Thursday, March 8, 2012

Post It Note Protest




     "The more voices used in truth heard in the universe, the more universal truth there will be." 

     I said these words to a friend of mine not long ago and wrote them down to remember.  Every once in awhile a piece of wisdom drops out of the big library in the sky and a bit of something miraculous will happen in that I will speak a thought not my own.  It used to freak me out, sentences rolling off my tongue with ease.  "Me-me" is usually flumoxed by the action.

     "Who the hell just said that?" 

These days I've gotten pretty used to being inside out listening to an amazing gift not my own.  There have been a few occasions the writing from this blog has come from that same place.  It's pretty great when it happens because I don't even have to use spell check or edit to see if it over lapped itself sideways with a run on sentence.  My kind of words of wisdom, the type generated all by myself don't usually end up being a motivator for the public good. 
     One weekend I took a trip to Minneapolis.  A really lovely city I would have enjoyed immensely if not sleep deprived due to sports fans partying because their team lost each game played in the baseball playoffs.  I can't imagine how it could of gotten worse, but I'm guessing if they had been celebrating instead of commiserating I'd have been at the airport three days early.  An end of my floor of the hotel was devoted to passionate, depressed Twins fans and I was in bondage to their festival of woe.  Every half hour became a ritual of calling the front desk to complain, the elevator dinging to a stop, a tap-tap-tapping at the main party door, a whispered conversation and finally twenty minutes of hushed laughter.  A few seconds past twenty one minutes, after finding a fitful slumber there would be a cacophony of sounds ranging from puking, to thumping, to screaming.  Around 4:30am the wake finally over, they buried the season.
      After 90 minutes of blissful sleep I began preparing for revenge.  My mind raced with thoughts of torturing the now slumbering guests with "housekeeping" knocks on their door or throwing luggage at the wall every twenty minutes.  Finally arriving at the conclusion they had been drunk enough to in all likelihood snore through any disturbance created.  The next plan of action was to write a toasty letter and shove it under their door, which would probably go unread as they stumbled out of the hotel.  Still fuming while dressing for the seminar, I noticed a stack of post-it-notes.  The next ten minutes involved writing out a message and finding the perfect location in front of the elevator up/down button.  I post-it-noted a protest.


      "Dear party people, want 2 know how it was 4 the rest of us?  It sucked!" 

That bit of intelligence made me giddy with glee.  Sauntering into the elevator I headed off to breakfast thinking I was magnificently brilliant.  Within the hour, my display was removed.  I must have been videotaped by hotel management and it is unlikely a single "Party People" saw my effort.
     Deflated, I headed back to the elevator for class, coinciding with the arrival of  a very hung over twenty something guy. Yes, angels were singing in my head.  As the doors shooshed shut I turned my best "mom gaze" on the pathetic creature before me.  


     "Hung over?" 

He swayed a bit before answering, clutching a bottle of soda.

     "Um, no not really." 

Looking closely I noticed he was unshaven and beginning to sweat. 

     "Really?  You should be.  In fact, you should feel as shitty as I do since I got the same amount of sleep as you." 

His mouth opened and shut, open and shut.  Slowly the young man's cheeks went from dirty dish towel to Bloody Mary and his eyes shifted away from mine.  Ding, the doors opened and I sashayed off to the gathering.  That little ditty did not come from the spiritual library, it came straight from a vast volume of Pissed Off Mom 101.
 
         "The more voices used in truth heard in the universe, the more universal truth there will be." 

     Some truth comes from a sacred place, some doesn't and that's okay.  In the elevator I didn't get stopped by my own politeness or fear of being considered mean and didn't wait for universal guidence.  I spoke to a young man whose mom wasn't around to tell him he was out of line, stepping in to in the blanks.  There are moments when even I know what words to use all on my own.



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