Friday, September 7, 2012

Road Rage

I work 12 hundred miles away from where I live currently.  It takes 40 minutes each way.  It's fine; it's a beautiful drive through meadows and trees and there are actually buffalo on the side of the road (fake ones that people farm, not wild ones), and really I don't mind it.  But here's the deal: I am a chronically late person.  Like - everywhere I go all the time late late late person.  One time the fam and I were going to meet my in-laws somewhere for something and they told us to be there at 9:30.  Well, I was feeling industrious, apparently, because we got there at like 8:50.  Weren't they surprised!  Get this though.  They really didn't want to leave until 10:30.  They told us to be there an hour early because they knew I'd be an hour late. 

That is how you know you're a crappy person.

What I should be doing instead of driving to work.
But yes, I admit it.  I am just a late person.  I don't even wake up until I'm teaching my third class and who knows what's happened in the first three hours.  Pandemonium, most likely.  But the trouble with being a late person (besides being late to things) is that it's very, very stressful. 

I have only been working at my current school since August, so I still have to pretend to be a good, caring person who follows the rules and is idealistic about the state of education in America.  And be on time to things.  I had a meeting this week at 7:20.  EW SEVEN TWENTY!  And everything that could possibly go wrong on a commute to work happened on this day!!!  I left with plenty of time.  Maybe 2 minutes to spare, even.  But ohmygodpeople go the frickin speed limit already!  I got behind a normal car - not even a heavy truck or something - who, not even exaggerating, was going 20 under the speed limit.  Well, when you have the commute to work timed to the second so you don't have to leave any earlier, 20 miles under the speed limit just isn't going to cut it.  Highway 83 is notorious for the double yellow, though.  Nowhere to pass.  Sweet Baby Jesus.  I followed that a-hole for my whole entire life.  I think I actually turned 38 while I was waiting for him to figure out what that silly pedal on the floor of his car was fer heh heh heh.  Luckily, one can turn off on another side road and arrive at the same destination in the same amount of time.  This guy knew that little trick, though, and took that road.  Well, smartypants me kept going the first way!  I was sooooooooooo proud of myself.  Until... UNTIL.... ROAD WORK!  Besides being notorious for the double yellow, Highway 83 is also well known for showcasing the beautiful seasons of Colorado: Winter, Spring, Summer, and Road work.  My heart plummeted to the bottom of my stomach as I watched my clock tick by (yes I have a grandfather clock in my car).  Every second wasted while the lady in the orange vest slowly held her STOP sign and ate her morning sandwich, was another second I would have to prove myself as I guiltily made up for being late to the first meeting of the school year.  That was a terrible run on, but I think you get the point.  FINALLY we got past the construction and I was flying!  Normally the rest of the drive should take me 20 more minutes... I had 11.  So of course I got behind the other slowest person that ever drove a car ever.  I don't know what's with these Elizabeth people.  They either want to ram you and kill you with their SUV's or they want to ruin your life by making you late everywhere.  Yes, I blame them.  So I put put putted all the way to school, finally arriving 10 minutes late and sheepishly slinking into a back seat in the library.  Walk Of Shame.  (My principal STILL hasn't spoken to me.) 

This movie was about me.  Except for the fake boobs part.
That's not the end of the story!

The drive home:
Oh yes.
That day I was also closing on the sale of my house.  Quite an important day, wouldn't you say?  Yes, you would, and I would agree.  I knew if I left right at 3:15, I could jog down the highway and be there by the scheduled time of 4:00.  Easy Peasy.  Lemon Squeezy.  Right, I know.  So the kids got off their bus at my school at 3:20.  Excellent start.  We raced to the back parking lot as fast as we could!  Not parked there.  That's right, I was in such a hurry that morning to get to the meeting, I parked in front.  Race back to the front!  Right past the principal.  Ahhhh leaving before you're supposed to, eh?  And weren't you late this morning?  (In my head it's a leprechaun voice but really, he doesn't sound like that at all.)  So Walk Of Shame number two and I'm yelling at Slow Poke Blake to keep up already and we finally get in the car and... wait in the bus lane until 3:35.  Soooooooo awesome.  I finally get on the highway and search through my purse to find my phone to call Zach and tell him there is just no way in hell and the tears are already coming and I know no one says it anymore, but I'ma hot mess.  So I get Zach on the phone and start crying like a stupid girl.  He has to talk me off the edge because I'm freaking out as I watch my grandfather clock start ticking faster and faster and, oh, I could get on the interstate, that will be faster!  I take an exit I've never taken before (excellent ideas are my specialty) and then have to call Zach crying again because I think I'm lost and now I'll be even later.  Luckily, in between my bouts of insanity and amazing girlishness, he has called our realtor (who's waiting at the title company already) and she says to not stress - they have all the time in the world.  Well, I know that she's just the nicest person in the history of time and probably she's missing an important dinner with the President of the United States or something and she's giving it up for ME because I AM A LATE PERSON.  And that just makes me feel like a shitty, shitty, late person.  I finally begin to calm down after I realize that yes, I have once before taken this way to get to the interstate.  I hop on and the grandfather clock slows a little and I stop telling the kids, NO MORE TALKING MOMMY'S FREAKING OUT BE QUIET!  And then the traffic on the interstate stops.  2 exits before mine.  Stops.  I don't know why.  Welcome to Colorado.  I call Zach again and in the little inhale inhale sniff quietly freaking out voice (you know it, you've done it, whatever), inform him of the new complication.  He reassures me that it'll be fine (in the way those special cops talk people off of bridges).

Actually, it was fine, and we signed the house over and no one was mad at me.  But this just goes to show you that you should always give yourself more time than you think you need.

 Plus my kids are learning bad habits from my road rage and have been walking around all day saying "Jesus Christ!" about everything and I'm sure you can guess how much my mom looooooooooves that.



  1. And you give me crap for being a late person...

  2. I was smiling until you mentioned yelling at Slow Poke Blake. Then I started laughing. Memories of picking him up from school in the afternoon...