18th
It stands for “Attention Deficit Disor
In my dream,
I’d applied for a job and I’d made it to the last interview. The final stage was competitive, pitting me against the two other finalists in a series of tests designed to measure our responses to stress, disorientation, distractions, social awkwardness, and intellectual and task-related challenges.
The last in this series of tests packed the three of us into an elevator with walls that contracted around us, like the trash compactor on the Death Star, as it whisked us along a multidirectional path to the testing room. We arrived, nauseous and squished and dizzy, at a room where 2 labcoated ladies with clipboards and cat glasses instructed us to remove our clothing and get into one of three whirlpool baths and prepare for our exam. Each of us complied, each climbing into our own hot tub, where we waited as writing desks with a few papers and cups of coffee were placed around us. The technicians put a cell phone, a wristwatch, and a disposable pen on my desk. Similar effects were placed on the desks of my competitors. Stopwatches were placed, and we were told our objective: to answer the 8 questions on a single worksheet as quickly as possible.
The stopwatches, which were now egg timers, were wound and released, and the jets in the hot tubs began to pump out bubbles. The temperature rose sharply. The walls disappeared, replaced by moving doors. Voices. Demanding voices. Inquisitive voices. Incessant voices. Television snow blared in my ears, my eyes, my stomach. I tried to focus on the paper. There were only eight questions. They were numbered, that much I could see. But I couldn’t make out the words, the letters, the substance of the questions. I looked around. My competitors were busily writing on their papers. I looked back at my own paper. “Hold still, words. Why can’t I do this? What is wrong with me?”
I look up again. A bespectacled woman in a lab coat lowers her classes and examines me over the rims, purses her lips, and looks down at her clipboard as she records something of apparent concern. I look at my paper one more time. Finally, I can read one of the questions: “Do you have voice mail?” What? Do I have voice mail? Just then, I notice the cell phone they’ve put on my desk. It’s been vibrating. A red indicator flashes. I missed a call. I have one new message.
“Yes,” I write on my paper. I have voice mail. And I think, at least I’m good at multitasking - at least I have that. Then one of the guys I’m competing against speaks. He’s talking to me. I can’t make out the exact words over the roar of the hot tubs, but he wants my help with something. Lab coat lady is looking back and forth between us, waiting for the next move. I panic. What does he want from me? Is this part of the test? Is he even competing for the same job? Maybe he’s a plant, a distraction, another test question.
“Do you mind if I get back to you about that after I finish this?” I ask. He nods in approval. Lab coat lady nods with him, synchronized - like two dolphins, I think to myself. But the water is too warm for dolphins. It’s like 120 degrees in this tub. Dolphins could never survive in this heat. But I can handle it. Because I’m no dolphin. Dolphins are contemptible, I think, for their inability to endure what I’m enduring right now. Presumptuous ocean shits. Not worth my time, I think.
Then, both of my competitors put down their pens. They stand up from their hot tubs, push their desks aside, wrap themselves in towels, and are ushered from the room through doorways to the left. How did they do that? Those doors were moving so fast. How did anyone get through them?
Now I’m alone, except for lab coat lady. And lab coat lady is talking to me. She’s waiting for me to respond, but I don’t know what she asked. Clearly impatient with me, she stands up. “If you need extra time, you can have it,” she says as she turns away from me. I look down. I can make out a new question. It’s a syllogism involving cheeseburgers, a wild turkey, a fuel injection system, some graphics I can’t make out, and a blank. Despite my best effort, I cannot remember the beginning of the sentence by the time I get to the end, and despair sets in - the realization that I will never, ever complete even one question on this test if I can’t tune out the distractions. Extra time won’t help. I have to focus. And I can’t. But I have to try. I have to keep trying. I cannot give up.
I look back at my paper. I guess cheese sauce. Turkey Devonshire, I’m thinking. It’s the only answer that makes sense. And I move on. The next question is blurry. That’s funny, I think - now there are two ways in which I have to focus, and I can’t. Crazy! Wait. Yes I can. I’ll do this.
And then, next thing I know, I’m awake, lying in bed in my room. Truly awake. Not dream-inside-of-a-dream awake.
AND I’M PISSED.
Because my ADD is so bad - and so real - that I can’t even hang with a stupid dream long enough to get to its conclusion.
It’s going to be a long day.
