprise, but, the class is on my required list and whatever it is about I'm taking it, so I figure why bother actually reading unnecessary information, such as class descriptions, when I have to take it whether I want to or not. I have to save as much of my reading and comprehension powers for the real stuff, like actual school and tests. There is only so much of it to go around these days.

I am a little bit nervous about my baking class, I have read and heard about the Instructor, a master baker (my sis says every time I say that it sounds like I'm saying he's a masturbator - which he may be, but not in class hopefully) from Germany that is supposed to be, quite simply, not so nice and definitely not easy. What am I getting myself into?

Guess we'll see....I'll keep you posted....

Pass the Splenda

Sugar is my enemy. So, this may pose a challenge in becoming a pastry chef. But really, just a taste should be sufficient, shouldn't it? I hope my teacher sees it that way.

You see, about 5 weeks ago I read a book in which I saw my metabolism challenged self. It basically told me that I have an alternate metabolism, and the eat less calories and expend more energy thing that works for most will not work for me. It is what I eat that matters, not just calories in. My body makes too much insulin when I eat, thus creating this vicious circle where I crave sugar and bread and pasta and rice and crackers and am never satisfied no matter how little time has passed since I last ate. This theory made me feel so much better about myself. My failed attempts at 1200 calories on Jenny Craig where I ate nothing but their pizza and oatmeal, my days on the old standby Weight Watchers where I bought every single WW snack bar, and consumed them, still staying under my allotted point value by upping my exercise, only to lose a pound and gain it back the next day. You see, I have long known that my metabolism seemed to be on Valium and that I was not a normal girl, and now I had proof, in writing, in a best selling book by a Registered Dietitian who has helped many other non-normal hyper insulin producers achieve healthy eating habits and weight loss.

So three weeks ago I began phase 1, an eight week process that allows me no more than 5, yes I said FIVE net carbs in a 5 hour period. They call this the 5 x 5 rule, isn't that cute? Guess they think it will distract us enough that we don't notice our light headed-ness. Suffice it to say the first several days I could hear my husband muttering under his breath something about going deep sea fishing, far, far away. You get my drift, I was detoxing, I was hardly eating, I was going to Whole Foods and clinging to the butcher case as they grilled me up some chicken, only to return 5 minutes later to request some more, stat, as I had made it out to the car, but inexplicably, the chicken had not lasted quite so long, in fact only the empty box had made it to the register so I could pay for what I had already consumed. Hey, I'm desperately hungry, not dishonest.

This program is not meant to be a low carb long term eating plan, but, the author says in order to let my body rest from all the over production (who knew I was working so hard at something and excelling so?) the over producer has to seriously cut carbs for the eight weeks. Phase 2 I get to eat 11 - 20 grams of carbs and can go no longer than 5 hours without eating them, in what will now seem like a carb fest. I literally teared up when I read that. Anyway, I have no idea what phase 3 is, I figure that is so far off I will read about that later. Hopefully it doesn't require eating bugs or sushi.

Since I started this self imposed torture, I have thus equalized, lost 8 pounds, and figured out that I feel fantastic. There is no way I am going back to my old starchy, sugary ways. I never want to go through the detox again, and I kinda like my husband, and I'm not sure he could take it.

Now, I am faced with school starting next week, and my first baking class. I can have a bite of sugar without wigging out, or a small, skinny piece of bread, but no way can I have a serving. I hear my baking teacher is not a nice man, and of course I want my A, but I will not eat to get it. This could prove to be interesting. I see myself taking small tastes, maybe a bite of something. Sounds perfectly reasonable to me. We'll see.

Excuse me now, I need to go polish off that celery stalk I have chilling in the wine cooler. I'll let you know how it all goes.

Downward Dog

The semester is over and I'm officially an A student. Well, actually I got two A's and one A minus, but that counts as an A student, right? Reflecting on my first semester back into academia one might ask, so, what DID I learn? Well, I've learned I don't know EVERYTHING. I had just admitted to my husband that perhaps both my most recent instructors methods, although not in line with my views of perpetuating learning, were quite possibly good for me. You see, I may be struggling (in one class yes, in the other no) to be learning the concepts in which the class was based on, but more importantly perhaps, I was learning to be flexible, which is something I never am unless I am in my yoga class, and even then not so much.

As you know, I had not exactly embraced my Hospitality instructor and came to realized while she is an abstract thinker, I am concrete, and therefore I cannot fathom how her abstract insane brain wants me to think like it does. She is a teacher, and I think she should adapt to the learning styles of her students. Apparently she does not agree. Don't get me wrong, she has a PHD, so she may be intelligent, but that doesn't mean she is smart. She may be one of those poor souls that cannot relate to us mere mortals. She may be like my old friend Terri, stupid-smart. Kinda like those people that are skinny-fat. They are thin, yet very flabby from hours of non gym going, and it surprises you, because while you expect to see the flab wiggle on the underside of the upper arm of the obese and overweight, you are taken aback by it when it confronts you in the form of a skinny girl. Come to think of it, Terri was not only stupid-smart, she was also skinny-fat. And, she was a genius in all things architectural. She could conceptualize a building so as it would not fall down in the biggest earthquake, but, ask her to perform any remotely routine act that would involve any type of common sense, like say, boiling a pot of water for a cup of tea, and she became dumber than a rock.

And so, on the eve of my big Hospitality final, my stomach churning and knotted from nerves, I sat completely bewildered by my 25 page study guide, which I had JUST finished filling in and the test was the next morning. I hadn't actually studied yet, I had just inserted the answers. And although I had a B so far in this class, a high one, it's sure been a struggle, as how can I be expected to recall what I have read in chapters 15 through 21 plus all the material that came before that when half the time I cannot remember the names of my own two children? Time was not on my side, so I scanned my study guide and prayed, literally, as I prepared for bed that night, that somehow, someway, I would mark the right answers on my final even if I didn't know them. I prayed, to God, that I be assisted in choosing the correct answer as I guessed at them. And God listened, or else I actually learned more in that class than I realized, and I ended up getting a 59 out of 60 on the final exam and thus an A in the class.

My Wednesday Nutrition class, that was a breeze, I knew I would get an A and I did. My instructor basically prides herself on how easy her class is, and, with three other jobs, really, how in depth can she get with us? So, I got A's on all my projects and tests, and the final was a regurgitation of the two quizzes we had already taken, how hard could that be? I reviewed my previous study guides that I had made, and that was it.

Currently I'm on break, and ecstatic, I need it. I didn't realize how stressful trying to keep up and get good grades could be, I'm exhausted. But, next semester looms and I am more unsure now than ever if I want to take baking, be a pastry chef or anything that requires being in a kitchen.

I'm signed up for Principles of Baking, Hospitality Purchasing, and Small Business Management. Daily, I wrack my brain as to if I should try to change these class selections. Do I really want to take the baking class? Sure, I have heard the instructor is not exactly, uh, nice. He is a master baker from Germany, and I guess his quizzes are like 10 or 12 pages long. Apparently, he tries to find you doing wrong, not right. I got all this info from Old Guy, who took the class last semester, and, then verified it online in the "Instructor Ratings" on the CSN website. But no, I'm not scared of Chef Ramsey, I am just not sure what I want, or more specifically, what I want to do. I'm positive I want to open another business, but what?

Think I'll go talk to the one that helped me pass that test.

Happy Holidays everyone. May the New Year bring you all the love, peace and happiness you deserve.

555

I'm exhausted. And I'm now counting the number of classes before this semester is over, kinda like how when I was a kid I would count how many days until my favorite day of the year, my birthday. Or maybe more appropriately how I'd count how many days I had to go until it was time to see the dentist again, since having those fluoride treatment trays, to me, was the equivalent of having to climb the rope in gym class - both made me want to throw up.

So, I have 5 more Mondays and 5 more Wednesdays, then I have about 5 weeks off before next semester begins. Not that I am still hating school, actually the opposite, I quite like it now. But, as with everything I do, I am always in a hurry to get to a finish line, or the end, or whatever that goal is so I can think of another one and then get to the end of it. I want to see where it all leads me.

I have figured out a way to cope with my Monday Hospitality class and it is working out pretty well. I don't do my required reading prior to a lecture in class. Instead, I read only the two chapters we will be tested on in the current week, and I do this on Sunday, the day before the test. I don't go over my notes from my lecture which may sound like an odd strategy but it works for me. I've found that although I do take really thorough notes, the lectures do not accurately cover or convey what is in the textbook. Plus, we are always behind a few chapters in testing as compared to the lecture and notes for the week, thus, when I do read the book, I can recall and reinforce some of what the lecture and my notes covered and they make more sense this way.

I do have a new found respect for my instructor. I can tell she really cares about teaching, and, I have actually become interested in what we are learning in class. I may not agree with her teaching methods, but hey, figuring out a way to cope and finishing the class is a learning experience in itself. I had lunch with my sister and a friend the other day and I noticed I was able to pepper the conversation with many things I had learned in this class, I've never been a conversation pepper-er before. I like it!

As for my classmates, Chatty Cathy is as talkative as ever, and others in the class are now resorting to eye-rolling and snickering every time her hand shoots up in the air which, most classes, is enough times to give her an entire weeks worth of aerobic activity. Plumber Crack sits in front of me now, and even though she is an attractive young woman I have now learned that this look does not work on anyone, even if you are Heidi Klum. I know what you're thinking, but it isn't a cute Victoria's Secret thong peeking out from too low jeans, it is full on unattractive crack, and it is just as unpleasant being faced with it from her as it is when you are faced with it from a greasy rumpled dirty guy with cigarette stains on his fingertips and coffee stains on his teeth wearing an "I Heart Roadkill" T-shirt.

My Sanitation class is over and I got an A MINUS! I'm trying to figure out where that minus came from. I think I should have gotten an A...

So two Wednesdays ago I began my next 8 week class in place of Sanitation, Food Service Nutrition. It is taught by a Registered Dietitian with major ADD. She obviously knows her stuff, she occasionally spits out a statistic only an RD would know, but seeing her teach a class is like watching Pig Pen give the State of the Union Address. She is not only huffing and puffing as she speaks, she is speaking at breakneck speed, not finishing her sentences, supplies falling off the desk or podium, and I swear this is true there is a big dirty cloud billowing in her wake. Plus, she cracks herself up often, so all this is punctuated by a deep huh ha ha ha reminiscent of that children's TV show host that got caught in the back of a seedy theater doing something he should have thought twice about doing in public seeing as he was a children's TV show host. Any day now she'll jump up on the desk in white platforms, fists pumping forward and aft as Tequila plays in the background. And while she may be entertaining, unfortunately, she doesn't teach us anything. She zips through slides repeating "that's in the book" so often I suspect that she may be on auto-pilot and the presentation is actually on lip-sync and she's just learned to move her lips to it. Apparently, one class last semester told her all the info on her slides WAS IN THE BOOK! Did she teach her classes before that fateful day when her not so motivated students decided to weigh in on her slide show? Oh well, now we have the misfortune of not being taught what is actually quite an interesting subject.

Out of the three instructors I've had thus far, I have not exactly taken a shine to the methods of two of them. I don't ever remember feeling this way about any instructors I had in my younger school days. Now I know better!

It's The Law

Another school week is upon me, test tomorrow studying to do today. Last Monday I decided to give myself a break from the dreaded Hospitality class I hate, so I didn't go although I am sure if I had just gone to school like I was supposed to I would have a few less scratches in the paint job on my car. The last time I skipped school I ended up saving my family from losing all of our earthly possessions. Here is how it happened to the best of my recollection (take note James Frye):

I was in 10th grade, and my parents were on a week long trip to the Bahamas or Mexico, somewhere tropical. As usual, my younger sister and I were left in the care of our older sisters, which traditionally meant none of us ever laid eyes on each other as we went our separate ways and did whatever we wanted and they spent all of their time hanging out with their friends.

Back then, Friday nights were it, the big social night. And I only had this one Friday, while my parents were away, to have a party. Problem was, I was a lowly 10th grader and school had just started, and my social network was lacking. I soon learned that you can never underestimate the power of being best friends with the prettiest girl in school. That made it easier to get people, okay boys, to come to what was now "our" party, my best friend and I. Having a beautiful friend on the ticket is a big plus when you are trying to appeal to the higher crowd. What I thought was to be a small party ended up being one so large Donald Trump's Mira Lago wouldn't have been able to contain it. On top of that, one of my older sisters came down with the flu that day. Did I cancel my fete? No, no, I sold my soul to her and she agreed to go to my aunts house to suffer!

So, party was in full force, and kids just kept showing up. It was loud. So loud, one of the neighbors called the police, and they came out and broke up the party, searched the property, somehow missed the pot someone had stashed in the dryer. I was mortified. I was pretty naive back then and was sure there was a jail cell and striped pj's emblazoned with my name already waiting for me. I was really mischievous in my younger days, but, I was not into drinking or drugs. Sure I had tried peppermint schnapps (and hated it!) one Friday night before a football game, but I'd never done anything else. However, there was no way I was going to tell the Senior guys that brought it any of this. I just pretended to be cool with it. I don't know, if I was a member of law enforcement I would think the first place they teach you to look is the dryer. Maybe they saw it and let it go. Anyway, everyone left and I got a warning. My parents were none the wiser when they got home, I went about my business, my sisters had A LOT of leverage, which they took full advantage of, as they had the party of the century to hold over my head.

Several months later, the party a distant memory, I decided to skip school, while I was AT school. My friends and I didn't go to class, instead, we hung out in the quad on school property. How smart were we? Don't answer that it is a rhetorical question. In those days, if you did not show up to class, your parents got a call, one from an actual person in the school administration office, not from a computerized and hollow voice as we do these days. The school secretary called to ask my dad if I was sick as I was absent that day. My dad knew very well I had left for school that morning. Next thing you know, I see him through the windows of the quad where we were hanging out, marching up the sidewalk to the school doors. He yanked them open, spotted me, and, well, home we went. When we got there, I ran up the steps to our front door, which I noticed was ajar, and in I went, where two guys, one with a gun, had everything of value in our house, including all my dads electronics and the safe from the master bedroom closet, loaded up in trash bags and almost ready to go. These guys saw me, and did nothing, but just then, my dad came hulking up behind me. We always called my dad Fred Flintstone, a lot of our friends were initially scared of him, he was gruff on the outside but a marshmallow on the inside. The stealers took one look at him and then they took off running. I called the police, my dad actually caught one of the guys he was chasing, and two detectives came out to interview us. It was when one of the detectives cocked his head to the side and said "I know YOU!" that I had to explain to my bewildered parents why a nice Jewish high school girl from a middle class family was acquainted with said police detective. So, while they told us it was likely the perps (yeah, I helped catch 'em I can use the lingo) or friends of theirs had cased our place at the party because they knew what we had and were prepared with a dolly to wheel out the safe, meaning had I not had the party we would not have been violated, I like to focus on the fact that if I hadn't skipped school that day my dad would have lost his favorite binoculars, his new VCR, the microwave that was so big it had its own zip code and all my deceased grandfathers class rings.

Even with my last skipping incident being sort of traumatic, I was ready to try it again. Perhaps it was the universe telling me that I should be safely ensconced in the school parking lot, where the parking stalls are sufficiently roomy so as not to ram your car door into the car parked next to you. But no, I was not in my safe zone, I was out running errands where the 40 mile an hour winds coupled with inattentive and lazy people make up one the biggest hazards to my fairly new car and its already too scratched to be this new paint job.

At the grocery store, I was parked next to a behemoth SUV, but I was well within my lines, as I always try to be. I am not a crooked park-er like my husband. It drives me crazy how he will just pull right into a parking spot and happily go about his business without even a thought to the fact that his car is really close to the line on the back passenger side. If this happens to me, I pride myself on my straightening out skills and frankly, on my ability to look out for the other guy. No one needs another scratch or ding in their door or on their bumper. So, when I came out with my bags, the owner of the traveling condo next to me was just about finished loading hers up as well. I noticed, with absolute glee, that she was polite enough to take her cart and push it to the cart receptacle, which so many people do not do, but I would NEVER think of not doing, so neither should anyone else. As the years go by, I have not only become acutely aware of my parking lines, but I am compelled to park and realize where the cart storage racks are, just like knowing where the emergency exits on the plane are located, so I can return mine promptly after I am done using it, so as not to have it roll into a car or small child causing irreparable damage. My proud of my neighbor moment quickly came to an end as I hopped in my car after returning my cart, and began to put the key in the ignition. That's when I heard a loud "thunk" and turned my head only to notice the driver door of this small apartment blew open and whacked into the side of my car. Then, incomprehensibly, miss cart-returner comes back, grabs her door and dislodges it from mine, plunks in her drivers seat and revs her engine for a fast getaway. I lunge from my car, and fly to the other side as fast as I possibly can, rapping loudly on her window before she can flee the scene. I am knocking profusely and saying, okay, maybe more loudly saying, or possibly sort of soft yelling "you hit my car!" Miss I return my cart to the proper place looks at me like I am crazy. She opens the door, steps out, and denies it. Are you kidding me? How could she ignore the fact our two vehicles had just become so close they may need to share a cigarette? Had she not just dislodged her door from mine? I heard the door hit me, I saw her get in the car. At this point, quite smartly I might add, she calmly gets out of her monster ride and takes her door and swings it open to show me the clearance between our two vehicles, thus proving she could not have caused most of the damage to my car. She willingly asks me if I want her to call the police, several times. Still not totally believing it, I slink back to my vehicle, leaving her with this strict warning which I yell at her through my cracked passenger side window: "Next time lady be more careful when you open the door when it's windy."

I then drive down the few blocks to the UPS store, so I can drop off a package containing a purchase I made during one of my online shopping sprees, which has passed the 30 day return window, but only by a few weeks. When I come out of the store, a shopping cart from the grocery store I just left is sitting up against my passengers side car door propped along the curb, leaving yet one more ding in my door. I look around for the big black SUV but it was nowhere in sight. She's stealthy, that one.