Aug 07 2011
Greetings, Cool Peeps:
Last Tuesday, I woke up in a bit of a rush. I had to meet a source for a feature I was doing in Princeton, New Jersey, and that meant that instead of my easy walk to work, I had to catch a train. But I’m a big girl. I could manage that. Or so I thought.
I woke up, fed Captain Jack, and hopped in the shower. No water! Not in the shower, not in the sink. Nowhere.
I ran from the bathroom to get my cell and call the manager of my apartment complex, when I saw a note being slipped under my door. I grabbed the note and read it:
This coming Tuesday morning, between 6:30 a.m. and 8:30 a.m., we will be turning off the water to complete some necessary maintenance. We apologize for any inconvenience this might cause.
“ARE YOU FREAKIN’ KIDDING ME?” I screamed, as I picked up the note at 6:55 a.m. on the day of said maintenance. “You’re telling me this NOW!”
I saw Jack looking at me. His eyes were wide, and his tail was puffed out. Believe me, peeps, he has seen me go crazy, but not like this. I barely move at 6:55 a.m., but that day I was running around naked, screaming. (Sorry, no illustrations on this one!)
With no time to spare, I ran to the kitchen sink and began dousing myself with bottles of spring water as I washed myself with dish liquid. Forget my hair — it was a frizzy mess.
Fast forward to 10:00 a.m. I was still feeling the effects of my horrific morning, but I arrived promptly at the office of the attorney I was interviewing in Princeton.
I knew it was all over when her secretary looked at me sheepishly and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss Hacker. Ms. Dillywacker (okay, not her real name) had to meet with a new client today. I think I forgot to call you.”
Are you freakin’ kidding me? I screamed silently. Tell me you are freakin’ kidding me!
“I just came here from New York,” I said, resisting the urge to scream. “I braved a drought and battled the rush-hour masses to get here. Can I wait for her?”
“Sorry, she’s in Philadelphia,” came the reply. “I’d offer to reschedule, but she’s leaving on a business trip tomorrow. She might be gone for weeks.”
Peeps, I was infreakincensed. I had bathed in room temperature spring water and dish soap. My hair was not squeaky clean. I was not feeling my best, and the person who was the primary source for my feature article, due in twenty-four hours, was unavailable to me. And I had come all the way to Princeton, New Jersey, to find that out.
At that moment, a delivery guy pushed open the office door with boxes piled so high in his arms he did not see me. The boxes toppled to the floor, and in an effort to avoid the avalanche, I fell to the ground. I wasn’t hurt, but my left Jimmy Choo was decapitated from the heel. I stood looking at it as if my best friend had died.
Perfect time for a call from my boss, you think? When I told him that my New Jersey source was unavailable, he told me he had found an even better source in Connecticut. And he wanted me to go see the guy immediately.
The lawyer’s assistant, who had caused this debacle, offered me some Krazy Glue. Yes, peeps, I had to glue my Choo and make my way on the train to Connecticut.
As I sat there on the train, I looked in front of me. There wasn’t a man in the seat before me. There was an alien. A freakin’ alien. And we were going to Mars.
All that happened before noon, and it only got worse. Please, make me feel better. Tell me some of your “bad daze” stories. Misery loves company.
See you next week.
Yours in pickiness,