Really?
Had an absolutely fabulous day at my new place of work on Friday. I do admire, respect, and like each artist featured at my place of employment so very much. These people are enormously talented and creative beyond the imagination of most people here on earth. I could sit and watch them work with their hands for literally hours - much better than the majority of any television these days - but, I was not hired to do that. I shall return on one of my many days off and observe as long as I like. The work schedule I have been given fits in perfectly with my soon-to-be life as a full-time university student.
Late Friday I announced to the artists with a huge grin that I would see them all on the following day, Saturday, from 12:30 until 3:30pm.
Later that evening my fine husband and I met the small gang at our local watering hole just to say 'Hello' and debrief from an extremely sad and sweet funeral held earlier in the week. That's another story...
Departing the pub, I again announced proudly that I had a huge duty to appear at work for a three hour shift on Saturday. I was smiling like a Cheshire cat. I was thinking how nice it was that I would be sleeping late, too.
Tinto and I landed back at home and stayed up chatting until the wee hours of the morning. I was not feeling quite right, but I thought it was nothing that sleep could not fix.
Next morning, stretched and yawned, but could not shift or move properly. I tried to get up, but grabbed the lower part of my back. Have you ever had that feeling when you think your body is going to snap apart? I gasped. I wailed. Marcus helped me. I got up, but had difficulty maneuvering. That's all you get to know. No one wants to hear someone talk about a painful back. IT IS A PAIN IN THE BUTT to the one experiencing the hurt and the one having to watch it. Aaaaagggghhhhh.
I was very thankful that I had to report to work later in the day. Copious amounts of black coffee were consumed and I lingered in a very hot, steamy shower for much longer than usual.
It had dawned on me in the early hours of the morning that I had forgotten to do one of the last items that needed to be done when closing the gallery. I texted my supervisor to explain and to apologize.
She replied, 'Not to worry, no one is going to die from it.'
Then, another very fast text, 'Aren't you 11 - 5 today?'
I quickly texted back with only a slight bit of panic, 'No, my notes show 12:30-3:30. Yesterday was quite lovely. Truly. Enjoyed every bit of it. Promise. I'm not opening. Gheeeeeez. Lord. Please tell me I am right.'
A BIG FAT PING CAME IN: 'YOU are ON 11-5 today. Shit. How long before you can get there?'
Me: 'No, Shit, NO. ON MY WAY. God.'
Excuse me, Lord. I do not know why we include YOUR name when we make mistakes.
I am a new employee. I adore, not only adore, but treasure, value, respect, and LOVE working with my colleagues and the environment is intriguing, entertaining, and sophisticated. There is nothing NOT to love about it.
Firstly, I am having extreme difficulty walking. And, Hell, do not ask me to bend over. Secondly, I am older. I refuse to cry. I refuse to allow myself to become upset. That would only make matters worse.
Immediately, I start screaming my husband's name and I am not calling him Tinto. From the interior of our master bedroom I am hollering 'Marcus' AS IF THAT'S GOING TO MAKE THE SITUATION ANY BETTER.
I'm falling over onto the bed as I try to get my tights on. I'm sweating like a whore in church. (MY OWN PERSONAL expression. Southern humour - not meant to offend. If someone comments on this particular sentence - do not expect a reply. Yes, it's true I do welcome all comments, but this is supposed to be a joke. People can still joke. You can picture a whore being any gender you prefer - that is none of my business. There. Disclaimer in place.)
My clothes won't go on properly. My feet won't climb into their boots. Items of clothing and jewelry are now flying through the air in our bedroom. I am still...still...screaming the name 'MARCUS'. When I finally get my clothes ON I cannot straighten out to stand up properly.
I text that I am on my way and I grab everything and anything imaginable that I think I will need or use throughout the day and I trip over poor Henry on the verandah. He yelps. Office keys in hand with purse. Car keys in other hand waiting to leap into car and do my dead level best not to speed. I open the front gate.
NO car. THERE IS NO CAR. My car is not where my car is always parked.
Now I'm standing in the middle of Maxwell Street howling 'MARCUS' at the TOP of my lungs with keys ready to GO. 'MARCUS, MARCUS, MARCUS, WHERE ARE YOU? COME HOME NOW.' Why the neighbours didn't ring the men in the little white coats to come and pick me up and dump me in the back of a padlocked van is truly beyond me.
I DO NOT TEXT. I ring my supervisor and in one long sentence, without one single breath, I explain that my car has vanished, my husband only has an English mobile phone which does NOT work in Australia and my husband is under the impression that I am not due into work until 12:30 because I have announced that very same fact for the past 24 hours to anyone whom would listen and now he never, ever leaves the house without letting me know, but regrettably, he has done so this morning, AND sadly, I have great fears I will not be at work until 12:20, but, I'm hanging up and will attempt to work something else out NOW.'
BREATHE. NO TIME TO BREATHE.
Instantly I ring Marcus' son. No answer. PLUS, I KNOW his son is at work and he would not even have a clue if Marcus was at his home looking for tools or whatever...
I ring a very new and sweet friend. I barely get out who I am and I KNOW I MUST HAVE SCREAMED, 'Is Marcus with you?' because there was this silence and then...this sort of chuckle. 'No, what's going on?' IN one more single breath I hear the words come rolling out of my mouth, 'I don't - I DO NOT WORK at 12:30 today. I work now. I'm supposed to be there 10 minutes ago, my keys are in my hands, I walked out to get in my car, my car is not there, Marcus always tells me when he's running down to the main street, he did not; he is NOT THERE and I went on even further.' Sweet new, DEAR, mate replies, 'My love, do you need a ride into work because someone is here right now who can pop right over and take you?'
I SQUEALED 'YES' and heard shouts of laughter. I wrote a note in order to let my darling and dreadfully absent husband know (because I do those sort of things and he, APPARENTLY, DOES NOT)...that I had left for work because the schedule listed on our refrigerator was incorrect. You know that refrigerators are never WRONG. Well, this one was - this day. The note I wrote looked as if a creature from the dark or an evil spirit had penned it.
Outside I galloped, stood in the middle of the road again like a wild woman with my hands up in the air and leapt into my wonderful, darling of a mate's ride and I refused to acknowledge any attention that my back was begging for.
Made it to work approximately 40 minutes late.
TOOK ME THE REST OF THE DAY TO RECOVER. The beautiful team at my place of work continued to remind me to BREATHE.
Once again, my very lovely, wise, and sweet supervisor said, 'It happens. (We say something else in Memphis.) And, the brilliant supervisor reminded me that NO ONE DIED.
How fortunate am I? Now, I forward all working schedules to my 'disappearing any time he pleases husband' because you know what they say about 2 heads. And, this particular calamity got my husband back under his Land Rover. That is a very good thing. 2 adults need 2 sets of wheels unless you live in a city where you can conduct your life without a car. I don't think I would look particularly nice in lycra cycling pants, but perhaps, one day I'll give it a go.
Hmmmpppphhhh.
Posted with 'Really, I honestly cannot believe this happened', Blanco. Tinto, her other half, is better known as the REAL ROAMER these days - the vanishing roamer.
Late Friday I announced to the artists with a huge grin that I would see them all on the following day, Saturday, from 12:30 until 3:30pm.
Later that evening my fine husband and I met the small gang at our local watering hole just to say 'Hello' and debrief from an extremely sad and sweet funeral held earlier in the week. That's another story...
Departing the pub, I again announced proudly that I had a huge duty to appear at work for a three hour shift on Saturday. I was smiling like a Cheshire cat. I was thinking how nice it was that I would be sleeping late, too.
Tinto and I landed back at home and stayed up chatting until the wee hours of the morning. I was not feeling quite right, but I thought it was nothing that sleep could not fix.
Next morning, stretched and yawned, but could not shift or move properly. I tried to get up, but grabbed the lower part of my back. Have you ever had that feeling when you think your body is going to snap apart? I gasped. I wailed. Marcus helped me. I got up, but had difficulty maneuvering. That's all you get to know. No one wants to hear someone talk about a painful back. IT IS A PAIN IN THE BUTT to the one experiencing the hurt and the one having to watch it. Aaaaagggghhhhh.
I was very thankful that I had to report to work later in the day. Copious amounts of black coffee were consumed and I lingered in a very hot, steamy shower for much longer than usual.
It had dawned on me in the early hours of the morning that I had forgotten to do one of the last items that needed to be done when closing the gallery. I texted my supervisor to explain and to apologize.
She replied, 'Not to worry, no one is going to die from it.'
Then, another very fast text, 'Aren't you 11 - 5 today?'
I quickly texted back with only a slight bit of panic, 'No, my notes show 12:30-3:30. Yesterday was quite lovely. Truly. Enjoyed every bit of it. Promise. I'm not opening. Gheeeeeez. Lord. Please tell me I am right.'
A BIG FAT PING CAME IN: 'YOU are ON 11-5 today. Shit. How long before you can get there?'
Me: 'No, Shit, NO. ON MY WAY. God.'
Excuse me, Lord. I do not know why we include YOUR name when we make mistakes.
I am a new employee. I adore, not only adore, but treasure, value, respect, and LOVE working with my colleagues and the environment is intriguing, entertaining, and sophisticated. There is nothing NOT to love about it.
Firstly, I am having extreme difficulty walking. And, Hell, do not ask me to bend over. Secondly, I am older. I refuse to cry. I refuse to allow myself to become upset. That would only make matters worse.
Immediately, I start screaming my husband's name and I am not calling him Tinto. From the interior of our master bedroom I am hollering 'Marcus' AS IF THAT'S GOING TO MAKE THE SITUATION ANY BETTER.
I'm falling over onto the bed as I try to get my tights on. I'm sweating like a whore in church. (MY OWN PERSONAL expression. Southern humour - not meant to offend. If someone comments on this particular sentence - do not expect a reply. Yes, it's true I do welcome all comments, but this is supposed to be a joke. People can still joke. You can picture a whore being any gender you prefer - that is none of my business. There. Disclaimer in place.)
My clothes won't go on properly. My feet won't climb into their boots. Items of clothing and jewelry are now flying through the air in our bedroom. I am still...still...screaming the name 'MARCUS'. When I finally get my clothes ON I cannot straighten out to stand up properly.
I text that I am on my way and I grab everything and anything imaginable that I think I will need or use throughout the day and I trip over poor Henry on the verandah. He yelps. Office keys in hand with purse. Car keys in other hand waiting to leap into car and do my dead level best not to speed. I open the front gate.
NO car. THERE IS NO CAR. My car is not where my car is always parked.
Now I'm standing in the middle of Maxwell Street howling 'MARCUS' at the TOP of my lungs with keys ready to GO. 'MARCUS, MARCUS, MARCUS, WHERE ARE YOU? COME HOME NOW.' Why the neighbours didn't ring the men in the little white coats to come and pick me up and dump me in the back of a padlocked van is truly beyond me.
I DO NOT TEXT. I ring my supervisor and in one long sentence, without one single breath, I explain that my car has vanished, my husband only has an English mobile phone which does NOT work in Australia and my husband is under the impression that I am not due into work until 12:30 because I have announced that very same fact for the past 24 hours to anyone whom would listen and now he never, ever leaves the house without letting me know, but regrettably, he has done so this morning, AND sadly, I have great fears I will not be at work until 12:20, but, I'm hanging up and will attempt to work something else out NOW.'
BREATHE. NO TIME TO BREATHE.
Instantly I ring Marcus' son. No answer. PLUS, I KNOW his son is at work and he would not even have a clue if Marcus was at his home looking for tools or whatever...
I ring a very new and sweet friend. I barely get out who I am and I KNOW I MUST HAVE SCREAMED, 'Is Marcus with you?' because there was this silence and then...this sort of chuckle. 'No, what's going on?' IN one more single breath I hear the words come rolling out of my mouth, 'I don't - I DO NOT WORK at 12:30 today. I work now. I'm supposed to be there 10 minutes ago, my keys are in my hands, I walked out to get in my car, my car is not there, Marcus always tells me when he's running down to the main street, he did not; he is NOT THERE and I went on even further.' Sweet new, DEAR, mate replies, 'My love, do you need a ride into work because someone is here right now who can pop right over and take you?'
I SQUEALED 'YES' and heard shouts of laughter. I wrote a note in order to let my darling and dreadfully absent husband know (because I do those sort of things and he, APPARENTLY, DOES NOT)...that I had left for work because the schedule listed on our refrigerator was incorrect. You know that refrigerators are never WRONG. Well, this one was - this day. The note I wrote looked as if a creature from the dark or an evil spirit had penned it.
Outside I galloped, stood in the middle of the road again like a wild woman with my hands up in the air and leapt into my wonderful, darling of a mate's ride and I refused to acknowledge any attention that my back was begging for.
Made it to work approximately 40 minutes late.
TOOK ME THE REST OF THE DAY TO RECOVER. The beautiful team at my place of work continued to remind me to BREATHE.
Once again, my very lovely, wise, and sweet supervisor said, 'It happens. (We say something else in Memphis.) And, the brilliant supervisor reminded me that NO ONE DIED.
How fortunate am I? Now, I forward all working schedules to my 'disappearing any time he pleases husband' because you know what they say about 2 heads. And, this particular calamity got my husband back under his Land Rover. That is a very good thing. 2 adults need 2 sets of wheels unless you live in a city where you can conduct your life without a car. I don't think I would look particularly nice in lycra cycling pants, but perhaps, one day I'll give it a go.
Hmmmpppphhhh.
Posted with 'Really, I honestly cannot believe this happened', Blanco. Tinto, her other half, is better known as the REAL ROAMER these days - the vanishing roamer.
Sincerely, Blanco - the Roamer you will be able to locate.
The Vanishing Roamer is the bloke.
When 'PIGS FLY' ~ THAT'S when this incident will reoccur.
PS: As always, please excuse any typos.
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