Rainy days and Mondays always get me down...

Sorry for entering this a few days late... But. On Monday the 2nd I had the opportunity to interview Professor Thomas Barton of the California Western School of Law. This man has made a career of exploring alternative dispute resolutions and what skills attorneys need to adopt in order to meet the changing climate of the legal system. I was looking forward to this.

The night before I poured over Professor Barton's publications trying to get an idea exactly where the man stood on various topics. I thoughtfully scribed my interview questions, researching them so I wouldn't sounds like some novice on the subject. A touch of the OCD kicked in (my apologies to those who really DO have obsessive compulsive disorder - I do not, and am using the very real and ofttimes very debilitating disease in a flippant and facetious manner. One day people en masse will take offense to this, but today is not that day) and I worked much later into the evening than I intended. I wish I could say how much later because the next thing I know I'm snapping awake, the hot laptop still on my now red skinned lap and what appears to be 45 pages or so of "w's". It is 9:45am, my interview with Professor Barton is in 15 minutes and my bus to go downtown left 15 minutes ago!

Crisis situation yes, but not one I haven't dealt with before. Anyone reading this who is maybe just starting out in the workforce might want to take notes - they will come in handy.

1. Notify the professor of your tardiness but be vague, no need to lay out all your cards or have to contradict yourself later. In this case, unfortunately, my only contact for him was an email address "Dear so and so, my apologies for the lack of sufficient notice but I'm running a bit behind, I shouldn't be more than 15 minutes tardy. Nathan"

2. Cleansing. Facial wipe on oily areas, mouthwash (sorry, no time to brush), deodorant and a spritz of cologne (nothing too musky, it is 9am) I, fortunately, shave my head so no bed head for me to worry about.

3. Get your Uber and you're on your way!

See, easy as pie, not a problem, all systems go. Except that you cancelled your card on Saturday when it got lost and you're waiting for your replacement and it was linked to your Uber account and now no Uber. For those of you that drive this would be a time where you would make up a little ground for having to deal with your bed head.

3.1 Send a mass text to EVERYONE asking in a succinct and refined manner, politely request their assistance, and an appreciation for their help. Mine went a little something like this:

“OMFG!!! 911!!! If any of you have ever given 2 shits about me or have experienced carnal pleasure from me here's the chance to show your appreciation! Please, dear God! I am in DESPARATE need of an Uber NOW from 4660 Alabama St. to 330 Cedar St., I will explain later, I will pay you back and you will get every fucking thing I own when I die I swear to Christ.”

Tasteful. (BTW, text messages like that would never hold up in court as a legally binding contract and who cares anyway, you're dead!)

4. Hopefully you’re not so hated as to NO ONE responds to your text. My friend John (and as it turns out, my beneficiary, since it would seem that text messages can constitute a binding contract - who knew?) responded to the call to arms and sent me an Uber. So now all you have to do is get in your Uber and you're on your way!

By now we’re looking at 9:59 am. It is a 12 minute drive downtown, looking pretty good! I’m waiting. On Alabama St. For Gary. In his Prius. Should’ve been only a 2 minute wait…

So this is my place looking from Alabama St. where Gary should be pulling up. Highlighted in yellow is the gate to which you could go all the way back to the alley.(Indicated by the red arrow) I’m waiting and I happen to look through the gate to the alley and what do I find? Gary. In his Prius. Waving at me. Fine. I rush to the alley, hop in the back and have the following dialogue with Gary.

Me: “Hi! Sorry I was out front on Alabama waiting. I’m not quite sure what you’re doing in the alley.”

Gary: “Yeah, the GPS had me pick you up here.”

Me: “Oh? What was the address that was given?”

Gary: “4660 Alabama”

Me: “So why wouldn’t you go to Alabama St.?”

Gary: “Because the GPS directed me to the alley”

Me: “And if the GPS directed you to drive off a fucking cliff, would you?”

Ok, I didn’t really say the last part but I’m pretty sure Gary could hear me projecting that thought into his mind.

It’s 10:15 when we pull up to California Western School of Law. I’m to meet Professor Barton in room 304. I run up the stairs, two at a time, to the third floor. And, as I’m looking for room 304….I notice there is no room 304. Fan-fucking-tastic. I recheck the confirmation email, it says room 304. I go down to the 2nd floor where I saw a woman named Donna. Her name was known to me because she operated the little coffee kiosk on the floor which was named….Donna’s Coffee. I figured she could help me. “Professor Barton, Room 304?” was the gist of my query. “Oh, you’re looking for the faculty offices, they’re in the other building, 225 Cedar Street”

Of course they fucking are.

So this is California Western School of Law’s administration building. Highlighted in yellow. The main entrance (red outline) leads into the courtyard (red arrow) where there are several different structures. I enter the most pleasant looking of these structures where I find a reception desk (no receptionist) but with a “help yourself” telephone and directory. The directory is laid out in quasi-alphabetic order and upon finding Professor Barton’s name and the fact that his office is, in fact, in room 304, I dial the extension. Hm, nothing. Well, maybe I have to put in the prefix as well. Hm, nothing again. As much fun as I’m having playing with this antiquity, I’m just going to find the elevator take it to the 3rd floor and be done with this. Now where’s the elevator? Where are the stairs?? "You have GOT to be shitting me!”

I turn a corner and find a blonde lady behind another reception desk. Hurrah! I’ve always had luck with blondes. I don’t know why, maybe cuz my mom’s blonde. Here is our interaction:

Me: “Hi there. I’m sorry, I’m a little turned around. Could you tell me where the elevator is?”

Blondie: ”Who is it you’re looking for?”

Me: “Thomas Barton in 304.”

Blondie: ”Hmmm, I think you may have the wrong building…”

Me: “But, um…”

Blondie:”…I’m new here, though, so let me just go check.”

And before I can say anymore she’s disappeared around the corner to presumably check with her coworker. About a minute passes and she reappears.

Blondie: ”Actually you were right. Professor Barton is in room 304 in this building.”

Silence.

Me: “Could you tell me how to get up there?”

Blondie: ”Oh yes, I’m sorry just go back the way you came to the left and go to the right.”

I followed her instructions to the left but it was leading me out into the courtyard. Confused I went back to the receptionist desk to ask Blondie to clarify just to find no one there! It couldn’t have been 15 seconds. “Hello? Hello?” Waited. No answer. WTF!? I felt like I had been speaking to the ghost of some temp that worked there once who was murdered on her first day and March 2nd 2020 just happened to be the 10th anniversary of her death.

Frustrated, and having some insight to what might have driven some seemingly normal human being to commit the act of murder upon a receptionist a decade ago, I re-followed the directions given outside into the courtyard. I found someone walking with purpose and pleaded with him to direct me to room 304. He gladly obliged and led me to the elevator, located outside in the courtyard. Of course, Southern California, where the elevators are located outdoors. The spectre of the strangled receptionist had been right all along. May her spirit find the elusive eternal rest it has so dearly longed for.

From there, 304 was no sweat. I rapidly came upon the door which had a post-it that read: