Yesterday, I had a scheduled doctors appointment. (Lately, I have a lot of those.) The one yesterday, was scheduled for me by DTA (depratment of transitional assistance. These nice goverment people give me 300 dollars a month. They also prefer to think of me as crazy. I prefer to think of them being crazy.) Either way, I was ready for this very important appointment.I mean I dressed up.
All the fashionistas out there will appreciate my outfit. Black Cache dress, silk. Circa 1960's "Twiggy". Shoes, hot pink, pointy toe, BCBG. The "bug-eye" Audrey Hepburn sunglasses. Multi colored, Coach Tote bag.
(Now you must be wandering how could someone living off of 300 dollars, afford such clothe. My response to those curious minds is "Goodwill".)
Like I said. I was ready for the battle of crazies. I left home with plenty of time to spare. I took the bus to harvard sq. Got a coffee and went to wait for the Mass. Ave bus going into Boston. ('cause you see, I was convinced I was going to Boston Medical. Where else could these nice government people send me?)
The bus was late. I waited for some 20 plus minutes. Finally it came. I still had plenty of time for my very important appointment. I wasn't even gonna be late. The bus reached Hynes Convention Center. I began to re-read the official DEAS paper. That's when I noticed the address. The address read 1280 Mass. Ave, CAMBRIDGE! I had left Cambridge on route to BOSTON! MotherFUCKER!!! (pardon my french.)
I jumpt of the bus at Hynes. Ran across the street. And jumpt on the bus going back to Harvard Sq. I went up to the bus driver:
Me: "Pardon me, you wouldn't by chance know where 1280 Mass. Ave is"
Bus Driver: " No I never know the numbers. What are you looking for?"
Me: "I am not quite sure to tell you the truth. I received this letter" I show her. "from DTA. I presume I am in search of this Doctor."
Bus Driver: "Do you have any other information?"
Me: "No, I don't"
Bus Driver: "Girl do you even know what you are getting yourself into?"
Me: "To be perfectly honest, I don't. I am just going by what is said on this letter. I think I will be fine. I received this from DTA."
Bus Driver: "Alright, I will look at the numbers. Try to get you there as fast as I can."
Me: "Thank you, thank you so much"
Girl standing next to me on the bus: "I looked up the address. It says its right in Harvard Sq." shows me the map.
Me: let out a chuckle "Of course it is" (this is the story of my life.)
The bus itself, was overcrowded. All the passengers were packed in, one on top of the other. Like a can of sardines. As for me, I didn't mind that at all. For the first time in my life. Instead of a hastily surrender on my part. I asked for help. And boy oh boy help I got. It wasn't just the bus driver that made sure I got to 1280 Mass. Ave. in one piece. It was a joint effort of all the sardines. After all, we were all packed together, in the same can.
As it turns There was never a need for me to leave Harvard Sq. Nor was there a need for me to wait for the bus going to Boston. Apparently all I had to do was look across the st. and boom right there, 1280 Mass. Ave. The very important doctor meeting. (yes, I am good like that.) Long story short, I was 40 minutes late. When I entered 1280 Mass Ave. I went to the second floor.I entered "the docotors" office. Which was no office at all. Well atleast not like any doctor's office I've ever been to.
There was no secretary desk. There was no standard idea of an "office". There was a huge living room, decorated with middle eastern and tibetan decor. Soft plush couches. Aroma of scented candles, lingering around in the midst of all my confusion. I was the only one there.
A man in his 50s entered. I asked if he worked there and if he knew of one Linda Mansalala. I showed him my paper. He said "yes, she works here. Yes, you are in the right place." Than he offered to see if he could find her unlisted phone number. ( For all those wandering minds, of why I never called Linda Mansalala. I couldn't. I never had her number to begin with.)Apparrently, I wasn't the only one. The nice doctor did not have her number either. .
Than another doctor appeared. I approached her, hoping maybe she was Linda. I showed her my paper, she said "Yes, I know Linda Mansalala. She works here. Let me check if I have her number." she went into a room. Came out "No, I don't have her number. Not sure who would".
Now, I became intrigued. Who is this Linda Mansalala, with this very private phone number. That no one has.
The man appeared again, he offered I write her a note and he will pass it along. He gave me paper. I had a pen. I wrote my note. (wish I saved a copy! I tried my best not to sound kuku. The note defenitly sounded kuku).
I never found Linda Mansalala. But, as soon as I got home I called the very nice goverenment people that give me my 300 dollars a month. Told them my story of why I was late and never met with Linda Mansalala.I asked them for Linda Mansalala's phone number, I was told I had no need for it. (my intrigue with one Linda Mansalala, has grown even more so.)
As for missing me missing this very important meeting. The nice operator lady said: " Its ok, Everyone gets lost. Mass Ave is a very long street. You will get a letter in the mail in the next seven days. The letter will include the date and time of your doctors appointment. Do not forget to research the location. Since there is no garuntee it will be with Linda Mansalala" I said: "Thank you and hung up the phone".