Sometimes the World Doesn’t Wish You to be Early.

Every six months or so I end up with a comically bad morning. As if life was scripted specifically for some comedic performance, for which there is no camera crew. This morning was comically bad, not as bad as the day I flooded my upstairs bathroom and set off the fire alarm. But bad in its own right.

This morning’s goal was to arrive at work at 7:00 a.m.

I wanted to get an early start and offset any work I can’t get to due to a lengthy client meeting in the afternoon.

Alarm was set for 6:15 a.m.
Opened eyes at 6:15 a.m.
Opened eyes again at 6:30 a.m.
Opened eyes again at 6:45 a.m.

ugh!

Adjusted arrival time to 7:30 a.m. a solid hour of uninterrupted work awaited me.

At about 7:10 a.m. I made it downstairs. I tried to coax the dog outside. She wanted none of this. Fine. I brew my coffee, grab my computer bag, my purse, my lunch. Teeter toward the front door like a camel packed for a nomadic excursion. Open door.

Downpour. Right.

Retreat, hunt for umbrella. Find one, proceed to get tangled in umbrella cover. Snnnnnaaaaaag new scarf with umbrella cover velcro closure (damn you for working so well on all fabrics.).

Awesome.

Step onto front porch, open umbrella. Realize umbrella has a small split seam. At this point I know I will remain only 95% dry, but it’s the only umbrella in our house.

Climb into my car with all of my bags and travel mug.

Fumble with the umbrella while my arms and shoulder get soaked.

Empty light turns on.

Perfect.

Head to the Shell gas station at Ann & Monroe. Pull up in the driving rain. Step out, there is a sign posted on the pump. “We are out of regular.”

Seriously?

Adjust time to 7:45 a.m. arrival.

Run my debit card, attach nozzle to my car. Click on Midgrade, notice fine print of homemade sign:

“We are also out of midgrade.”

Unless it’s the late 70’s early 80’s there should be no gas shortage. NONE.

These signs appear at every pump. The only gas left is the V Power 85 Ethanol mix, which is 50 cents more than midgrade. I don’t know what that is, and I don’t know if my 13-year-old CIVIC will handle it. I force 5 cents of midgrade fumes into my tank. Enough to start it up again and drive it to the nearest station on Alpine.

This part meets my expectations. I fill up the car, I get in the car, I choose to use the entrance onto 131 from Alpine.

I drive straight into a traffic jam. I could walk faster at this point. Cue up the scene from Office Space, the old guy, the walker, the hopelessness.

Courtesy image from Office Space.

Courtesy image from Office Space.

Adjust arrival time to 8:00 a.m.

I eventually merge onto the freeway, otherwise I would get stuck exiting at Ann. I just want to get to work, I don’t want to exit at Ann.

5 minutes pass.

I merge back onto the Ann Street exit. I am going to take surface roads.

Adjust my arrival time to 8:15 a.m.

Hit every red light from Ann to downtown. EVERY. LIGHT.

Pull into my parking lot and begin a new round of wrestling/dancing with torn umbrella, computer bag, purse, lunch bag, and travel mug.

Arrive at 8:25 a.m.

So you see, sometimes the cosmos do not wish for you to be early.

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How bad was your morning? Oh comically bad.

If my life was a scripted sitcom it would not have had as much situational comedy as my real-life morning. So let us begin…

6:30 a.m. My alarm went off. (Adam had come home about 45 minutes earlier having worked an overnight shift.)
6:50 a.m. I realize I am still in bed and that apparently my blink took 20 minutes. Undocumented minutes when I should have been getting ready.
6:51 a.m. I remember that I am taking Henry to daycare (add another 15-20 minutes of clothing struggles and car seat maneuvers.)
6:55 a.m. – 7:10 a.m. After gathering my clothing so I can dress with proper lighting and less disturbance to Adam I go into the bathroom. I turn on the shower, grab my toothbrush, root around in my make up drawer.

7:11 a.m. Walk back over to the shower.
7:11:30 a.m. Realize I am stepping into quickly accumulating water… about 1/2 inch, that has now taken over my bathroom. Well a third of it. It’s now pooling around my toilet back behind where the most questionable dust bunnies normally live. (ewwwww.)
7:11:31 – 7:15 a.m. Panic because I cannot seem to process where the water is pouring out of.
7:15 a.m. Notice it’s the shower, the shower head is pointed at a gap in the curtain and tiled wall. Water has been shooting through here for the last few minutes. Engulfing 1/3 of my bathroom in water.
7:15 – 7:30 a.m. Sopping up misc. water with my nice towels, our dryer is not working properly so we have a backlog of laundry including our second-rate cleaning towels.

7:30 a.m. Fire alarm beeps once.
7:32 a.m. Fire alarm begins to ring. But only downstairs (we have them wired so all four should be going off now.)
7:33 a.m. Hear Adam stumbling half asleep down the stairs. I follow.
7:34 a.m. We learn that there is water dripping THROUGH our fire alarm, through the ceiling, right beneath our bathroom.
7:35 a.m. Watch Adam fetch the step ladder from the basement. Watch him come back without step ladder (if it’s at your house, please return it to us.) He teeters on a dining room chair instead. He dismantles the fire alarm.
7:36 a.m. – 7:38 a.m. Apologize profusely for causing a disturbance and ripping him out of his sleep.

7:38 a.m. Henry is still sleeping. Return to bathroom and start getting ready for work. Pack up car, go get Henry.

8:15 a.m. Get Henry, who is in a great mood and slept through a fire alarm.
8:21 a.m. – 8:30 a.m. Chase Henry around the house who is screaming, “I am not going to school today. Mama doesn’t work today, Dada doesn’t work today. We stay home. I build a fort.”
8:32 a.m. Shove Henry into his coat while he eats a squeezie.
8:37 a.m. – 8:45 a.m. Successful drop off. (Once he is pried from my leg.)

8:50 a.m. Roll into work 20 minutes late. Realize my media rep is early for our 9:00 a.m. Skip breakfast. Engage in a two-hour meeting (we scheduled for one hour.)

The redeeming part of this morning? He brought me Starbucks.

The End.