Whoever lives/has lived/will live with them should know/already knows that I am a loser and I don't set my alarm for times like 7:00, 7:15, 7:30, etc. You know the "normal" times.
Why?
Because I feel bad for the times that never get attention. You know who are we to take that 7:17am isn't a wonderful time.
If you want to hear about this theory feel free to contact me. I am going to save my dignity and shut up.
Anyways yesterday morning I set me alarm clock for 5:16, 5:19 and 5:22.
Mission: Gas mask.
On the first bus at 6am. Actually I was the only one on the first bus at 6am.
If some stalker happened to video me as I was walking the two minute walk of determination from the bus stop to the post office I request you make it in slow motion and Chariots of Fire in the background.
I knew I was going to be first. I mean please, I woke up at 5:16am. I was going to be numero uno in line. And be out of there and not be late for work.
Well let me tell you, sometimes its very damaging to your ego to be a cup half full type of person.
It was 6am and by the time I got there there were 100 people already. Oh and let's keep in mind that the post office didn't even open until 8am.
There was a piece of paper going around where you had to write down your name next to the next number on the list.
I was number 105. 6am and 105 people are standing like exhausted idiots outside of a post office.
I mean I think only Assad can accomplish that. He made us wake up before the crack of dawn, so ya, Assad proved his hatred to us. We get it. Now let's just end this and carry on with our lives.
Well by 7am the list was at 600 people. It was choas. Really all we needed was a Na Na Nach truck and the mental institution committee would be on their way.
Chabad really missed out on this one. They had 600 people to put tefillin on.
- Looks like Steven Spielberg has got some competition. You can't tell how many people are ahead of me in this video since I was at the bottom of the staircase. But believe me when I say that there was a lot.
But in terms of people writing their names of the piece of paper with the numbers, things were pretty organized.
Since the post office wasn't open until 8, regular guys had to keep the crowd under control.
There were TV crews everyone and people mumbling their predictions of will it be doom, death or destruction?
Never a dull moment in the holy land eh.
At 7:30 this guy Shachar took charge and went to the top of the stair case and yelled down that he got barriers to create three orderly lines at the top of the staircase so numbers 1-30 should go in line one, 31-60 in line two and 61-90 in line three.
Obviously since there were more people there then the amount of Jews leaving Egypt, after Shachar yelled it the guy closest to him yelled it, and so on. It was basically one big game of telephone.
One big game of telephone at 7:30 freaking a.m. with Israelis. Joy.
People listened though. Believe it or not and for the most part there were no riots or fist fights. I think that's enough proof to prove that g-d can indeed make miracles.
Ok so 8:00 comes. Post office is not open.
For some reason the man in charge, Shachar, who has in the past half hour become our savior and had a number of job offers and requests to replace Bibi, managed to ask someone in the post office why they were still closed. As he stood up on the top of the staircase we all got quiet to here the newest Moshe Rabianu speak. (It was hysterical every time he stood up it went silent.)
Shachar told us that they can't open because they need permission from the police.
Honestly if it was any other country I would ask why, but in Israeli it's just not even worth the brain cells to ponder this wonder of the world.
Right after Shachar spoke some guy in the crowd yelled if we all cheer for the police maybe they will come and open up.
Five seconds later we are all chanting "mishtara, mishtara, mishtara". I felt like it was color war and we were team "police."
Why everyone woke up on the right side of the bed with the words "unity" "teamwork" "smiles" "cooperation" "go with the flow" is beyond me.
But when 800 people cheer "mishtara", you just gotta join.
Lesson learned: cheering gets you no where.
Five minutes later Shachar comes back from his new office that he made for himself at the top of the staircase with a megaphone.
This guy was getting more legit-er by the minute.
He kept on making Obama jokes and told us what today's forecast will be.
Honestly by hour number three, with a very much dying phone in the 9am heat you will laugh at anything.
Finally at 9:30 (yes, an hour and a half late) he told us that the police finally gave permission.
The cheering was the sort of cheering you would hear from me if the Mindy Project comes back tomorrow and not September 17. You get the picture.
After the police gave permission oh holy Shachar said in his now decorated megaphone (this guys ego was skyrocketing, higher then any rocket that will ever come out of Gaza) that number 91-120 can line up.
To quote Glee (and whoever originally sang the song One Of Us)- "yeah yeah gd is good yeah yeah gd is great".
I was finally in a line and not in a moshpit at the bottom of the staircase.
I was in a line at the top of the stairs next to Shachar, The Holy One. What have I done to deserve such a reward?
Behind me in line was number 106, Ms. Yaffa Perry. I know this because this woman was literally a psychopath.
First of all she had a bag on her head. You know it was getting really hot so a lot of people were putting pretty funky things on their heads. We had the cardboard box lady who basically injured a few people with the sharp corner of her box. We had the guy who made a sail man hat out of paper. I'm sure his kids loved him. We had Ms. Yaffa who had a bag on her head that said "I love Italy and Italy loves you." I highly doubt that that love is mutual.
I mean has no one ever heard of a hat. H.A.T. Definition- something you put on your head to guard you from the sun.
Anyways back to Yaffa. Women with babies were allowed to wait inside once they got their number because it was way to hot for a baby to be outside for so long. Actually it was way to hot for anyone between the ages of 0-120 to be out for so long, but that's besides the point.
Yaffa accused every woman who went inside with their baby of cutting the line. She also told one woman that she is too skinny to have a baby that young so she must have stolen the baby.
She had Shachar check the list of names every time a woman passed with a baby to make sure that the woman knows her number and knows that she, Yaffa, is number 106 and if anyone goes before her they won't need a gas mask. Why? Because they would be dead long before Syria sends any chemicals over.
It was 9:37, and my line was still not budging. I ate around the slutty brownie I casually had with me for a party later. I actually brought everything I needed for work with me. I thought since I would be in and out of there within two hours I would go straight to work.
Little did I know that this wait would cost blood, sweat and tears, and a shower after was more than necessary.
Some woman in the crowd, you know those peasents at the bottom of the staircase with the number 807 who basically had to wait all day, fainted from the heat.
When this happened I overheard the best comment ever. Oh and this guy also asked it so philosophically- "hmmm I wonder if it's this hot in Uganda."
The woman was brought to the top of the staircase to sit next to the fan that us top of the staircase-er VIP's were so fortunately blessed with. Obviously Yaffa accused her of faking.
It was about 9:52 and I was finally the next person up to get my gas mask.
I saw my life pass before me.
It took me 21 years to get to this moment in my life and I couldn't be any happier. No regrets. Well maybe a few, but nothing major.
I came, I saw, and (four hours later) I conquered.
Yup, I finally got it, and after doing my victory dance, I got cheered, high five-d and interviewed.
I came, I saw, and (four hours later) I conquered.
I came, I saw, and (four hours later) I conquered.
Yes, my dream came true. I got interviewed. However, I would have never guessed that during my first interview I would look like a sweating cow. I was so giddy I couldn't even answer her questions.
She asked me what time I woke up this morning, how long I waited, and what are my feelings about the overall situation.
To put in nicely every answer consisted of about 100 "um's", zero eye contact, and showing off my gas mask box to random strangers who high five-d me.
You would think I won an Oscar.
But basically if you see me on TV, please don't watch. I look like a space cadet purple (I was wearing purple) cow.
When I got to the bus stop, a few woman were sitting on the bench waiting and they saw me holding my gas mask and they got up and told me I deserve to sit.
Note to self- if you ever need a confidence booster, walk aruond the post office with a cardboard box (for those who don't have a gas mask) and for those that do bring your gas mask to the post office.
Works like a charm.
I was so late for work that it didn't really matter if I just ran home, showered, and threw the box in my closet. Oh and did another victory dance of course.
Honestly at first I thought my little gas mask would be my newest cuddle buddy. The effort I went threw to get it, allows it to replace my Reeses pillow, but now I feel like I have a weapon in my closet. I open the doors slowly as to not disturb the gas mask, and I hid it under a bunch of scarves since it really is scary to look at. It's like a monster is living in my closet. A monster I have named "gassy"- it takes too long to say gas mask.
Lesson learned: when your roommate ordered her gas mask way back when last Septemeber, don't make fun of her and tell her you would rather walk around wearing lime green nail polish then order it.
Instead be inspired and motovated by this psychic friend to jump on her bandwagon.
And with that I wish Yaffa and Shachar (who is probably still chilling at the post office with his megaphone friend) a gas-less Shabbat.
May we laugh at this whole gas mask saga very soon and never need to actually opened the sealed box!
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