Strange Week
Sat., March 9, 03:19 PM
It’s been such a strange week that I thought I might chronicle it – or was it just strange to me?
I should begin by mentioning the result of “Just Venting” (Feb 3). I was so mad, but I told only the agency, not the client – i.e., my boss. I could tell from looking at her work that the other girl doesn’t know nearly as much as she thinks she does. You’re supposed to use the computer to make your life easier… ’Nuff said. Anyhow, she missed a few days – car trouble, sick, etc. – and I didn’t offer to do her work. (If I’m asked, of course, I’ll do it; I’m just beyond trying to make myself extra obliging.)
Then she called in enough times that the boss asked me if I’d take an extra day. Even if/when she comes back, I’ll do three days, she’ll do two. I didn’t tell him she seemed to be working on an itinerary; I can’t tell where she was planning to go. (The woman also doesn’t know how to hide her tracks on the computer.) I guess what I'm selling is reliability.
So begins the first week in which I’m working on a Monday. Before work I spoke to my husband’s doctor, to renew a prescription and to make an appointment for Friday. (My husband is a book unto himself; it’s just that no one would believe most of it.) I didn’t call the pharmacy because I didn’t know just when the doctor would call them.
On Tuesday morning I voted before work (local primary). I was a little off kilter, and I didn’t get to the pharmacy or the bank. I mentioned to Husband that he had a doctor’s appointment. He asked if I would take him to the barber afterwards, but we had already worked out an alternate for him. “Why don’t you come out to breakfast with us on Saturday, and then you can go with J. (our son-in-law).” He agreed.
Wednesday I went to Stamford. I started out at nine and returned home around four, completely exhausted. The mailbox contained a notice of a certified letter, which can’t be delivered unless someone signs for it. Husband asked again about the barber; I reminded him about Saturday, and he said “you mean I have to go out twice?” (I told you, he’s a piece of work.)
Anyway, on Thursday morning before work, I drove up to the post office – not the convenient one, but the center where the certified letter would be – several miles away. I thought I would be late for work, but I made it.
Thursday evening I reminded Husband that he had a doctor’s appointment the next day, and he said he wanted to go the barber afterward. What about Saturday? “I don’t want to go on Saturday.” Well, we’ve got free STARZ channel this week; he doesn’t want to miss a minute!
Friday morning at the doctor’s went without a hitch. Husband didn’t get mad and stomp out; he only screamed a little when blood was drawn. The doctor asked me if I had picked up the prescription, and I said I had – but later I realized I hadn’t. I would stop at the pharmacy later.
I took Husband to the bank (finally made my own deposit and helped him with the ATM), took him out to eat (because he has to fast before the doctor), and then I dropped him off at the barber. I had too much planned for my day, just to sit there with him. I went out to the warehouse store, hurried through my purchases, and went back to pick him up. No problem picking him up – but I forgot something I was supposed to buy. So I took him home and went up to another warehouse, a little closer to home.
Guess what? My card is expired. I can’t renew it, because I’m a secondary on my sister’s account; she has to renew it. They let me use it “one more time”; of course, my credit is still operating. I almost forgot to pick up milk – y’know, the stuff I never drink, but I’m still responsible for it anyhow. What a day – I’m tired.
Sometime around twilight, I realize I never picked up the prescription. It’s too late for me to drive; when my daughter comes home, I ask her to take me to the pharmacy and to the ATM. The pharmacy computer has no record of the doctor’s calling in; they give me enough pills to tide him over the weekend. Now I’m rattled again. How could I have forgotten?
At the ATM I take a fairly large amount of cash, put it into an envelope along with the card, and bring it into the car, but I don’t remember putting it into my purse. (I have reason to have gone over this several times in my mind, as you will see.) My daughter reminds me that I wanted to visit the housewares store, and off we go – the third warehouse of my day. And I do indeed find something that I wanted, we go home for supper, and I go to bed early.
This morning… where’s that envelope? I have no idea. I have checked my purse, my coat, my daughter’s car – everywhere – for over an hour. So I call my married daughter to tell her I’ll be late for breakfast, and I’m off to the bank to report the card missing. By this time I know I will never see that money again. I have convinced myself that, if a poor person finds the cash, he or she is welcome to it; this must have been meant to happen. I drive along counting all my blessings because, as much as I would rather not have lost money, I could have lost a great deal more. For example, that driver ahead of me, plowing right past stop signs; at least he didn’t hit me.
The bank gives me a temporary ATM card, and I write a check for the cash I still need. I’m still upset, but I can manage. Nothing more is going to happen. I’ll just have a leisurely breakfast with my daughter and son-in-law.
Would you believe it! At the restaurant I left the lights on, and my car won’t start. I can call the motor club, but I reason: it was little more than an hour; the battery is not old; it did try. Wait. I force myself to complete the day’s cryptogram, then I turn the key again. And the motor turns over. See, I do have blessings.
It’s a warm day, and I even manage to get some yard work done. We can do what we have to do, and we will.
