Someone at work the other day was talking about how their mom once told them that she could remember at least 10 different people she had been throughout her life. She didn’t mean that she had physically been ten different people with new names, new identities and a different life for each. What she meant was that there had been 10 phases, chapters if you will, that summarized her life.
I didn’t ask for details, partly because my mind had already started to run down a bunny trail of thought about how that line of thought would make a great book. Each chapter details a different chapter of your life. Each one introducing new personality traits, experiences, supporting characters. How many chapters could I fill up I wondered.
Of course you would have to start with baby Kyle. I don’t actually remember this chapter from personal experiences. I have seen many pictures and heard a lot of stories of my childhood. My mind has combined the two to where when I see a picture of myself as a child and I see it play out how I imagine it would have. I see myself climbing to the top of the tallest slide in the park across from the house I lived in out in Odessa, TX, when personally I have no recollection of this. Even though I had just learned to walk, somehow I climbed the tallest slide out there. From that moment on, I climbed everything…The climbing chapter.
I would outline many of the other chapters I can see in my own life, but why post all of my book material on here? :) Maybe I will start writing that book soon…think about it though. How many chapters do you see in your own life? It is a fun thing to really analyze how different you are from each chapter in your life. The new characters you have met, the traits you have picked up, the plot twists and turn of events.
As far as the chapter I am in now? I guess it started almost a year ago when I moved back to Texas…so far this chapter alone would fill up an entire post, so I’ll spare all of the details for now. Each chapter is new and different, and even though there are past chapters with the same plot settings (East Texas) as this one...it has been as different as the chapter(s) about Univ. of Alabama Kyle.
Who knows when the page will turn and start a new one…
Monday, August 25, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Speak clearly into the receiver, "f-r-u-s-t-r-a-t-i-o-n."
It dawned on me the other day that it has been close to 5 years since I’ve been to the doctor. Seemingly healthy, I continue just to live out my daily life as be. While in college, I would visit the medical center from time to time to get an antibiotic when I felt a cold coming on, or to have my knee checked out that one time I thought I messed it up trying to cross the road (don’t judge me…I was trying not to get hit by a car and I planted wrong).
Being the forward-thinking individual I am, I decided to schedule an appointment here in town just to play it safe. I asked a few people whom I should call, and several people mentioned a general practice physician: Dr. Sita Devulapalli. Yes. Fifteen letters. (That’s the literary element known as foreshadowing there kiddos)
Not knowing, and never previously caring, I decided to call my insurance company to inquire if a visit to Dr. Devulapalli’s office would be covered in my plan. I finally locate the 1-800 number on my insurance card and dial away. I would still like to meet the person who thought using 6 point font on a wallet-sized card was a good idea. I’m not even old and it took me a few minutes to make out what the number was.
There’s a lot of debate right now about universal healthcare—some say everyone should have equal access while others disagree and think we should tweak the system in place…all I want is to never have to deal with a machine over the phone again.
The computer generated voice seemed friendly enough to begin with. “Hello,” it greeted me cheerfully. “Welcome to your insurance provider.” Smooth sailing, I thought. “Please listen to the following menu for your options.” Some of the things they included together as options still have me shaking my head in wonder. “If you have an inquiry about the coverage your company provides, or wish to add coverage for sexually transmitted diseases, press one.” Whoa. What if I press one, but the phone cuts out? Will this friendly voice on the other line forever think that I, Kyle, am somewhere out there on pins and needles wondering if my monthly Valtrex prescription will be covered? You may laugh, but you know they track your phone number.
After successfully maneuvering my way through several menus, still under the direction of the friendly voice, I hear the option I needed: “If you would like to search for a specific doctor in your area, press two.” It felt as if I began to round the corner of the track and sprint towards a victory…but then the computer opened its stupid mouth again.
“Do you know the name of the doctor you are looking for?” I was calmly asked. “Yes,” I said clearly into the phone. “Good, please spell the doctor’s last name, letter by letter.” I was scared, but gave it my best shot, “D-e-v-u-l-a-p-a-l-l-i.” The uncomfortable silence worried me. “I’m sorry,” my computer friend said as if I had failed it. “I didn’t get all that. Please spell the last name again, and more clearly.” The one time I call a customer service line and the person on the other end isn’t in India—I’m trying to spell an Indian name. How’s that for irony?
Unwilling to be deterred from my future health and well-being by a computer, I carefully spelled the name again, “D-e-v-u-l-a-p-a-l-l-i.” Surely this time it would understand. Surely, I was wrong. “OK,” the computer said in a flinching tone. “This time, say only the first three letters, and hit the pound key after each letter.” I felt like I had inappropriately been put into the slow class at school. Little did I know, the horror was far from over.
“D,” I forcibly yelled into the receiver as I hit the pound key thinking the cocky computer would feel it. “If you said B, as in boy, press one. If you said T, as in Tom, press two. If you said V, as in vase, press three. If you said E, as in Eagle, press four.” This seriously happened. Surely it was just be taunting me at this point. I mean, I was already over ten minutes into the phone call. I envisioned a man named Will crouched around the computer; he wore horn-rimmed glasses and called out to his buddy across the room, “Hey Carl! We have a yeller!”
The overwhelming urge to give up began to sweep over me, but then I remembered that I’m an American, and if I were to quit, it would mean the terrorists are winning. I used my middle finger to threateningly push the star key signaling that I obviously am not able to properly pronounce the fourth letter of the alphabet I memorized some 19 years ago. “D!” I was screaming at this point. The stupid voice finally recognized that I had said D as in dog. “E!” I screamed even louder. The computer had the nerve to ask me if I was finished saying the first three letters before I even had the chance to hit the pound key. Again, not a joke.
I appreciate technology as much as the next person, but when it begins to cop an attitude with me, I get pissed. For a split second, I actually wished I were talking to a Furby—it was that bad. The blood began to boil inside me. I could feel my heart rate start to increase. I wondered if the computer was trying to make me have an aneurysm and force me to pay the insurance company money.
I could see the computer’s face. Taunting me with its questions, “Please start over again and say the first three letters of the last name of the doctor you wish to search for.” I cannot remember the last time I was this frustrated. I again contemplated just giving up, but like I mentioned, I’m an American. Obviously my silence bothered the bastardly invention as it began to ask me again to say the three letters. “I’m here you idiot!” I nastily quipped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, please repeat the first three letters of the doctor’s…” I cut it off in mid sentence. “F!” the rage came out. “U!” my fist clenched around the phone as I continued to scream at it this time instead of into it. “C!” no machine would get the best of me. “There’s three letters, if you’re so smart, you figure the rest of it out!!” I slammed the phone down. I imagined Will and Carl taken aback by the anger. I wondered if they figured it out. I hoped the computer got a virus. My twenty-minute verbal fiasco was over, and I had failed to properly spell three letters for a computer.
I quickly became ashamed that a computer had frustrated me so much, and quietly began to watch TV again, glad that no one had been around to witness my meltdown. You see, I normally never react to anything like that. I contemplated calling the computer back to apologize; after all, it had been friendly in the beginning. Ultimately, I decided not to though, I shuddered at the thought of having to spell “I-M-S-O-R-R-Y.” How would it know where to put the apostrophe?
I still haven’t scheduled a doctor’s appointment.
Being the forward-thinking individual I am, I decided to schedule an appointment here in town just to play it safe. I asked a few people whom I should call, and several people mentioned a general practice physician: Dr. Sita Devulapalli. Yes. Fifteen letters. (That’s the literary element known as foreshadowing there kiddos)
Not knowing, and never previously caring, I decided to call my insurance company to inquire if a visit to Dr. Devulapalli’s office would be covered in my plan. I finally locate the 1-800 number on my insurance card and dial away. I would still like to meet the person who thought using 6 point font on a wallet-sized card was a good idea. I’m not even old and it took me a few minutes to make out what the number was.
There’s a lot of debate right now about universal healthcare—some say everyone should have equal access while others disagree and think we should tweak the system in place…all I want is to never have to deal with a machine over the phone again.
The computer generated voice seemed friendly enough to begin with. “Hello,” it greeted me cheerfully. “Welcome to your insurance provider.” Smooth sailing, I thought. “Please listen to the following menu for your options.” Some of the things they included together as options still have me shaking my head in wonder. “If you have an inquiry about the coverage your company provides, or wish to add coverage for sexually transmitted diseases, press one.” Whoa. What if I press one, but the phone cuts out? Will this friendly voice on the other line forever think that I, Kyle, am somewhere out there on pins and needles wondering if my monthly Valtrex prescription will be covered? You may laugh, but you know they track your phone number.
After successfully maneuvering my way through several menus, still under the direction of the friendly voice, I hear the option I needed: “If you would like to search for a specific doctor in your area, press two.” It felt as if I began to round the corner of the track and sprint towards a victory…but then the computer opened its stupid mouth again.
“Do you know the name of the doctor you are looking for?” I was calmly asked. “Yes,” I said clearly into the phone. “Good, please spell the doctor’s last name, letter by letter.” I was scared, but gave it my best shot, “D-e-v-u-l-a-p-a-l-l-i.” The uncomfortable silence worried me. “I’m sorry,” my computer friend said as if I had failed it. “I didn’t get all that. Please spell the last name again, and more clearly.” The one time I call a customer service line and the person on the other end isn’t in India—I’m trying to spell an Indian name. How’s that for irony?
Unwilling to be deterred from my future health and well-being by a computer, I carefully spelled the name again, “D-e-v-u-l-a-p-a-l-l-i.” Surely this time it would understand. Surely, I was wrong. “OK,” the computer said in a flinching tone. “This time, say only the first three letters, and hit the pound key after each letter.” I felt like I had inappropriately been put into the slow class at school. Little did I know, the horror was far from over.
“D,” I forcibly yelled into the receiver as I hit the pound key thinking the cocky computer would feel it. “If you said B, as in boy, press one. If you said T, as in Tom, press two. If you said V, as in vase, press three. If you said E, as in Eagle, press four.” This seriously happened. Surely it was just be taunting me at this point. I mean, I was already over ten minutes into the phone call. I envisioned a man named Will crouched around the computer; he wore horn-rimmed glasses and called out to his buddy across the room, “Hey Carl! We have a yeller!”
The overwhelming urge to give up began to sweep over me, but then I remembered that I’m an American, and if I were to quit, it would mean the terrorists are winning. I used my middle finger to threateningly push the star key signaling that I obviously am not able to properly pronounce the fourth letter of the alphabet I memorized some 19 years ago. “D!” I was screaming at this point. The stupid voice finally recognized that I had said D as in dog. “E!” I screamed even louder. The computer had the nerve to ask me if I was finished saying the first three letters before I even had the chance to hit the pound key. Again, not a joke.
I appreciate technology as much as the next person, but when it begins to cop an attitude with me, I get pissed. For a split second, I actually wished I were talking to a Furby—it was that bad. The blood began to boil inside me. I could feel my heart rate start to increase. I wondered if the computer was trying to make me have an aneurysm and force me to pay the insurance company money.
I could see the computer’s face. Taunting me with its questions, “Please start over again and say the first three letters of the last name of the doctor you wish to search for.” I cannot remember the last time I was this frustrated. I again contemplated just giving up, but like I mentioned, I’m an American. Obviously my silence bothered the bastardly invention as it began to ask me again to say the three letters. “I’m here you idiot!” I nastily quipped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, please repeat the first three letters of the doctor’s…” I cut it off in mid sentence. “F!” the rage came out. “U!” my fist clenched around the phone as I continued to scream at it this time instead of into it. “C!” no machine would get the best of me. “There’s three letters, if you’re so smart, you figure the rest of it out!!” I slammed the phone down. I imagined Will and Carl taken aback by the anger. I wondered if they figured it out. I hoped the computer got a virus. My twenty-minute verbal fiasco was over, and I had failed to properly spell three letters for a computer.
I quickly became ashamed that a computer had frustrated me so much, and quietly began to watch TV again, glad that no one had been around to witness my meltdown. You see, I normally never react to anything like that. I contemplated calling the computer back to apologize; after all, it had been friendly in the beginning. Ultimately, I decided not to though, I shuddered at the thought of having to spell “I-M-S-O-R-R-Y.” How would it know where to put the apostrophe?
I still haven’t scheduled a doctor’s appointment.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
The Light at the End of the Tunnel is a...
One of my favorite professors @ Bama once told a story during class about how he almost died on the operating table. “I started to drift away,” he said. “I began to follow the light I saw at the end of the tunnel.” Ahh, the proverbial light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel story...just like a Hallmark channel original movie, only in my PR class.
“I walked closer and closer to the light, and then I saw what it was.” Anticipation was everywhere. The sorority girl who had been previously texting and loudly chewing her gum now had her head slightly tilted with lips parted—giving the piece of blue wintermint a much needed rest. The old lady in class (you know who I’m talking about, the one in every class) had furiously transcribed every word of the story to this point and now had her pen firmly pressed into the sheet of college ruled, eager to jot down the wisdom that would surely come. The football player, well, hadn’t come to class yet…
“The light at the end of the tunnel is…” magical, I thought. Nope. “A disco ball.” Say what? “The light at the end of the tunnel is a disco ball.” At this revelation, the half-open mouth closed around the blue wintermint, ending what few moments of solitude the gum had. The old lady in class continued to furiously note every word, nodding in agreement as if she had stood right next to the professor and saw the semi-afterlife disco ball as well. The football player…still wasn’t in class. And me? I smiled.
In some ways, my professor’s near-death experience can be applied to my blog. It slowly begins to die and starts inching closer to the light at the end of the tunnel, which we now know is a disco ball, then it comes back to life. I’ve had several people tell me I need to update my blog…I just haven’t gotten around to it. Maybe it has to do with the fact I write stuff all day at work and just don’t feel like it afterwards, or it could just mean that I need to update it while I’m at work…shh. So everyone marvel at the new banner I made for the top of my page…”Ohh, ahh.” That’s right.
And if you can read, you can see it’s been nine months between the two updates here on the ESOTKM. There are plenty of things, trips, excursions, etc. to fill a couple more posts (I even got a job). I promise to update more regularly. And if not, you can join my blog in a few months as it starts that long walk to the end of the tunnel. Be sure to bring your platform shoes though, this here blog likes to dance to ABBA!
“I walked closer and closer to the light, and then I saw what it was.” Anticipation was everywhere. The sorority girl who had been previously texting and loudly chewing her gum now had her head slightly tilted with lips parted—giving the piece of blue wintermint a much needed rest. The old lady in class (you know who I’m talking about, the one in every class) had furiously transcribed every word of the story to this point and now had her pen firmly pressed into the sheet of college ruled, eager to jot down the wisdom that would surely come. The football player, well, hadn’t come to class yet…
“The light at the end of the tunnel is…” magical, I thought. Nope. “A disco ball.” Say what? “The light at the end of the tunnel is a disco ball.” At this revelation, the half-open mouth closed around the blue wintermint, ending what few moments of solitude the gum had. The old lady in class continued to furiously note every word, nodding in agreement as if she had stood right next to the professor and saw the semi-afterlife disco ball as well. The football player…still wasn’t in class. And me? I smiled.
In some ways, my professor’s near-death experience can be applied to my blog. It slowly begins to die and starts inching closer to the light at the end of the tunnel, which we now know is a disco ball, then it comes back to life. I’ve had several people tell me I need to update my blog…I just haven’t gotten around to it. Maybe it has to do with the fact I write stuff all day at work and just don’t feel like it afterwards, or it could just mean that I need to update it while I’m at work…shh. So everyone marvel at the new banner I made for the top of my page…”Ohh, ahh.” That’s right.
And if you can read, you can see it’s been nine months between the two updates here on the ESOTKM. There are plenty of things, trips, excursions, etc. to fill a couple more posts (I even got a job). I promise to update more regularly. And if not, you can join my blog in a few months as it starts that long walk to the end of the tunnel. Be sure to bring your platform shoes though, this here blog likes to dance to ABBA!
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
A new blog era...
So...I decided to start a new blog. I used to have a xanga, technically I still do, but I felt like starting over and this felt a lot more, ahem, grown up? I never really know what to post on these things, mainly because I can't understand why anyone would want to read about my life. I enjoy reading other people's blogs, don't get me wrong, but my own?
Anyways, the main thing going on in my life right now is that I am looking for a job. I have had more people, random people even, ask me if I have a job in the past few months than ever before. I cannot for the life of me explain this phenomenon. I guess it is just an automatic repsonse to me saying that I graduated from college. "Oh, really? Do you have a job yet?" Never do I hear congratulations on actually finishing college in four years. No words of wisdom or funny anecdotes recounting their time after college, or high school, or whatever. Just that question. "Do you have a job?" My favorite part however, is their response when I say, "Nope, not yet. I am still looking."
At that moment, it is like a new person is standing in front of me. Any form of a smile diappears. A blank look of disgust and semi-horror takes over. For some of them, their faces begin to twitch, as if to show that they are trying to smile but simply can't. I can only imagine what is running through their minds. It's as if they are trying to think of the perfect motivational saying to scream at me. "LIKE THE CAT BARELY HOLDING ON TO THE BRANCH ON THAT POSTER SAYS: HANG IN THERE!!" Somebody shoot me please. I know you know what poster I'm talking about too. We've all seen it, and everyone wants to say something to that effect when finding out that I (and everyone else currently job searching) are still unemployed. ON behalf of everyone, Thanks. Thank you so very much.
I have half the mind to gather all my currently unemployed friends who recently graduated and start printing t-shirts with all the sayings we've heard. I can see it now: The t-shirts are always pink or light blue, I don’t know why, but they are. Maybe every once in a while we will print some off that are yellow, but we don't want to get too far ahead of ourselves now do we? They will probably have a butterfly or some other majestic, winged creature (by creature I mean insect or small bird, in rare cases an eagle. Go America!) on them. They will be worn by many and inspire few, but by gosh I will have a job. A smile on every face and a 5 dollar t-shirt covering every torso.
Until next time, hang in there.
Kyle
Anyways, the main thing going on in my life right now is that I am looking for a job. I have had more people, random people even, ask me if I have a job in the past few months than ever before. I cannot for the life of me explain this phenomenon. I guess it is just an automatic repsonse to me saying that I graduated from college. "Oh, really? Do you have a job yet?" Never do I hear congratulations on actually finishing college in four years. No words of wisdom or funny anecdotes recounting their time after college, or high school, or whatever. Just that question. "Do you have a job?" My favorite part however, is their response when I say, "Nope, not yet. I am still looking."
At that moment, it is like a new person is standing in front of me. Any form of a smile diappears. A blank look of disgust and semi-horror takes over. For some of them, their faces begin to twitch, as if to show that they are trying to smile but simply can't. I can only imagine what is running through their minds. It's as if they are trying to think of the perfect motivational saying to scream at me. "LIKE THE CAT BARELY HOLDING ON TO THE BRANCH ON THAT POSTER SAYS: HANG IN THERE!!" Somebody shoot me please. I know you know what poster I'm talking about too. We've all seen it, and everyone wants to say something to that effect when finding out that I (and everyone else currently job searching) are still unemployed. ON behalf of everyone, Thanks. Thank you so very much.
I have half the mind to gather all my currently unemployed friends who recently graduated and start printing t-shirts with all the sayings we've heard. I can see it now: The t-shirts are always pink or light blue, I don’t know why, but they are. Maybe every once in a while we will print some off that are yellow, but we don't want to get too far ahead of ourselves now do we? They will probably have a butterfly or some other majestic, winged creature (by creature I mean insect or small bird, in rare cases an eagle. Go America!) on them. They will be worn by many and inspire few, but by gosh I will have a job. A smile on every face and a 5 dollar t-shirt covering every torso.
Until next time, hang in there.
Kyle
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