One of those days

ONE ADAM TWELVE, ONE ADAM TWELVE, we've had a Wine-One-One emergency dispatch at 1800 hours. Caller self-identifies as a caucasian female, approximate age 30-35 (heh!), suburban-dweller. She commutes to the city, and shows evidence of foul mood, short patience, agitation and a sense that the universe has conspired against her today.

ROGER THAT, Wine-One-One response is en route with emergency reinforcements, OVER.

That's how my day has been, and I don't mean to bitch but – well, yes- yes, I do. It's my party blog and I'll cry bitch if I want to!

This was the second morning of the new school year and in the interest of fair and balanced reporting, I will say that the day started out fine. The a.m. routine went smoothly today. Peezer was in an unusually good mood. Nobody missed a bus or forgot a lunch. I was even able to catch Metro a little bit early, which was good, because I would have to leave my client early to hustle back to the 'burbs for a follow-up doctor's appointment. (More on this.)

Metro Of course an earlier train means a more-crowded train, and I could see every single eyball in my car roll up into each individual socket when two women – nannies, apparently – each rolled an oversized stroller into the center doors of an older-model car. This detail matters if you know Metro – the older cars have vertical stripper poles grab-bars placed in such a way as to make maneuvering a wheeled bag or suitcase difficult, if not nearly impossible. Never mind a large-wheeled, jogging-style stroller!

The ladies positioned themselves so as to completely prevent anyone from accessing the center of the car to stand. But the real fun began when we got to the busy downtown stops, where most of us were trying to exit. It is not a stretch to say that it was a veritable game of Twister (only with shoes), all of us trying to jostle around Twister the apparently oblivious unconcerned nannies, over strollers full of innocent toddlers (it's not their fault), while keeping our giant briefcases from colliding with heads, knees, or kidneys and avoiding stepping on any toes.

Did I mention, I reeeeeeally had to pee at this point?

I finally Houdini-ed out of the car and made it to work where I crammed as much as I possibly could into a small, four-hour window, accomplishing far less than I'd intended to, owing to meetings that were held to discuss all the work I needed to accomplish and whether my schedule would allow me to spend even more time on work.

At the appointed hour, I grabbed a sandwich, dashed for Metro and had a blissfully uncrowded ride home. I gobbled my lunch while walking from the train station back to my car. Because? No eating on Metro!

Fortunately, I was prompt to my doctor's appointment – a whole five minutes before my 2:30 appointment. And that's why I was so surprised when the office manager said, "Mrs. McCormick? We had you down at 2:00, I'm afraid you'll have to reschedule…" with this tut-tut look in her eyes.

"Um, noooo, I wrote it down for 2:30, I'm sure it's 2:30," I said, at which point I experienced a PTSD-style flashback to the time 15 years ago when I drove 40 miles with a screaming infant Seth to a dental appointment, only to be scolded for being 10 minutes late and told I would have to reschedule, upon which I promptly burst into tears and blubbered about crying babies and bad Beltway traffic. Amazingly, they managed to "squeeze me in" for my routine exam. And that was the last time I ever went to THAT dentist.

But I stood my ground as she pecked at the computer. "Oh, wait, let me check… AHA, yes, I do see it, your appointment IS for 2:30! So sorry!"

Of course you are.

They took my copay and escorted me back and I stripped from the waist down and underwent a diagnostic sonogram to rule out certain things that might cause heavy menstrual bleeding. Oh I know, I'm oversharing. But I just want to say this: Sonograms are infinitely more fun when you can see pictures of a wee, thriving embryo up in there.

When the violation procedure was over, I was told to dress and return to the waiting room, where I would be called back to see the doctor. That took about 10 minutes, but the wait in the exam room took close to 30. I finally poked my head out to see what was going on, when the doctor came 'round the corner, ready to see me. And the thing about her is, although she has run late both times I've visited, she makes me feel like I'm the only patient she has when I'm there. And so I will probably go back for that reason alone.

I just wish I understood why, if they thought I was 25 minutes late they were going to send me away, but they have no qualms parking me in an exam room for that long and then some. Because I get paid by the hour, PEOPLE. I don't work for a trade association accrue oodles of paid sick time to squander on routine examinations or "mental health days." If I don't work, NOBODY PAYS ME. Time is money, and I can pretty much count the money I did not earn while I was wasting time in the exam room. 

Work-life balance MY ASS.

Anyway. I hurried home, hoping to salvage the last two hours of the workday to catch up on all the work I didn't get done earlier. Only when I flipped open my laptop, it wouldn't connect to the DSL. (!) Further troubleshooting revealed that our router didn't need to be reset – it was actually a problem beyond that. This time, anyway; we often have to reset it but that usually does the trick.

THAT would explain the Verizon service tech at the top of our road with his head buried in the gray box-thingy up there!

Because I live near Civilization, I packed my bag and headed out to find me some free WiFi. On the way out the door, I explained to Seth where I was heading.

"MOM. YOU NEED TO GET RID OF DSL! IT'S ALWAYS NOT WORKING!" said Captain Obvious.

OH, thanks, Son. I AM VERY AWARE. WTH do you think I'm leaving for Panera now?

I immediately called Soup Husband Curt and implored that, if at all possible, could he please pick up the Peezer (say what?) (bonus points if you got that reference) by 6:30. No problem, says he. And I proceeded to workworkwork and feel rather guilty that I didn't buy anything at Panera in exchange for their reliable, superfast wifi because their shortbread cookies are truly effin' awesome. And that was all good until Curt called me at 6:08 pm, apologizing profusely but he wasn't going to make it after all and could I please go get Eli? Stupid Beltway.

Oh, sure, he offered to cover so I could go back out later to do more work, but now I'm home and the spaghetti is cooking and WINE ONE ONE is here, first glass of Malbec down, because you know, it's been that kind of a day. And I'm hoping I can catch up on the rest of my work tomorrow because frankly, the wind has completely left my sails and now that I've vomited all of this onto this screen I think Ima going to pour another glass of Malbec because IF A LITTLE IS GOOD, MORE MUST BE BETTER. And don't you even try to argue that point with me because I might have to cut you.

But hey – thanks for reading!

 

5 thoughts on “One of those days

  1. *glug glug glug* What? Were you saying something? I’m trying to salvage a crappy day. No, I mean — I’m celebrating a really productive day. Whatever. WINE-ONE-ONE

  2. ‎30-35… ha! ;-) Stripper poles! Violation! Captain Obvious! Great post Meg, and I’m glad you’re at least relaxing now and working out all that frustration. Please, keep talking, I’m going to step out, it’ll only be another 30 minutes before someone returns to follow up with you.

  3. I’m not going to argue. I just took my plastic surgeon off of speed dial. This girl doesn’t wanna get cut!
    Oh and hey, pass the wine! Please and thank you!

  4. Did you all know that now they are boxing Malbec? Even more fine wine choices for Those Days! Thank you all for reading and commenting – Cheers to you all!

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