Java jitters

I am not a coffee drinker.

Let's just start with that. I love the taste of coffee, the warmth as it slides down my throat, the roasted nutty smell of the brewing. The blanket of rich headiness that invades as you tip your nose over the edge of the mug. I have a beautiful little italian stove-top espresso percolator, from the 60s, that my mom purchased in Spain. It is the kind that looks almost like a scolding matron in a stiff silver skirt. It generally sits unused on my counter.

This morning as I dropped my child at school, it occurred to me that a nice cup of joe would hit the spot. I served myself in a styrofoam cup, in the school's kitchen (while cringing inwardly about the CFC's that I would be causing to be released into the ozone) and paid my spare change into the donation box. Not bad. It was one of those professional grade brewing machines, not the coffee-pot type, heating-plate warmed kind, but the ones that seem to continually brew on demand. I stooped, and used vanilla flavored Coffee Mate, as there was no cream.

Yes, I confess, like the little girl in Airplane! I like my coffee like I like my men... er. Creamed and sweet? That can't be right... I have learned to accept my foibles, and for the most part forgive myself, and indulge. But, I digress. Everything up until now is perfectly normal, we agree?

I drink the coffee, with no top, while driving on the highway. There must be a law against that. In fact, in the traffic school that I just completed, there may have been an entire section on driving while "drinking" and other such negatively influencing habits on the open road. Aha!, I think. I will check my mail, I have time. I will have a productive morning.

I make these mental notes to myself, and I park, let the warm sun invade me, walk happily past my front door the extra 300 feet to the mail. I think to myself: It is only 9:15, I could even do laundry, I think I'll check and see if there are machines open. Then I can work while the laundry runs.

Au contraire... I stop at the mail, and carefully dig through the multiple days' accumulated junk: circulars, flyers, student loan consolidation. DMV... hmmm. No, they shouldn't be writing me. Where is the damn certificate for the traffic school? My heart starts to beat, faster, all thoughts of leisurely laundry are banished, and I pointedly click my heels on the pavement at a somewhat more elevated pace. I pick up the phone, I open the computer, I find the phone number, I dial. A boy answers and I tell him that I have not received a certificate and more than 3 business days have passed. He asks me to hold and stupidly I wait, and I wait. And I wait some more. With each minute I become increasingly irritable, but I decide to hang up and dial again, nothing like re-engaging and causing some noise.

This time a girl answers. She asks me my name and driver's license number. She tells me that their records show that I never took the test. Never took the test? "That's strange," I reply, trying to keep a lid on the boiling pot of hysteria that is brewing beneath me, "because I have the test, the answers and the record of fax transmission that say I did in fact take the test." She asks if I will speak to someone in administration. "Gladly," I reply, tersely. I know it isn't her fault, meanwhile, while holding, I am desperately searching through all the piles of paper in the known universe for the supposed papers that I claim to have.

I knew this would happen, I think. When I called the same night I took the test, and the guy pulled it out and graded it, I knew he would probably stick it somewhere and not finish the process... Thank God I saved those papers, or at least I think I saved them. I remember saving them, thinking it might be important. Where the fuck did those papers go?!!!

The administrator comes on the line. I still have no real papers. I lie stupendously. He tells me they have no record of my taking the test. I repeat that I have papers that prove I did. He tells me to fax them. I ask him who will reimburse me for the cost of the fax and he says no one. I say very politely, or at least what attempts to be polite, as my body twitches and writhes in caffeine induced speed, "I fail to see how I should have to pay for a service for which I have already paid when I followed your instructions to the letter." "Well we can reimburse you for the course, and you can use another school." "Noooo. You see your company is endorsed by the court, which means that you are expected to offer a certain standard of service. I already took the course. I need it to be over, as I already took the test." "You see, we don't have your test." "But that is not my fault, you see." "Ok, hold on a minute."

I return to the cabinet, an aneurism threatens to appear as my temple pulses. My breathing is getting shorter as I border on frustrated fury-induced hyperventilation. Where are those fucking papers?!!! Ah! Here they are... breathe, breathe... I gloat just a little because now I can actually prove that I am right.

"Ok, if you have the original transmission certification, we will reimburse you." "Thank you. And you will notify me by email." "You can call back. We don't email." "That's funny, because it says here on step for of your instructions that your company will email the student." "Where? Oh, uh... it does say that, doesn't it." "Yes, it does." "Well, then we'll email you." "And you will send the certificate immediately." "Yeah we'll drop it in the mail today." "You will rush it. Yes? When will it be here?" "I'll send it priority, it will be there Friday, Saturday morning at the latest." "Good. But you see there is one small problem. I needed the test to be dated before the 10th." "We will back date it to the day of the original transmission." "Ok. Just making sure."

The coffee courses through my veins. I strain against the urge to yell, to tell the guy that he and his entire staff are a lot of inept morons. I refrain. I tremble with rage. I get in my car. Driving angry... wasn't there something about this in the course? This can't be good for anyone. Especially not me. I send the fax again. I come home. Two hours later, there is still no email, but, finally the coffee has worn off, just a little.