This rule has never applied to me. Well, I’m not going to say never, but I am queen of having a stomach similar to a garbage disposal. Like right now for instance, I’m drinking a beer… it’s not even 5 o’clock. Oh, and I had wine with lunch. Sancerre to be exact. I met up with Suz at Pink Pony, a cute little french place in the LES, after I took the GRE this morning. The test wasn’t terrible, but it definitely wasn’t great (which can almost be said about the restaurant as well). And all the people that work there seem to hate their jobs (the testing center). I understand that working at a test center would seem menial, but you could be working at a DMV, which would be a whole lot worse. Though, if you’re one step above being a tranny that works the photo station at a DMV, then I would probably want to kill myself too (I actually knew one, or encountered one, at the DMV in California where I got my first permit).
Apparently I was breaking a bunch of rules at this test center by just being fully clothed. I had to take off my jacket (which is a little boys army jacket with ripped pockets), my scarf ( a gauzy piece of fabric, barely even a scarf) and my watch (because it’s digital. If only they knew that I paid $10 for it and it works of its own volition, and definitely doesn’t have a calculator); and they joked that I could keep my shoes. Such great humor, those test monitors… plus there are signs everywhere saying “Do not drink here”, “No food past this point”, “This area is not deemed for eating or drinking”…. Yeah, we got it. The test area lobby is small enough for me to flop around on the floor a couple times before I actually hit anything, I’m sure we got the memo about the whole eating/drinking thing. I was so annoyed by the whole, restrictive attitude of the place that I am almost tempted to go back for another test in a winter parka, balaclava, combat boots and G-shock watches up to my elbows.. oh wait, then I’d actually look like a terrorist. So scratch that idea.
Oh and also, as soon as my test ended (I actually hit “END TEST”), one of the monitors came around and spied that my flimsy, little elastic hair band that was sitting innocently next to my scratch paper was not hugging my wrist, to which he whispered “Um…. yeah… can you put that back on your wrist please?”
To which I politely barked “WHAT?!”
Again he whispered, while motioning like a pedophile “that… yeah. can you put it back on? Thanks.”
I’m not even going to go into analyzing the ridiculousness of that last encounter.
I don’t mean to sound negative, I’m actually in a great mood. The flashback to the test center just got me all riled up. Tonight Susie and I are watching the debates in my old neighborhood of Fort Greene… we’ll definitely post up about it later!
Two Girls With Great Taste 