Isn't that what I said?

With the speakerphone engaged, a husky voice, neither identifiably male nor female, announces the department we dialed: "Financial Services.

My frazzled daughter hesitated before launching into her question. It had been a rough couple of days, starting with a problem, progressing to a remote meeting to gain clarity and a potential solution, only to have that meeting spin off into a part of the internet blocking all calls. 

After she had gotten through all the rigamarole -- the awkwardly spaced sentences that jumbled out all that she had done up until this point -- the person at the end of the line reassured us that the problem was, indeed, technical, as well as entirely on their end, and would be sorted out soon.

"Sit tight on that one. Was there anything related to Financial Aid?"

And like the deer in headlights, we just froze. ... letting the opportunity sail right by before the phone disconnected with two-toned digital sound. A deeply dissatisfying note, that lacks the finality and catharsis of a slam.

These gizmo and glass phones force us to be better behaved than their bakelite brethren.

Of course, from where I was sitting -- on the edge of the couch, between a wadded-up throw blanket and an aging cat that would like a smattering of whatever foodstuff I was snacking on -- I thought the whole transaction went surprisingly well.

She discovers a problem. She navigates the proper channels to address the issue and, in doing so, faces unexpected hurdles. She leaps over those to find another avenue, and takes this new path as far as she can to its logical end. Success.

My daughter didn't quite see it that way:

"But the problem isn't solved yet."

"No, but you know you're in the right universe, and the light from Solved is much closer it is to the proximity of the looming deadline."

Of course, the problem wasn't the real problem.

"I hate feeling like a fool," she tells me between anxious sobs. 

"I don't understand ..."

Didn't you hear that person tell me: "Oh, you didn't have a Financial Aid question?" 

More than she hates being wrong, she despises being perceived as wrong. She takes it personally. A vendetta against herself, a person who is new to all of this (gestures wildly with full wing span arms), but who went from misunderstanding to understanding in the span of an eight-minute phone call that "may have been monitored or recorded for quality assurances."

I know we are all sensitive to our forehead-slapping moments; all the things that become painfully obvious with experience and hindsight. 

I tried to soften the blow, highlighting my belief that a professional person's deftness of understanding what you meant doesn't mean they will keep their translations silent. That person knows their department like you know how to define ribosomes or the cosmetic product that will best accentuate cheekbones. 

"I mean ... if I described wanting something to catch more light but asked for a "bronzer" would you just hand me a highlighter and not clarify the product's actual category?"

"No. No, I would not," she said defensively. 

"If I described cytoplasm but called it a ribosome would you not correct me?"

"No ... probably not, but I might think you were not prepared for Biology 101."

Maybe I wasn't using the correct analogy. Aside from the possible pedantry of official departments being similarly named, I reminded my daughter that we did have a Financial Aid question that we lost track of as we were staring like deer in the headlights of the Financial Services response.

"I have an idea."

"Oh, God. Do I want to know?"

"Tomorrow, let's call back. We'll use my name this time."