Pink Floyd, The Wall 1979
I have been clearing through some boxes of paperwork and clutter the past week. Per usual, I came across a huge pile o' Indian rupees. Enough to make a whole mess of beggars get their lungis in a wad.. Disconcertingly, discovering a pile of rupees invariably makes me feel like I've won the Indian Powerball even though I know damned well I only found enough to get me a mango lassi and maybe a streetside chole (without hope of it being served in a clean bowl.)
As I shot Arun a 5 rupee note, I watched his eyes gleam with greed as his thumb caressed the bald forehead of Gandhi. With excitement, he exclaimed "Can I buy something at the Indian store now??!!" Mind you, the Indian store here, in Overland Park, KS. Not an Indian store in actual India. Although, to be fair, both probably feature the same bright, cancer-laden candy coated in saccharine and Shiva knows what else. The same candy for which Arun would gladly hand over his soul (maybe), his dog (possibly), or sister (probably).
Oh, Christ on toast, how tempting it is to let him loose with that 5 rupee note at the Indian store.
All 10 cents of it.
What has prompted this spurt of recent productivity is the off-chance that this potential contract work comes through. So, I am sifting through mail from 2009, discovering birthday cards from my early 30s, and pictures from ultrasounds long, long ago. Ah yes, trips down memory lane abound.
Furthermore, for this job, I needed to update my resume.
Resume. Hmmmm.... I seem to remember something about that. A 2 page document. Had my name on it. Definitely my address. Probably some details about previous professional positions I have held. Perhaps an objective carefully phrased, comprised of ridiculously lofty hopes and dreams.
Gentle Reader, I must confess. When I waddled my plump pregnant rump out of the Federal Reserve in June 2005, I did not look back. And I certainly did not update my resume as I headed out the door. Ha! That would have been the smart thing to do, no?
Smart? We don't need no stinking smarts!
I did come across a hard copy of my resume (for you Youngsters, that means PAPER and INK). Tellingly, I immediately detected it was missing my married last name. It also included references to my former experiences in RACF, TopSecret and other rad War Games Worthy mainframe data security packages. And it had an address in which I have not lived since 2002.
I knew there was a copy hanging out on our Mac, the same computer which has ground to a halt (Reason #278974 why we will never own another Apple computer EVER). I could SEE the damned document with my own two eyes, yet there it remained. Trapped in its beautiful, white modern cage of glowing plastic. So pretty.
However, I was certain that I had a backup somewhere. Somewhere. You see, that resume indicates that I have held more than one position with the title of "information systems auditor" - a key piece to many an audit program....disaster recovery....data backups. Ah yes, I am the Queen of the Backup.
As I furiously dug through closets and storage totes, my panic increased. While I may be The Queen of Backup when it comes to data, conversely, in the area of organization, I am the Queen of the Damned.
Finding these did not help:
For those of you only accustomed to these newfangled "CD" and DVD" thingies, those brightly hued squares are called Zip Disks. And oh my, Youngsters - at one point, they were the BOMB. They were 100MB of pure, raw data storage. Totally HOT. And the colors! So pretty! You could coordinate your data! Que magnifique!
Judging from the Sharpie'd labels on these disks, I thought it important enough to store some South Park shorts (Star Wars, anyone?), some stuff from Music Match (WTF?), some Malayalam wav. files, backup stuff from an old job (Stop, Thief!), something titled "Fun Stuff" (NOT porn, I promise) and........ my resume.
After completely freaking out....... After digging through not one, but TWO spare bedrooms' worth of storage........ After sifting through a smorgasboard of cabinetry downstairs.......I found my resume.
Neatly stored on a CD.
In my dining room.
A mere arm's reach from where I sit currently, typing this very post.
Precisely where it should have been all along.