I’ve been working a temp job where I clock in at 4:30 am. So I’m a bit slap-happy!
And people, a round of applause for Mr. Vulcan who drives me to the job at that god-forsaken hour. I laughingly told him the other day that I’m going to stop calling him Mr. Vulcan here on the blog, and start calling him My Limo Driver.
Needless to say, he wasn’t amused.
I’ve done a lot of interpreting work, particularly in Mexico. And while this temp job doesn’t involve interpreting, it does involve listening, headsets and timing, which reminds me of my previous interpreting gigs. And this morning, I remembered a story from one session:
I was visiting with a friend in the morning, and then was going to my interpreting job later that afternoon. My friend liked to take walks, so she suggested that we go for a boogie by her house.
I was wearing a long sleeve pink fleece pull-on jersey that my former sister-in-law gifted me one Christmas, way back in the day. It wasn’t always cool enough to wear it as much as I liked, due to the heat in our area of Mexico. So any time I had a chance, I wore it layered over another top, because it made me happy.
My friend and I took some big hills and walked for a long period of time. It became an unintended hard-core work out. I took off the pullover, tied it around my waist and did my best to keep up with my fit friend.
When I got to my interpreting gig, I had cooled off. The sun was lower in the sky. My favsie fleece went back on.
I’ve found that when an interpreting gig goes well, it’s a wonderfully meditative experience. Everything else is blocked out. A rare and welcome moment of stillness from my mental chatter.
While I was interpreting, I felt something hanging off the bottom of my pullover. It felt like…a tail.
I was in the zone. Without missing a beat, I reached my left hand back to pull on it. The tail came away easily.
Mind you, I’m still interpreting at this point.
I bring my hand forward, and see that I’m holding one of my husband’s brown dress socks. It was an old one, that had definitely seen better days. It was lumpy and fuzzy in all the wrong places.
After staring at it for a good ten seconds, with my hand extended, (still interpreting) I pushed the sock in my front pants pocket and continued on.
My husband and I had some clothes that we got back from the laundry that morning. That old sock must have latched on to my pink fleece for dear static cling life while it went for spin in the dryer.
It hung on through the walk workout, two log bus rides and me taking the pullover off and putting it back on. Resilient little bugger.
And no one, not the speaker that I was interpreting for, the person who had hired me, or the travel seminar participants, said a word to me afterwards about the sock situation.
I mean, they had to have seen it.
Maybe they thought it was my special sock puppet that I use while interpreting.
So kids, when life gets you down, and you’re feeling lumpy and fuzzy in all the wrong places – be the resilient little sock and hang on.