A comedy of errors, without the comedy - and then, to conclude, a comedy

For almost a week, one thing after another blew up in my face. From trying -and failing- to get Aiden's social security number ( we finally did get it, but after much tribulation), to "losing" my cell phone ( I'm 99.9% sure I put it on the roof of my car and drove off, so it is most likely smashed to smithereens) and then waiting TWO HOURS to be seen at the doctor's office on Monday morning just to get my blood drawn, and never actually getting to see the doctor b/c there was a misunderstanding between receptionists and they thought I wasn't there. It's a long and tangled tale that I will not attempt to fully explain... It makes me mad all over again, just thinking about it. I ended up in tears b/c I called home and heard Aiden crying to be fed in the background and I hadn't left anything for him to eat b/c I thought I would be back in plenty of time.

There was more drama in between the lines of all these incidents, but I will not burden you with excess grousing. In short, it seemed that I was the anti-Midas: everything I touched turned to ashes. I really felt like there was some sort of curse on me. (At one point, I complained to Grandpa that EVERYTHING was going wrong. He replied philosophically and with characteristic calm, that surely there must be SOMETHING, SOMEWHERE that wasn't going wrong. ) At the absolute nadir of this string of catastrophes, my father assured me that it would all make a great blog post someday. What faith! Who am I to naysay him... but it doesn't seem that I can even try to be funny about it, even now, days later, when my luck has apparently turned for the better. Sorry, Daddy; I tried to make it into an interesting post, but I have failed at that too. So to salvage this dreary entry, I will switch gears abruptly and tell a story.

This is a story of a certain sheriff's deputy, who works at a jail in Anytown, USA. This deputy was working in the tower security post one evening- I think that's what it's called- where he was alone - if I am remembering this right. He had access to all the intercoms/loudspeakers which go into the cell-blocks and feeling mischievious ( and probably a little bored), he decided to mess with the inmates. He had figured out how to broadcast himself without sending the initial beep that would let inmates know that an announcement was coming... and so he quietly meowed into the intercom. Several times. Finally, one of the inmates responded, telling the deputy that he was hearing a cat. ( I wonder how much courage it took to make such a strange claim. Some people claim to hear voices... How crazy must you feel if you think you are hearing a CAT... inside a JAIL....) The deputy feigned ignorance, telling the inmate that it must be another inmate who had somehow gotten illegal access to the intercom and was trying to send a secret message to his compatriots...

This true story, relayed to me by a reliable source, made me laugh uproariously. So all's well that ends well. As long as there are such people in the world as this meowing deputy to cheer me upon my troublesome way, I guess I can wade through the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.