GROSS Anatomy

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Hello, again!! I’m so excited to share my second “blog.” Just to introduce myself again, my name is Jenn Porto. I’ve been a CART captioner for approximately 7 years. My purpose of writing my stories is to share my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants moments that I encounter on the job. This post doesn’t make me an expert and does not mean that I’ll always make the right decisions.  I may say/do something that makes you wince. I’m okay with that. There is no rule book for being a CART captioner. With that said, I am not always going to be grammatically correct. This is an account of my day and my thoughts as they come to mind.

 

8/22/14 — Please do not read while eating or if you have a weak stomach. (Intrigued yet?)

 

I feel like I can say that I’ve realtime captioned (RTC’d) almost every type of job. I’ve captioned nude models for an art class — I’ll write about that another day – and, as of yesterday, cadavers for a GROSS anatomy class, emphasis on the GROSS. Before walking into the room, I had no idea as to how I was going to emotionally handle this class. I’ve never actually seen a dead body.  I emailed the captioner who captioned the Wednesday portion of the class. She said it was no walk in the park. I worried because I’ve always been a bit gaggy. Would I cry thinking about the cadaver as a person that just passed? All I could picture was a human-sized frog, lying in its slimy bath of stinky formaldehyde. I could picture the brownish-pink intestines we had to dissect in our 8th grade bio class. Okay, I digress before I lose some of you.

Let me set the scene, the student has a mild hearing loss – this is not a professional diagnosis, just my little brain making an assessment based on how tied to my captions she appeared to be. She told me before the class that she didn’t need my captions during the dissection. “Thank gawd,” I woohoo’d inside my head. She asked if I could sit in the corner and take “notes” for her. “No prob.” The student’s wish is my command.

Before the class, my boyfriend and I had actually been strategizing about captioning in this environment; for instance, how I could prevent dissection fluids from getting on my equipment? I know this all sounds really gross, but it was a genuine topic of discussion. Should I put my laptop in a plastic bag? I can’t imagine if I shorted out my laptop and had to call in a claim to my insurance carrier Marsh USA.

I had come prepared with my normal RTC equipment, including my Dell 15″ laptop, Stenograph Mira, 6’ extension cord, laptop stand, mini 7”x10” laptop, et cetera. I use a free program called Team Viewer to mirror the image of my laptop to the mini-laptop. What I had NOT brought with me is a bubble from which I could caption inside of.

First off, I walked into the room and saw the four bodies. “EWE-ewe-ewe. Hmmmm – Wait. It’s kinda cool — really cool.” The flesh had a visible texture of pale nude-colored human jerky. It looked like a manikin from a Knott’s Scary Farm prop. Honestly, it didn’t look real at all. The smell, well, formaldehyde is no longer used in the preservation process. The bodies had a slight chemical smell that I was able to diffuse with a little Vix Vapor Rub smeared ALLLLLL over my nose.

The group of students crowded around Body No. 1. I did my best to caption from my designated corner. Hearing the group was tough. Words like sacrospinous, triceps coccyx, and planter fasciae lata, to name a few, came up while they dissected the sciatica. It was hard to hear because half of the group had their back to me and the other half were looking down at the body. Even though she had asked me to just take notes, I set my laptop up facing her. I used a black screen with yellow letters, Arial font, size 34, so the font was big enough that if she needed the captions, she could glance over her shoulder. I did notice that my student stole many glances of my captions. Next Friday, I’m going to set up my mini-laptop on the opposite side of her. With the two laptops, she will have two viewing spots in the room.

After Body No. 1 was dissected, the class moved to Body No. 2. I could no longer hear from my designated corner, so I decided to sneak a quick look at Body No. 1. From where I had been sitting, I couldn’t see the body’s face. Although, when I stood up, I could now see eyelashes on the man’s face. Until this moment, it was not a man, it was just a body. I started to see features. Feeling myself losing my cool, I looked down at the man’s hands. His fingernails looked like a werewolf’s claws. They were a couple centimeters thick, grayish, and longer than a man would wear his nails. “Sit down,” I commanded myself.

After sitting, I focused on my editing. Every couple minutes, I’d look over at the bodies, but only to make sure the student was still okay with her original desire for me to take notes instead of captioning. By the way, when I say “notes,” I mean I was captioning just like I normally would, but the student was not reading from my screen.

Unfortunately, my lunch break is directly after this class. (Yeahhhhh,my sentiments exactly.) I bought a salad from the commissary. Even though it didn’t have any meat, I found that I had lost my appetite while munching on my mixture of lettuce, beets, and celery. I wished for a shower. I felt as if I had a layer of body-preserving chemicals all over me. ICK! This was my first time captioning in such an ick-infested environment. Stay tuned for next week. I’m sure I’ll come up with solutions to the ick. All in all, it was just another day in the most rewarding career I could ever hope for.

Oh, and just one more thought, thank you so very much for all of your positive comments and thoughtful responses to my last blog.

Happy Saturday to you all!

Testing my flexibility!

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Just another fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants morning
Hello. My name is Jenn Porto. I’ve been a CART Captioner for approximately seven years. I am blogging to share the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants moments that I encounter on the job. This blog doesn’t make me an expert, and does not mean that I’ll always make the right decisions. I may say/do something that makes you wince. I’m okay with that. Every day is different in the world of CART. It is so important to be flexible and be a problem solver on the fly. There is usually no one there to consult with and there is no rule book for being a CART Captioner. Because we work “alone” on the job, we rarely get to share these moments. With that said, I am not always going to be grammatically correct according to Morson’s English Guide. This is an account of my day and my thoughts as they come to mind. I have just started blogging, so I only have a couple written. I plan to write as often as I can. I also hope to be a positive representation of the CART world and hopefully give you a little chuckle in the process.

August 13, 2014

I left my house at 8 a.m. for a 10 a.m. job with only 27 miles to drive. You do the math. I should have arrived with enough time to grab a coffee in the gorgeous lobby at the Los Angeles City Hall. Welcome to the evil beast we call the “Los Angeles freeways.” It’s a good thing I left so early! Full of anxiety, I exited the freeway at 9:25. Every thought I had was followed by, “I should be setting up my equipment by now!”

I had the address to the parking structure programmed in my navigation. “Finally, there’s my parking structure!!!” Oh, shoot, a line! There’s a gigantic sign that reads: Government Vehicles Only. “Well, this could be a problem.” Rechecking the agency’s instructions, I confirm that I’m at the correct structure. I see a metered spot on the street open. “Great! Go get it. Well, that never happens in LA.” Get that spot! Shoot, I can’t make an illegal U-turn – not that I would. I’m surrounded by government buildings and every police car in the city is lurking about. Quickly pulling out of the line, merging three lanes over to the turn lane, squeezing behind a postal truck, turn, turn, legal U-turn. Swoosh, into my parking spot. I jumped out and rush to the meter and, “Curses! The meter is broken!” This explains why the spot was open. I can’t risk a parking ticket. I get back in my car and back to the darn structure and darn line. Third in line.

9:35’ish, pulling up to the parking attendant, “Hi. Jennifer Porto. Here for the City Planning meeting.”

With a heavy accent the parking attendant responds, “City Plant.”

“Ummmm, yup.” I have no idea what City Plant is, but I’m late. Don’t know. Don’t care. “Thank you.”

Off I go down the rabbit hole to the basement of the structure. Park. I pull out my Stenograph bag containing all of my equipment, bag with extra monitor, and Tory Burch grown-up high heels. Away I go hustling through the garage to find the elevator. I’ve gotten lost every time I’ve parked in this labyrinth of cars. I was relieved to see a businessman making the same mad dash I was. “Follow him.”

9:45, 15 minutes to go until the meeting is to start. Up the elevator. Press the third-floor button with authority as if to urge this toaster on pulleys to move faster. “It’s so hot in this elevator!! Where is my rubber band? Screw my bouncy curls. Focus, Jennifer.”

Doors open. I’m out. Turn left, right, hustling through the bridge connecting the buildings. “Crap, I don’t have time for a metal detector.” Slap my bags down on the table and wait patiently for the guard to look up from his phone. Now, one would think since I’m in the building, things would start to get easy — WRONG!

9:50, 10 minutes to go. I found the correct room and tried to slip unnoticed through the door with my hands full of Stenograph luggage — not happening. Bang, bonk, bang. “Sorry.” Another meeting is in session and the room is full. I sit in the back and scan the room for my client. He’s not here.

10:00, go time. The client is still not here, so I wait. I had set up my equipment in the back of the room taking up three empty seats. There was a pole blocking my view of the board members. I’m stuck. I will have to memorize the sound of their voices quickly, since I won’t be able to see their faces. My setup includes a Mira, Dell laptop that sits on a laptop stand, and an extra monitor set up next to me for the client to view.

Everything is plugged in. “Boo-ya, I’m ready to start!” The power plug is right behind my chair, so no need to Duct tape wires to the carpet. With a second to breathe, I casually walked to the side of the room to gather the board member’s names. I usually get prep before meetings, but the agency made several attempts and was unable to obtain an agenda.

10:15, still no client. I continue to wait. I’m double stroking the board member’s names to make my speaker ID’s. SKWREUPL/SKRWEUPL = JIM:. The door opens slightly and I can see my client. “Hmmm, why is he not coming in?” It turns out that he had requested a sign language interpreter to voice for him, and for the third time an interpreter did not show up. As I’ve done with this client in the past, I offered to voice for him. He types what he wants to say and I verbalize his text. It’s usually not a problem — usually.

10:20, the planning administrator now tells me with a pleading look in his eye, “I know you’re set up in this room, but we’re moving to room 1060. If that okay?”

I smile and nod, “You got it. Let me gather my stuff.” With a double step, I gracefully bust through the door. I breakdown my setup, clink, bonk, stuff everything in my bag, click, clink. Mira and tripod, laptop lid shut, laptop stand and tripod, pen and pad are placed in my bag — let’s be real, thrown in my bag. The monitor is in a separate bag. I’m out!

Room 1060 is on the opposite side of the floor. Finding the room, I set up my equipment for the second time. I sit next to my client and prepare to start. Nope, he doesn’t like my font. He is not verbal, so he writes me a note: Separate font. Crap, I don’t know what he means. I’m already double spaced. I motion to him with my fingers: Bigger? Smaller? He nods on bigger. Okay, I use CaseCatalyst software. I have about 30+ different templates of different sizes and fonts to switch to. I switched to Arial 26. I wrote: Test test test test. Nope, he says something that I don’t understand. I changed my template randomly to find one he liked. Verdana 15? Nope. This happens at least five more times. While I’m hopscotching through templates, the planning administrator is sitting with his face in his palm looking from me to his paperwork, to me, to his paperwork, and now to me! Finally, the client says something that I understand, “The original.” Back to Arial 20.

10:26, and we’re off! My fingers were shaky from the anxiety of the morning. I kept mixing up the speakers every time they spoke. “Which one is he? Ben? No, Jim? No, Ben? NO! It’s Jim! Get it together, Jennifer!” I couldn’t remember my brief for applicant or advisement. My pink blouse is now stuck to my back. I am sure I had the just-woken-up look with makeup under my eyes and a droopy ponytail, but I was focused, “Write every word perfectly. No misstrokes.” The client was glued to my screen.

The planning administrator finally opened the forum for public comment. My client was reading every word I wrote. “Does anyone wish to make public comments?” After a long pause while he was reading, he shoots his hand up. Now the dance as we attempt to take turns with my laptop. He would be furiously pecking away with one finger to write his comments and the board members would start talking. I could not write what they were saying, because the client was still typing his response. If I had, the realtime would have switched to the bottom of the screen and the client’s words would have been lost. I made a mental note of their words, and I raised my hand to gesture a “pause.” I waited for my client to finish typing his response. Then I wrote what the board said. Then voiced what my client typed out to the board members. It was confusing. Thankfully, my client kept reiterating the same thing: He wanted a postponement due to not having a sign language interpreter.

One last thought, this was the third time a sign language interpreter did not show up and did not give notice. This is now three times a public hearing for this matter has been set up a month out. The representatives from a HUGE well-known company have come prepared with experts and strategy. The planning administrator has conducted and postponed a planning hearing. A CART Captioner has been arranged. And the client has shown up to debate this matter. I have to wonder why a sign language interpreter keeps failing to show up. This baffles my mind. Let this be a lesson to us as a professional service provider. Yes, unforeseen things happen, but we have to arrange for a sub. Our clients are depending on us. This is not a job where you can be lackadaisical and have the luxury to call out sick without arranging a sub. Oh, one more lesson, leave your house more than two hours early if you are driving on the beastly Los Angeles freeways, ha!

10:46, we adjourned.