There was a moment this afternoon, where I briefly pondered if I was actually still sleeping and this was some kind of bizarre dream. Tom Hiddleston usually features prominently in my bizarre dreams and, since I was standing at Day Job holding a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I dismissed that thought and accepted the fact that no. No, this was real life.
I started out the day by trying to remain positive. It’s a good way to start Mondays. The first hiccup in the day, the first very faint indication that things were starting to take a turn for the worse, was when I suddenly was rendered incapable of making a conference call. There’s no actual explanation for this, other than the fact it started out poorly and ended up completely horrific.
All I needed to do was dial a Spanish interpreter. You had one job, telephone, one job–and that was to dial the Spanish interpreter. Somehow I managed to incorrectly enter my passkey, so instead of completing the call, the phone disconnected. Awesome, I thought. Let’s just dial again. So, this time I was sitting there, waiting for the cheerful, “Thank you for calling language services…”
What I got instead, was a breathy, “Hey baby.”
A sex line. I misdialed by one number and got a sex line.
What the hell.
On the third attempt, I finally got the interpreter. I was a little surprised too, but attempted to brush it off as just a hilarious anecdote to a busy day. So, then, about an hour or so later, I had to call a doctor’s office. The patient had given me said doctor’s telephone number. Or rather, should I say, the doctor’s presumed telephone number. Because, when I called the telephone number, I didn’t get the doctor.
I got a pay phone in a high school. In New Hampshire.
What. I mean, this on its own is a little beyond words. They’re still using pay phones in high schools? Sure, there was a pay phone at the high school I went to…but that was, oh, lets say a handful of years ago. The last time I used a pay phone, I’m fairly sure, was when I was taking the trolley home from school, didn’t have a cell phone, and needed a ride because of snow/rain/monsoon whatever. And yeah, that last sentence sounds like it took place in approximately 1925. Whatever.
So, with all this leading up for the end of my day, imagine my lack of surprise when my car broke down. In the parking lot.
Look, I drive a mean little ten-year old car. It’s got a lot of miles on it. The first year I had it, we had to have the wiring harness replaced because a groundhog ate all the fiberglass insulation and wiring out of the engine. Yeah. I know, right, go ahead and reread that. A groundhog ate my car engine (note: AAA will not tow your vehicle with a live groundhog in the engine. Just so you know). I know every squeak, squeal, and creak that car makes. So, when I turned the wheel and it went clunk clunk clunk I knew something was wrong.
Something was, in fact, wrong. In fact, it was seven hundred dollars wrong! Somehow, despite the fact I drove to Day Job with no issues this morning, one of the struts had completely sheered off…wherever a strut would sheer off from. The tech said he didn’t know how my tire was upright. Awesome! And then it needed new front brakes! And then it needed aligned!
As my late father would have said, “Razzle frazzle.”
Looking at the positives, my car didn’t explode and/or completely fall apart at the wheels. I saw that happen on the Pennsylvania Turnpike once–the wheel falling off part, not the exploding part. A tire was just rolling down the side of the road. Anyway. So, that’s positive. And, I got a breathy “hey baby!” which, sure, was a recording on a sex line, but I’ll take any “hey baby” I can get. The pay phone…well, there’s no excuse for pay phones.
As one of my Facebook friends summed up this afternoon, “Only you, Heather.”
Yes. That’s how I roll.