So, I’m suffering from a case of the blues, I’ve had a crazy week, my computer is all screwed up, there’s a certified letter at the post office and I need to attend a media event so I can write an article before I head out of town. Easy peasy, right?
On the Way Downtown
At least Bill was up and he was working on my computer. I coached him along by running in between the master bath and my office while I got ready. Of course, the office and the master bath are on separate floors at opposite end of the house. I was a little bit late, but I had to go to the post office first, because Bill wanted to know the story behind the certified letter and he was working on my computer after all. So, I make a mad dash to the the post office in Rockwall, called Bill with the bad news the letter reported (certified letters always have bad news) and pointed my car down I-30.
I had smooth sailing all the way to Fair Park which lulled me into thinking that I might actually make it on time. Suddenly, the road ahead was filled with red brake lights. Almost simultaneously my bladder informed me that I needed to make a trip to the restroom and I needed to go as soon as I could.
Oh, and did I mention that I’d gotten a new GPS for the trip, because a map update for my old one was going to cost almost as much as a new one. I knew how to get from my house to the Arts District, but I wanted to get familiar with the new instrument’s idiosyncrasies. The GPS, which I named Nancy the Navigator, dumped me in the middle of downtown and then got mad when barricades wouldn’t let me follow her instructions. I picked my way through the construction alone and made it to the museum. My watch said I’d only be a minute or two late. I just hoped they’d have a slow start so I could visit the facilities.
I pulled into the appropriate parking lot, but chose the wrong lane. Seconds ticked by as I held a frustrating conversation with the woman in the attendant’s booth. Mechanical noises flooded out of the underground lot and the woman’s speech sounded like I would if I had my mouth full of pebbles. She finally left her booth, walked over to the lane I should have entered, pulled a ticket for me and handed it to me. Then she said the only thing I had understood in the whole exchange, “Park down on level six.”
The voyage to level six was excruciating. I still needed to use the restroom in the worst way and the ramps were so steep and tight that if I’d gone any slower I would have been going in reverse. I parked the car on six, hoped I didn’t look as manic as I felt and started searching for the elevators. If they had any signs pointing to them, I didn’t see them, but then I hadn’t seen that I was entering the garage in an exit lane either, so who am I to complain.
On to the Museum
I rode up on the elevator, crossed the lobby to the mezzanine outside and then hurried down a set of stairs to the museum. They’d move the door on me since I’d visited the museum last, but I finally made my way in. I was less than ten minutes late, but the event was in full swing. The artist and a curator were in the exhibit introducing it to the assembled members of the press. I had hoped to fit right in with my peers, but I’m sure my hair was flying in all directions and I looked like a deer staring into headlights. And I was dying to go to the restroom.
I bravely attempted to ignore my personal needs and pay attention to what the artist was saying, but my bladder was having none of that. If coming in late wasn’t embarrassing enough, I had to wander away from the group and find a restroom. While taking care of the necessities I practiced deep breathing exercises and then patted my hair into place. I kept telling myself all of this frustration was not the end of the world, but right then it felt like it was.
The Day Continues
Though I felt as if I’d been wandering around down a rabbit hole, only a few moments had passed and the artist was still in the same corner he had been when I left the group. I started taking notes and making pictures like a pro. In spite of it all I had enough to write a good article – if I had a computer to write it on when I returned home.
No such luck. I had a text from my bestie letting me know she could leave work early and the day had not exactly gone as planned, so I still had things I needed to do. I resolved to focus on the trip and if the article was posted on Monday instead of Friday, then who but me was going to care. It’s not like anyone was paying me for writing about the exhibition opening. This blog is a labor of love.
I changed out of my member-of-the-press outfit and put on my traveling clothes. I loaded up the car and had some lunch. I fritzed around with my computer some more, hoping beyond hope that it would just miraculously fix itself, but in the end it didn’t and I had to start Norton again. I gave it up and left the house.
Is it any surprise that when I got to the 7-11 to fill up my car the 7Rewards app wouldn’t open up, so I had to pay for what should have been my free soda? Are you at all surprised that traffic was awful and even though I’d left with time to spare I barely got to my friend’s office at the appointed time? Or that I turned on the wrong street even though I actually knew where to go? Or that my friend had fallen the night before while packing and was barely ambulating?
The Trip With No Name hadn’t even begun and I already had a few choice appellations for it! Come by on Wednesday and we’ll head off towards Oklahoma City.