Wherein I Demonstrate How a 3.9 GPA Doesn't Mean Anything

Let's talk about how I suck at life.

I don't know what's happened to me since I got back to the States, but I've become really irresponsible, disorganized, and perpetually late.

I think maybe all that work and stress associated with moving from Taiwan to Illinois completely drained my ability to accomplish...anything. Maybe my brain has completely rotted from all the selling and throwing out and giving away and cleaning and plane-ticket-buying and goodbye-ing and crying from that month of my life. Or maybe it was the arsenic water. It could be either one. Regardless, I am now a terrible citizen.

Exhibit A: I'm now a speeder. Don't worry, I usually only go 5-10 mph over the limit...maybe 15 once in a while. But I went from rarely speeding to rarely driving the speed limit, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because of the crazy driving in Taiwan, and it's permanently altered my ability to drive safely. Or maybe it's my new car. It seems like it's easy to speed in it anyway, what with how quiet and easy to drive and not shaky it is. But I think the main reason I speed is because I'm always late. And if I'm not actually late, I FEEL like I'm late because instead of being EARLY I'm now ON TIME. That makes neurotic Early People like myself CRAZY. It makes us antsy. It makes us drive fast.

Now that I've been at my job for two months, I've figured out the exact minute I need to leave the house so I can get to work without speeding very much. But for the first month or so, I was always having panic attacks about being late (or *shudder* ON TIME) for work and was therefore always driving hurriedly. Driving to Chicago on Fridays to visit Mike also doesn't help, since I go as fast as I can in order to beat as much traffic as possible.

I didn't used to be like this! My dad said I drive like a grandma! Now I drive like a forty-year-old woman in a minivan! Have you ever noticed them? THEY'RE CRAZY!

Exhibit B: A couple weeks ago I signed up for a CPR class at my local fire department. Since I now work with children, I figure I should know some CPR. Also, who doesn't want to spend three hours on a Thursday night with a fireman? I gave them my name, handed over my $25 check, and went on my way.

Yeah. The class was last Thursday, and guess who still doesn't know CPR? Me.

Not only did I NOT remember to go last Thursday, I didn't even realize I missed the class until last night. FOUR DAYS LATER. This never happens to me! I'm a responsible person! I get good grades! I'm an organized employee! I pay bills on time! I did my taxes a month ago! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!

Exhibit C: METRA RAIL.

Everyone has enemies. I have three: jeans shopping, Mel Gibson, and METRA RAIL.

I hope when you're reading the words, "METRA RAIL," you're reading them with a deep, menacing, angry voice. Maybe with a little growl. They're capitalized for a reason.

For my non-Chicago-familiar readers, METRA RAIL is the train system for Chicago and its suburbs. It's how you get to and from Chicago without a car. It's also what causes brain aneurysms.

I guess my Metra Rail issues began a year before I even left for Taiwan, so I can't say it's a completely new development. I decided to go home to see my mom for Mother's Day back in 2008, and since I had no car, I had to take the train. I was waiting for the train, and it pulled up a couple minutes early.

"Wow! How nice--the train is a little early!" I thought.

I know. In retrospect, I realize that those are the stupidest words you can think to yourself when waiting for a train. IF THE TRAIN IS EARLY, BE SUSPICIOUS. A WARNING SIREN SHOULD GO OFF IN YOUR HEAD. SOMETHING IS WRONG. TRAINS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE EARLY.

So I get on the train, sit in my seat, and wait for the conductor. He comes by, and I ask for a ticket to my stop--Libertyville.

"Where?"
"Libertyville."
"Where??"
"Libertyville."
"You're on the wrong train."

He explained that the train for Libertyville was due to arrive two minutes later than the one I was on, and I boarded the wrong train.

Let me defend myself a little here by explaining that METRA RAIL TRAINS ARE NOT LABELED. THEY ALL LOOK THE SAME, REGARDLESS OF DESTINATION. Nowhere is there a sign saying where the train is headed, and only once in a while do the conductors shout out the line while you're boarding. You only find out what line you're on once the train has started moving (or when the conductor stares at you like you're an idiot and informs you of such). If I were a foreigner who didn't speak English, METRA RAIL would be extremely confusing.

So he leaves to talk to somebody to figure out what they can do about my predicament. He wasn't nice about it either--he was frustrated and clearly thought I was a dumbass.

He came back with this crazy plan whereby the train would stop and let me off at this old, abandoned, former station. A minute or two later, a train going the opposite direction would stop and let me on, which would bring me back to the city, where I would wait for two more hours (because it's a Sunday, so fewer trains) for the next ride out to the suburbs.

So they let me out at in the middle of nowhere and for a couple minutes I truly feared that the other train either wouldn't come or wouldn't stop, and I'd be stuck wherever the hell I was (IN THE RAIN) and not know how to get back. But the train did come, and I called my mom, and we decided I'd visit her the following weekend instead, so I went home in the rain. Without an umbrella. And my shoes were so wet that they ripped and I had no more sneakers. It was awful.

Since then, I've been ultra paranoid when taking METRA. And, of course, since this paranoia began, nothing has ever gone right. Every single time I take METRA, something goes wrong. Maybe not as wrong as The Mothers Day I'll Never Forget, but SOMETHING always goes amiss.

Like today. Today I thought I'd go downtown to visit my friend Chrysa on her lunch break. So I get in my car and start driving to Libertyville, when I remember that Oh! It's a weekday, which means I can't park at the Libertyville station because Libertyville is stupid. The other nearby station is Grayslake, but I can't go there because that stop is BEFORE the Libertyville stop, and I won't get there in time. So blah blah blah blah blah, and let's just say that my mom got me to the station with two minutes to spare. So that was stressful.

After a lovely lunch with Chrysa, I thought I'd wander around downtown, and then when I felt like it, hop on a train to go home. But during my wandering, I got a little turned around, lost my map, and realized that if I didn't get to the train station in fifteen minutes, I was going to have to wait an hour and a half for the next train. So I power-walked to Union Station, and had about three blocks to walk with about two minutes until the train left. So I ran the rest of the way, down the street, through the station, and to the platform where the train was JUST pulling away, like some sort of bad romantic comedy. For a second I thought I was Matthew McConaughey.

On top of this, I bought the wrong tickets for when I go downtown AGAIN tomorrow. Awesome.

So I suck at METRA. I suck at going to CPR classes. And I suck at driving.

When I told my mom about my issues and exclaimed, "I suck at life!" she responded, "Yes. Yes, you do."

Thanks, Mom.

So, kids, the lesson is--it doesn't matter how responsible you are now...you too will end up sucking at life. So stop trying so hard.

Also, Metra sucks.

The end.