You know those days that don’t go as planned? Yeah, I had one of those last week. And it was a doozy.
I was meeting a friend for lunch and I ended up being so late
that I was surprised she was still there waiting for me.
I do not like being late.
Nor do I like being too early.
I’ve written before how I carefully count backwards from the
meeting time – and I factor in road construction, hair washing/drying/styling
(if necessary), and dog walking prior to actually getting in my car and heading
to my destination. I try to leave enough extra time so that I get there
anywhere from five to seven minutes early.
Yeah, I know. That’s not a big window.
My friend, on the other hand, creates a giant window
of extra time. And she has been known to arrive 15-20 minutes early on a
regular basis.
So I also try to factor that in because I don’t like to keep her waiting.
On that particular day, I did not factor in that
there would be a time delay for every single activity leading up to my arrival.
The dog walking, which usually takes 15 minutes, took an
additional six minutes because the guy cutting the lawn had to stop for a break
and get out of his riding lawnmower to try to pet Maggie Minx.
Maggie Minx, by the way, hates loud, motorized machines and
was barking her fool head off at it. And him. But he was determined to get her calmed
down enough to pet her. Why, I don’t know – unless he was simply trying to
exert control over a silly little dog.
Thankfully, she allowed him to get in at least one head rub
without chomping on one of his fingers – but it did put me behind schedule.
Since it was not a hair-washing day, I hadn’t needed to
factor in an additional half hour for hair drying, but I had intended to
use some sort of electrical appliance to tame the mane.
But that was out. Instead, I figured I would just use a
little dry shampoo, brush it out – and pull my hair back. Easy-peasy.
Except that I was completely out of dry shampoo and I hadn’t
yet gotten the replacement.
So I searched through my travel bag. Grabbed the TSA-approved
can and liberally sprayed the top of my head.
It was only when I flipped my hair back that I realized it
was not dry shampoo, but was instead a small bottle of 50-SPF spray sunblock.
Eeeek!
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| Not my actual hair. No pic. |
The top of my hair was now extremely greasy-looking – but I was afraid to brush it through for fear I would look like a bag lady who hadn’t showered in the past decade.
So I carefully pulled my hair back in a tight ponytail and
brought along a hair towel thinking that once the spray sunblock had dried, I
could pat it down and it would look okay. (It didn’t.)
On the good news front, at least my scalp wouldn’t get
sunburned that day. Which, by the way, was a moot point since it was raining.
I got in the car and headed in the direction of my
destination, which, according to Siri, was 24 minutes away given current
traffic conditions.
Siri can be such a fibber sometimes.
Because she didn’t factor in the fender bender amidst the road
construction that reduced the traffic to one lane only as we skirted around the
mess.
I called Sue to say that I was about 6-7 minutes behind
schedule. Provided there were no other snags. Perhaps I should have added that caveat
out loud.
There is a particular road in Columbus that I avoid during rush
hour because it’s only a two-lane road that in recent years is overflowing with
commuters. I figured lunch time might not be so bad. But there I was – wrong again.
Because instead of moving along smoothly, traffic in our direction suddenly stopped. I saw that there were maybe 20 cars ahead of me and at least 30 cars behind me with no clear indication what the holdup was. I got more and more frantic and upset, and my BP was probably sky high – but there was not a single thing I could do about it.
I hadn’t been this upset or stressed since I stopped working
and dealing with commuter delays and rush hour traffic.
The cause of the delay? A road crew was cutting back some
brush off the side of the road and they were letting only one lane from either
direction go at a time until they were finished.
OMG. I was beside myself by the time I finally pulled up to
the restaurant and entered. I mean, there may have even been a tear or two.
Because I was a half hour late – and she had gotten there 15 minutes early.
You do the math.
But she is the best and even if she was annoyed, she didn’t
show it. Gave me the grace of forgiveness. And we had a lovely lunch together.
She didn’t even mention my greasy hair – although I, of
course, had to tell her the story. And we did have a laugh about it.
Ah well. I can only hope to do better the next time.
Which I didn’t. Because that very evening I was driving to a
friend’s house 14 miles away for salads and some girl chat. I had had several errands
to run between lunch and dinner. And I had to walk the dog again before leaving
for downtown, but fortunately this time there were no grass-cutting personnel
to deal with.
I hadn’t had time to shower and clean up the greasy hair mess from earlier because I thought it more prudent to fill up the gas tank that was nearly on “E” (something else I rarely let happen). So I left home about 10 minutes later than I should have.
But since there were several of us getting together, I
figured it was okay if I was one of the last to arrive. By this point, I didn’t
even care if there was traffic. I knew I’d get there eventually.
I was five minutes late, but the first to arrive, so go
figure.
Besides, we were a little loosey-goosey with the start time
of the evening and the host was comfortably at home – so I wasn’t as concerned as
I would have been if we were meeting at a restaurant.
Hey, at my age, sky high BPs are not a good thing.
But after all this, I’m thinkin’ that maybe I should factor
in an additional buffer time. If I get to my destination uncomfortably early
(for me), I could use it to, oh, I don’t know, sit in my car and clean up
whatever hair/makeup/outfit snafu I’ve experienced that day.
You know, considering that I have to factor in extra buffer
time…
