Sunday, November 14, 2010

It's Happening Again

Bad things are happening with my mind.

We all know that this is normal--law school tends to do this to me as the semesters progress (flashback to infamous incidents such as putting soap and laundry in the washer and never starting it as a 1L, undressing in a study room thinking I was at home as a 1L, losing my shoes at school on multiple occasions without ever remembering taking them off, etc.).

Two weeks ago I got a call that my car was fixed since the big traumatic accident. I had been driving a rental car for about 10 days (and I still don't know what kind of car it was, much to the disappointed shock of one friend of mine who could identify model, make, year, and interior accessories by glancing at any one square inch of any vehicle from 100 yards away). Corey came with me to drop off the rental and then hitch a ride with those people to the auto body shop. Simple project. Unfortunately it didn't all go as well as one might hope.

I told the car rental people where my car was located and some guy gave us a ride to that place. We went in and the following conversation took place with the girl working at the front desk:

Girl: Hi, can I help you?
Eli: Yes, I'm here to pick up my car.
Girl: Ok, last name?
Eli: McCann, two c's, two n's.
Girl: [type, type, type] alright and you have the Honda Civic?
Eli: Yup!
[silence for a moment while she pulls up my records]
Corey: Um . . . no you don't.
Eli: No I don't what?
Corey: You don't drive a Honda Civic. You drive a Nissan.
Eli: Um . . . oh yeah. I don't drive a Honda.
Girl: Um . . . I don't have a Nissan here.

One phone call later I discovered that my car was at a completely different place on the other end of town; a place with a name that was in NO WAY similar to the name of this auto body shop that I had originally instructed the rental guy to take us to. I thought for a moment about a way to explain to the rental guy that my vehicle had been moved, but he looked more intelligent than an animal so I gave up on that plan.

Eventually we made it and I retrieved my vehicle, only to discover the next day that there were a couple of things wrong with it that weren't wrong before. So I drove back to the auto body shop (the correct one this time) and explained my two very disconcerting problems to the owner.

The result:

1. The light failing to turn on automatically is not actually a tragic "electrical problem" (as I had termed when I walked in) but simply a failure to flip the switch from "off" to "on" on the light itself.

2. The automatic locks making a slightly louder sound than usual is not indication that my car is about to blow up, but indication that new power locks were placed in the door and simply have a little more power than the old ones.

I nodded and gave them a knowing "just as I suspected" look as I quickly backed out of the door, only to avoid driving anywhere near that end of town for the rest of my life (or until I undergo enough plastic surgery to be unrecognizable by anyone).

Then this week happened, where, other than making from scratch mac and cheese for 400 people for 5 hours on Wednesday night where I was the only one of the 6 of us who seemed to think we needed to be in a hurry and got really bossy after a while, barking out orders while my arm was stuck in a tall bucket, stirring 70 pounds of noodles and hot cheese sauce (another story for another day), I had the most miserable experience of my life trying to get my fingerprinting done and mailed off for the Utah bar application on Friday.

Before actually taking the fingerprints, a nice police officer with a moustache typed in my personal information into a computer. Unfortunately, this happened:

Cop: Address?
Eli: Um . . . [gives an address that is a mix of the last 3 places I've lived]
Cop: Social Security number?
Eli: [first gives his BYU ID number and then has to stand silently for 15 seconds while the pressure mounts to remember the social]
Cop: What year were you born?
Eli: 2004 (said confidently and without hesitation).
Cop: Um . . . ?
Eli: Oh! Sorry! I mean 1998.
Cop: Um . . . 1998?
Eli: Yeah. I don't know why I said 2004.
Cop: So, you're 12 years old?
Eli: ?
Cop: 1998? That would make you 12.
Eli: Oh, I mean 1984.
Cop: Are you sure about that.
Eli: Well I'm 25 now.
Cop: Ok.
Eli: No! I'm 26! But 1984 is correct.

I then spent the rest of the day wondering why 2004 and 1998 were so significant in my mind that I would declare each as my year of birth. And I'll tell you right now, NOTHING significant happened in either of those years for me. In fact, they are probably the two least significant years of my life in terms of mile-stones or other life-changing events.

Do they make medication for this kind of stuff?

~It Just Gets Stranger


  1. Oh boy... sounds like you need a weekend off and a massage or something. seriously.

  2. Wow. way to be proactive on your bar application. you may want to learn your birthday by then, though.

  3. The cure is sleep, no homework, cases, comptetitions, etc. I think you already take the medication though. :)
    Or Borsch....I think that cures all!

  4. You made me feel better. Lately I keep saying that nursing school is making me dumber because I feel like I'm losing my mind. I kind of have this theory that my brain can just only hold so much, so all the new things I keep learning keep pushing out all the common sense stuff. I hope it gets better!

  5. It all sounds like something I would do! Hang in there. It doesn't really get better with time, but a weekend off and a massage would probably help!

  6. I had a very similar experience with my car...mine was after getting an oil change. I called and chewed out Jiffy Lube because my car was making a dinging sound after I parked and took my keys out of the ignition. They explained that that meant the lights were left on to which I replied..."no, that's not true. there is no way that could possibly be right. The lights in my car turn on and off automatically." Come to find out...after an embarassing drive back to Jiffy Lube to have them fix THEIR problem...the lights were on.

    I have not been back to that Jiffy Lube since.

  7. Remember when my car broke down in front of West Jordan High School? Dad and I had it towed to American Fork because that is where we bought the car. Turns out, it was out of gas! In our defense, the gas gage was not working in my opinion. :)

    1998: The year I graduated high school.
    2004: The year Kamree was born.
    That's why those years stick out to you.

  8. hahahaha. that's all i have to say. that and that i'm sorry tragic things happen to you but they make such great stories!

  9. Please, please, please......cut back on the Ambien. Dad

  10. (sahhry if its a wee bit creepy) I know someone you now (Scott Hodson, apparently you were one of his favorite missionary companions... he was kind enough to send me and a few of our mutual friends a link to your page[im pretty sure in hopes to get this one girl to shut her trap and be amused by your good lucks] well in the in the process i noticed your blog.. and i must say you had me giggling manically all night. (its 1:17ish in the morning... (but also take into consideration its raining in san diego.. so ill never get to sleep) ANYWHO.. But you are amusing, and sorry if anyone else form San Diego decides to harass you. Oh and sahhry to hear about your car. car accidents are no bueno. :)

  11. Hi Eli! Bet I'm the last person you'd expect to be reading, much less POST on your blog :). I think I found your blog on Kalli's... Anyway, I think you stole these ideas from my mental files labeled "This is why blonde jokes exist". Case in point: when I was a junior in HS, at a stake dance, the guy I was dancing w/ asked what year I was. I told him I was a senior. Then, wondering to myself why I would blurt out a blatant lie, sheepishly corrected myself and told him I was a sophomore... It became increasingly difficult to figure out how to get the truth across. Someone also recently reminded me of how I used to answer the phone with, "Dear Heavenly Fa... Hello?"

  12. P.S. My baby is sleeping and I generally tip-toe around the house, don't answer the phone, and breath as quietly as possible when he's napping. But this post made me laugh out loud.

  13. So, I totally feel like a bit of creeper for posting a comment to something written oh two years ago, BUT I found you recently on Pinterest with the Snuggie Texts, and had to pour over other entries containing your hilarious recounting of entertaining and/or tramautic events.

    I came upon this gem with it's story radiating of what happens when you try to cram too much knowledge into a sleep deprived brain. I happened to read your exchange with the police officer with the same voice of John Cleese in Fawlty Towers' German Episode. You see, (if you are not familiar with the series) John Cleese plays a hotel owner (Basil Fawlty) who has such a caustic and mildly sardonic attitude towards the many people coming through the hotel either as guests, vendors, or his workers. On the episode about the Germans has Basil's Wife, Sybil in the hospital for a minor surgery. Basil is tending to the hotel by himself and his wife doesn't think he's capable of handling things. Which, of course, he isn't. During an accident regarding a moose head, Basil ends up in the hospital with a concussion. He escapes from the hospital, and goes back to work, now interacting with a group of Germans who have booked the hotel. His head injury causes him to keep mentioning WWII accidentally to which he quickly responds with a "Sorry! Sorry!" That is the voice that I heard when reading this account.