When I wrap a package, I feel like Ms Bean (Mr. Bean’s feminine counterpart). I often have to re-open it to see if I’ve lost my watch in it or a chicken part. Or if that extra draft lying around was meant to go in. I understand my last Artist in Education application did not include a book list. (Even though the jury took note that you were an accomplished writer) Oh come on. Really? Or enough creative process in how I teach kids. Or enough detail in how I go about getting schools. “We regret to inform you…”
Sigh. This is after making piles of papers on my bed and checking off a list (and mailing said list)
and wrappings the dread parcel.
What adds to the fun part of the process is that the gatekeeper sounds a bit like Inspector Clouseau.
He must be sick of answering my same question every granting season. “When do you open?”
I imagine him sighing in a Parisian accent. (Quelle idiote)
I just can’t believe they only fling the doors open at 9:00 a.m., 8:30 a.m. would be so much more convenient.
I also imagine him shaking his head when he opens my oversized package. And then while removing the watch and chicken part.
Still maybe this time I’ll be lucky. Maybe everything will be there as it should. All the checky boxes checked. My “peers” will find me worthy. Or worthier than the other
peers that applied.
Still hoping for a postal strike to help the odds.