I have monthly meetings, for which I am a mediator, team lead, whatever-you-want-to-call-it-just-make-it-sound-good. These meetings start promptly at 9:00 am. Yesterday was our February meeting. The venue was 2 1/2 hours away. I didn’t get on the road until 6:40 thanks to my poor planning and the inability to locate the appropriate hairbow. No, not this hairbow. That one. Also, where in the hell is her Valentine’s Day gift bag that she must sleep with, bathe with, travel with, pee with? Oh, right. I HID IT FROM HER. In the depths of I DON’T KNOW WHERE BECAUSE I APPARENTLY HID IT FROM MYSELF TOO. So. 6:40. On the road. 9:00 am meeting. 2 1/2 hours away. You see where this is going?
After 45 minutes I happened upon a truck. Oh, but not just any truck. A truck carrying what I can only assume was 4000 tons of something. Some sort of something that only allowed it to go 35 mph. Cement encased slate rocks, probably. Or school children. Whichever. And oh ho ho, wouldn’t you know that I was about 15 cars back in the trailing line and the passing zones were few and far between? With oncoming cars that happily and nonchalantly mosied past at just the exact moments that the road lines went from solid to dotted? OF COURSE. Know why? Because they were ON TIME.
THEN. Both MapQuest and Bing Navigation tell me to get off on 49 South. Know which exit I took? 49 BUSINESS. See where this is going?
Now, to my husband’s profound dismay, I am one of those people who calculate exactly how far they can go on a single tank of gas. I won’t so much as think about stopping for a refill until my car is practically throwing a flashing neon “E” at my face. Needless to say, I didn’t calculate getting lost into the morning commute equation. So. Add 5 minutes for an impromptu gas purchase.
By the time I got back in my car, the meeting venue had called to be sure I was ok and not stranded or embedded in a guard rail or something. My employer had called because the meeting venue had called them to make sure I was ok and not stranded or embedded in a guard rail or something. This is where I started to get just a slight little smidgen of anxiety because I still had 10 minutes to go and I was already 20 minutes late and MY GOD WHO PUT ME IN CHARGE OF THIS SHIT?!
Approximately 2.37 minutes later I was watching a State Trooper approach my car with his hand sternly placed on his gun just in case. Of what, I dunno. Maybe in case I fall into a zillion pieces of anxiety-plagued weepy tears? So he could just PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY ALREADY? Also, he looked like he was 12. What happened to RESPECTING YOUR ELDERS, SON?! Hmmm?
The verdict: 70 in a 55. Have a nice day, Ma’am.
I gave the eff up. I mosied to my meeting about as fast as that stupid truck of cement encased school children. When I finally got there, 35 MINUTES LATE, they were all “Oh, don’t worry about it! We were just catching up, enjoying our coffee, doing JUST FINE WITHOUT YOU.” Well. HOW NICE.