I fully recognize that the gripe fest I am about to have about my totally wretched Saturday may be construed as completely shallow and so not worth complaining about, but it impacted me quite negatively and I feel the need to remind everyone why I hate everything.
I had to work on Saturday. It was my own stupid suggestion, and I will get comp time off without having to take vacation, but I still had to be in my office at 8:30am on the weekend.
On my way to work, I saw a dead cat in the road. In my pre-dawn/pre-coffee confused brain, while unnecessarily staring a little too long at a black cat making sure it wasn’t my calico kitty, I hit the curb.
And got a flat tire.
Of the tires I JUST BOUGHT LIKE A MONTH AGO!
So on my way to work on a Saturday, I pull into the municipal gas station (IE where the cops fill up) to change my flat tire. My husband was too far away to make it worth the effort to help me and with this being where the cops frequently are, you’d think one of them would offer their assistance. But despite having at least 4 cops roll through, not one of them even stopped by to question what this unauthorized vehicle was doing in their gas station.
I hauled my jack and crowbar thingie and full size spare out of the trunk and while cranking the jack, almost immediately scraped off half my pinkie on the ground.
I twisted my ankle standing and jumping on the crowbar thingie trying to use my entire body weight to loosen the freakin lug nuts.
When I got the flat off and rolled the new tire into place, I nearly had a meltdown. I tried heaving, lifting propping, but I could not find a way to use my strength to make the tire fit. I had seriously convinced myself that they gave me the wrong wheel and that the tire would not be going onto my car. But I walked away, took a few deep breaths, wiped away the one sad tear that had managed to escape, and using the force of the Hulk, got the thing lifted and angled correctly so that I could slide two of the bolts into place which made it so much easier to get the other three aligned.
Once I got the lug nuts back on and everything back into the trunk, I wiped my hands on a Kleenex I had in the car, wrapped my pinkie, used the water bottle to dab the blood out of my skirt, and continued the very slow drive to work. I did not have much confidence at the end of all things that I had put the lug nuts on tight enough so that my wheel wouldn’t just fall off if I hit a bump.
I am woman, hear me roar! I don’t need no stinkin help from you mister policeman. Get back in your fancy car and protect and serve by pulling over some busy person that rolled through a stop sign. Cuz that is a much more valuable contribution to society than helping some skirted female change her tire in your front yard! Heaven forbid you get your dark blue uniform dirty. Nevermind me in my white and yellow skirt. Jerks.
This is all before I even get to the office. And we all know how I feel about work. But we are expecting a huge number of positions any time now, and we have a fantastic group of upcoming grads that we need to nab before someone else does. What better way than to conduct back to back interviews on a Saturday? 24 interviews conducted with 21 possible hires. Not bad for a half day’s work, even if it was exhausting.
But then I started running late to rehearsal (after my boss just HAD to touch base for 20 minutes). And I hadn’t thought to bring any lunch. So I start flying out the door and head on auto pilot to the wrong theatre. Instead of being 3 minutes late to a rehearsal that I, as the stage manager, should be to 30 minutes early, I am going to be 23 minutes late.
And of course, the weather was nice. So every hippie in Durham is out with their 14 dogs and 12 babies attached to them in sarongs and other highly unstable baby carrying devices and for some reason when the weather is nice, downtown Durham becomes one huge block party and cars are not recognized as the enormous people running over machines that they are so everyone with their 14 dogs and babies are walking in the streets and they are only walking at all because they have already parked their cars in every available spot within a 4 mile radius! So once I finally find a spot, I have to run to rehearsal.
And when I got to rehearsal, I wasn’t late at all because the director had something else he wanted to do and so he did it and was only just about to get us going which meant that all that road rage and stress was completely useless and stupid which just made me feel even better.
But I kept it all together. I remained level headed and professional. I did not let my frustration show. I went on with rehearsal like a good little girl.
And then I stubbed my toe.
Floodgates opened, I threw my script across the room, screamed how I hated my life on that day, and crying, bolted into the lobby of the theatre to shake and shudder and feel the complete embarrassment wash over me. All while I can hear my husband in the background apologizing for his actress wife who can sometimes be overly dramatic.
The world of course did not end. I did survive the weekend. And though Shelby invited everyone to ours for the day on Sunday, wrecking my plans for total and complete vegetation on a blanket under the sun in the backyard, I still kept it together and managed to carve out some sunshine for myself by planting some vegetables in pots.
But my pinkie still hurts. And I still have no respect for the police. At least not in Durham County.