Right, I called in last week to check on the status of my application with the orginisation previously stated. I got a bloke that sounded like he was having a bad day. Had a bit of an attitude, he did.
I asked him about the status of the app, and he said that they were not considering new applicants until the first of 2009. I told him that I had a curious question, if he didn’t mind me asking. So, I asked. "I have to take a few medications on a daily basis, so I was wondering if that would be a problem?"
"We generally don’t recommend that people join, if they have to take several meds due to problems of getting them into whichever country you would be selected for", he muttered as the sound of shuffling papers came through my earpiece.
"Does it depend on what kind of meds?"
“If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of health problems do you have?”
I gave him the facts, which I will not publish on the blog.
“To be frank here, why would you join when you have all of these problems.”
“I love to help people…I want to make a difference in this crazy world.”
“That’s very admirable of you, but you can make a difference locally without endangering your health.”
“That’s true, but I’m a rover…I love to travel.”
“They will consider your application with the utmost respect, when they are able to review it. I can give you a website to find community programmes in your area.”
He seemed a bit clueless as to why I’d join the peace corps. I let this wee conversation knock me down in the dumps. I do not like to be faced with my own ailments. I don’t really think about it. So, when I’m slapped in the face with my own mortality, I get a bit melancholic.
I had a realisation Sunday night while out drinking with an old friend. Two young women were sitting across from us at a table drinking (I was drinkin’ Guinness) shots of something. They started arguing over who was comelier. The scrawny blonde told the brunette that she was fat and laughed about it. She got up to powder her nose, and the brunette, with graceful shoulders and lovely mocha eyes, started pulling at her blouse. In my animated mindset, I leaned over and said, “She’s just jealous of your ravishing figure and brilliant smile”.
She pulled loose strands of long and wavy chestnut hair out from in front of her face and smiled.
“Thanks”, she mumbled, as we toasted to her friends nuttiness.
It turns out that we go to the same university. Her friend came back and started talking to the lot of us. She tried to get in with my wingman, but due to him being a hitched (married) chap, that was a no go.
To my point. I will no longer let people pull me down to their level. Words can be fatal, if you allow them to do so. I’ve been called everything that I could possibly be called. What they don’t realise is that I’m Jefferson effing Davis!
Don’t let people push you around. Laugh and walk away or stay and start a fray. Thick skin is grand when one has a warm heart within. Be tough! 
