I'm not patient. Those who know me best describe me as a determined overachiever. I put myself through school, run my own business, and just bought my first house - and I just turned 25. I'm only truly happy when I'm in control - the main reason I knew I had to go into business for myself, rather than settling for working for someone else. I'm a stickler for details and have very high standards in all that I do. And I can't rest until I know a job is done.
Which is why I insisted on serving as the contractor for the work that needed to be done on my new home. Actually, it was a very old home - a beautiful Victorian from 1890 - which needed some substantial restoration work to be brought back to its former glory. I had planned out the project, hired professionals to do the work I couldn't do myself, and was ready to get rolling, when my electrician pointed out that I couldn't do a thing until I got the necessary permits.
So, I made a point of scheduling a visit to the city office building the next day. I had called ahead to make sure they were open, but somehow the person I spoke with didn't feel it necessary to mention that the one person who could actually help me with my permit always took lunch at exactly the time I planned to come, so I ended up waiting for 45 minutes. Oh well, I told myself, it was worth the frustration so that I could start the work.
Exactly as the big, old-fashioned clock on the wall struck 1:30, he entered the office, walking right past me and sitting at his desk. I was a little surprised at his lack of customer service skills, but figured I'd give him a second to get settled before asking for his attention. I'd had plenty of time to stare at the nameplate on his desk, and was debating whether to address him as Jim, or Mr. Taylor.
Not that he didn't notice me; he just seemed to see me more as an object than a citizen he was hired to serve. He looked me up and down, studying my long bare legs, crossed under a mid-thigh-length skirt, and lingering over my tits, perky under a buttoned cotton sweater. Just as I should have expected. OK, that was enough time for him to settled after lunch, not to mention plenty of time for him to ogle me. Now he could help me with what I'd come there to accomplish.
"Excuse me, I need to get a permit for some work on my home? It's within the historic district."
"OK, please fill out these forms," he said, handing me several pages worth of city documents, "and return them to me when you're done."
I returned to my seat, taking a pen from the jar on his desk, and began filling out the forms, answering a seemingly endless string of questions about the work I was planning, the people I'd hired to do it, and its impact on the historic nature of my home and the neighborhood. I looked at my watch more than once, concerned with how much of my day was being eaten up with this bureaucracy - after all, it's not like I wanted to tear down the beautiful victorian and replace it with a strip mall. I was trying to restore it!
"OK, here you go," I said as I handed the forms back to him, hoping to receive my permit in return.
"OK, thank you, um," he searched for my name on the form to finish his sentence, "Kristie." He stamped the forms in several places, and then looked up as he placed them in a large stack on one corner of his desk. "You can come back in two weeks for your permit, unless you'd like us to mail it to you?"
"Um, excuse me, two weeks?"
"That's right, two weeks is the standard for new permits. Are there any other questions I can answer for you?" He had clearly been doing this job for years, exhibiting a calm confidence as he maintained the bureaucratic status quo in spite of my obvious irritation.
"Is there no way to speed up the process? I'm really desperate to get started on this work."
"Listen, I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do. Two weeks is two weeks. You'll just need to learn a little discipline." He was still calm, unflappable, but his words hung in the air as his piercing blue eyes stared deep into mine.
I blushed, then at the embarrassment of blushing at the word 'discipline', blushed even hotter. Did he mean it as a double entendre? Was he just messing with me, because he knew he held the power in this situation? Much as I knew I'd probably hate myself later, I quickly decided that it would probably be worth flirting with him in an effort to get past the two weeks of red tape.
I unbuttoned the top button of my sweater, put my hand on the edge of his desk, and leaned towards him. "I'm really not the patient type, Jim. Any chance you could move my permit through the system any faster?"
"Hey, I'll be happy to go out with you, but it'll still be a two-week wait on the permit."
Furious and humiliated, I stormed out of the office. Then stormed back in for the jacket I had forgotten, then stormed back out again. Jeez, what a nightmare. It was a rare experience for me, this inability to make something happen. And even more rare, not to be able to rely on my sexuality when all else failed.
One day short of two weeks later, his secretary called, setting a time for me to come by his office. Finally, the work could begin! As I entered the office, I had to pinch myself to remain aloof; Jim was even more attractive than I'd remembered.
"Thanks for coming in, Kristie, there were just a few things you neglected to fill in on the forms, and then I need you to sign on the bottom of page 4."
I quickly scribbled my responses in the blanks, signed the bottom of page 4, and hastily handed the forms back, eager to be on my way.
