After spending two weeks in Navyland and a weekend of yukking it up with family, I was a little off on Monday -- even for a Monday, even for me. I would like to blame my dull edge on something other than my own psyche, but when you're like me (either intensely focused or completely detached to the point of flakiness), you can't honestly look far for excuses. For starters, though, the 6:20 bus didn't show up. With only Jack Frost to keep me company and yearning to question the bus god about a schedule change, I waited for over 20 minutes until (what I thought was) the 6:35 bus picked me up. A similar thing happened to me this morning only Jack Frost had the day off and Mr. Manwhossonjustgothislicense waited with me. He'd been out there since before 6, though. Mr. Nice Guy who lives in the house adjacent to the bus stop told us that he wishes he had known we were out here; he would have made a bigger pot of coffee and invited us in to read his paper. Today when I got on the bus, I quizzed the driver about the beloved, tardy 6:20 bus, and she sheepishly admitted that she was late. 15 min late! Crazy.
So anyway... Holy crap! The bus driver just asked us "Do we go straight or to the right?" A chorus of ten helpermonkeys screamed "Right!". Hmmm. It is all becoming clear to me now. Sheesh. It's already 7 am. We're usually at the Polygon by now. I am taking a nap.
Sleep seemed like the best way to gather my thoughts (though unfortunately not my saliva) and have a better Tuesday than Monday.
Later in the day I carved some time out of my schedule to put to rest this chore called getting my dinner dress uniform striped and tailored. While Washington DC may have a plethora of military personnel, it is not necessarily a hub of accommodating Naval Uniform facilities. In fact, until I met the Uniform Santa, the only thing more UNaccomodating was the fit of women's Navy uniforms themselves. I could seriously discourse and demonstrate for hours about the ridiculous sizes, fits and inconsistencies of these hopeless trappings we attempt to pass off as professional attire. I mean who or what in the HELL is used to size these things? A male mannequin with a basketball for an ass, t-rex arms, thankles, and cabbage patch feet? But there I go... Sorry. So, back to my story.
I had heard rumor of there being a uniform shop at the Navy Annex complex, so I took the shuttle over there around lunchtime. Before getting off, I asked the driver where the uniform tailor was. Atypical of bus drivers in the region, he was completely UNhelpful. He had no clue and merely mumbled something about maybe finding the Exchange. There was a loopy Air Force Sergeant of some flavor behind me, though. As eager to help as he was to provide running commentary on subjects of interest to no one, he pointed me in the direction of the Marine Corps Exchange. Once I was inside this mall-like edifice, it took me 5 minutes to get the attention of one of the six bird brains behind the perfume counter. I think I said "pardon me" or "excuse me" 7 or 8 times. The only one I could get to acknowledge me directed me to the upstairs and told me I should ask again up there. Mind you, all this time I am schlepping that superlong skirt and silly coat with me -- I rate a lot of fabric. So I get upstairs and the man up there matter-of-factly directs me to a small room next to the men's changing room -- hello, scary! The tailor in there looks at me like I have ten heads. So who scared whom? Seriously, I wanted him to tailor a woman's skirt and jacket?!! Perish the thought. He would have nothing to do with me and in broken English told me that I needed to go to the next building. Hmmmmnph. So I went back to the man who directed me to that tailor. He confusedly tried to direct me to the uniform store somewhere else, leading me to believe it was around the corner, in another building in this complex of buildings called Harrison Hall. (The Marines are a very mixed up breed). As I muddled off, some kind lady - who ought to be sainted, by the way - interrupted and told me that I need to go back to the Navy Annex where the shuttle dropped me off, in the main building and down the 6th corridor. Uh, okay. So that is what I did. I followed some signs and found myself at a tailor and dry-cleaner at the base of a stairwell. I am in luck! I think - not so fast. When I entered, rang the bell, and inquired about getting my uniform tailored and striped, the young lady there tells me "No. Tailor is on vacation."
Huh? You cannot be serious! The drama the drama.
"Not till 10 days. She on vacation."
"So what do I do.... Where can I go to have this done?"
"I know."
"You don't know? Where can I go? Is there a military tailor around here?"
"I know."
"You don't know?" How can you not know? I think.
"Yes, I know."
"Oh, you do? Where."
"You go to uniform santa."
"Uniform Santa?"
"Yes, uniform santa, uniform santa... I show you."
WTF... Uniform Santa? Is this some sort of holiday special? Or a hoax?
She takes me out the door & points down the hall at a sign with an arrow that reads: Uniform Center.
Aaaahhhh, okay! Uniform CEN -TER. Hmmmnpf. Who knew?
Well, to make an already long story a little less long, the lady in there was great -- quite the little helper. She let me swap out a skirt and a shirt for ones of the same "size" that fit better. What's more is that she generally empathized with the plight of the Naval Woman in Washington and our entire uniform dilemma. So ho ho ho (the holiday, not the trampy kind - these are uniforms we are talking about people. Have some respect!)
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