November 12th was a day of back-to-back crises.
It started in the morning, when I rolled out of bed, and went to get ready. I was about to reach for my work uniform when I remembered that I would not be making money that day because I had signed up to play Bridge at the local senior home. I flicked through the clothes in my closet, trying to figure out what to wear. Was the dress code professional? Business casual? Were the seniors like my grandparents, who disapproved of everything I wore? Arnold had provided no guidance on the matter.
Crisis number two hit after I decided a T-shirt and jeans were good enough and pulled up to Laurel Parc, only to discover that I had no idea where to park. There was plenty of street parking, but I couldn’t parallel park if my life depended on it. Once again, this was a failure of Arnold’s - he didn’t tell me where to park.
After finding a parking lot and rushing in a few minutes late, I found a seat at a table and got ready to win.
Unfortunately, this is where my memory lapses. I’ve been cursed with both stellar procrastination skills and an inability to remember names, which has resulted in me writing this two months after the fact and not remembering the name of a single person we met. This particular crisis is something I can’t blame on Arnold.
My poor memory also applies to bridge hands, apparently, because I could not tell you a single one I played or how many we won or lost. However, the conversations we had over the table were far more valuable than the actual games of bridge. I met a retired lawyer for the federal government - my dream job.
This was genuinely one of the most fun and interesting volunteer experiences I have ever participated in. From the strategy of playing bridge, to the human connection with the seniors, I was engaged in every second. My only wish is that Arnold improve his communication skills.
Zahra Calculating her win…
