Does something ever happen to you that just makes you go, "Wow"? And then, despite your best efforts, your eyes do their damnedest to tear up?
The other day was a day of meetings to get ready for the graduation ceremonies this weekend. Before the meeting before the meeting, we had a pre-meeting. (No typos there. I meant it that way.)
You know those days? Yeah. Well, anyway. I arrived to meet the court reporting firm owner and his wife Johanna, who is also my colleague and friend. It was a gorgeous morning, and when I got there, they were sitting on a park bench outside the building where I had told them to meet me. It was so beautiful out, we decided to have our pre-meeting meeting there on the park bench.
We were discussing some of the finer points of me getting ready to caption the ceremony which at that point was planned for the green, outdoors (not anymore -- the weather is predicted to be too horrid).
While we were talking, there was a construction vehicle nearby brrrrrrrr-brrrrrrr-roarrrrring, and beep-beep-beeping when moving in reverse, etc. And I say, "And then something like that happens," gesturing toward the loud construction vehicle.
And that's when Johanna said, "But Norma, Mrs. Grant was always bragging about how you passed the RPR when there was a lawnmower just outside the window."
Holy crap. I'm hearing this for the first time 29 years later. Twenty-nine long years later. Mrs. Grant hated me. Well, hate is probably too strong a word. But she definitely did not like me. For one reason, I didn't practice. She knew this, because we had to hand in our practice notes every day. While others' would be five or eight or twelve inches thick, mine were a half inch. An inch, tops. I didn't "deserve" it, but I passed the speed-and-accuracy tests. I defied her practice-practice-practice mantra. I also defied her "get something for every word" mantra. I think for me, it was more about the brain work and less about the finger speed and muscle work. What I got, I got perfectly, with big drops of material. She kept telling me I should try harder to get something -- anything, whether it was accurate or not -- for every word. And I ignored that advice, did it "my way," and I kept on making the gaps smaller, all the while still getting it perfectly, rather than getting something for every word and then failing the weekly tests (we called them "takes") because of inaccuracies.
It was an illustration, sort of, I guess, of the tortoise and the hare thing. Or maybe it was just two species of hare. My buddies who got something for every word seemed at first to be faster than I was. But before long, I had passed them. Some of them eventually made it, too, and eight of us graduated that year from the 25 who started the year before. That was a much-better-than-average ratio of graduates to students starting out. Of those eight, five entered the field of court reporting. The others said it was too stressful for them. I believe three of us are still practicing reporters. I am the only one who does CART and captioning.
And then one day in the beginning of May when I was a senior in court reporting school, our school was an official testing site for the national Registered Professional Reporter exam. The exam was administered. There are four portions to the exam: A written knowledge test consisting of stuff like legal terminology, legal procedure, medical terminology, grammar and punctuation -- I can't remember what-all it consisted of. It was always the easiest portion of the test for me. Some others would pass the skills portion and then fail the written knowledge. Everybody's different.
Then there was the skills portion. Three dictated pieces -- one literary piece (like the text of somebody's speech -- it could be about anything) at 180 words a minute; one jury charge (instructions that a judge gives to a jury) at 200 words a minute; and a two-voice testimony at 225. Five minutes of each. You need to get it, and then transcribe it at greater than 95% accuracy to pass. This is the first set of exams one should have passed in order to work as a practicing reporter. Then come more levels of proficiency testing after one gets even better which yield more initials after your name if you choose to use them.
All the other registrants yelled, "We want a do-over! That lawnmower was right outside the window and I lost my concentration!" Mrs. Grant and the other official timed dictation person (how do I say that without labeling them "dictators"?) didn't know what to do. They, too, thought it should perhaps be dictated over again. Not truly "over again" -- there would have been backup material -- different material -- to be dictated in case of an emergency like that, because the test consists of timed dictation of unfamiliar material. They were going to call the national office to find out what to do in this situation. But before they did that, Mrs. Grant (the professor of court reporting) said, "Well, before we call National for guidance, perhaps we should ask: Did anyone get it?"
I had to raise my hand.
And I was the closest one to the open window.
And I was not aware that a very loud lawnmower had gone under the window. Such was my level of concentration. See? More about the brain than the fingers.
And my fellow test registrants wanted to throw rotten tomatoes at me (in a good-natured way).
But, man, you pay your money, you take your test, you know you've passed it. You don't give that up.
And Mrs. Grant had a false smile on her face, because she hated me, and she said, through pursed lips, "Well, Norma got it. And she was the closest to the window, so...." Gritted teeth. A pained look on her face. And, later, a recommendation for one of my fellow students (who hadn't yet passed the test, even), over me, for a job opening.
And 29 years later, almost to the day, I hear from someone who went to the school five years or so after I did, that "Mrs. Grant was always bragging that you passed the test with the lawnmower outside the window."
Well, fuck.
I got a lump in my throat in spite of myself. I did.
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P.S. Saw my first hummingbird yesterday!
