Remember how I said I love Fridays? Last Friday, I rushed into work to find my building darker than usual. I looked at the clock which read "8:00," which threw me because I don't go in until 9:00. I thought, "Batteries must be sluggish."
I checked my watch, which was on upside down because I had thrown it on so hastily, and it said, "8:00." Then came the sinking feeling when you've done something stupid: "I'm stupid."
I had come into work an hour early.
But do you think that's the end of that story?
About an hour later, a church volunteer came in and said, "Who has the teal Camaro in the lot?" (Actually, he said, "that little blue-green-bluish-greenish little car," but why should I care if someone defames my beloved sweet car?)
I said, "That's mine."
"You've got a flat."
In other riveting news ...
My family has a problem with volume. If this were the 80s, that would have a follicular meaning, but I'm talking about electronic volume.
When our CD players and car radios break, something screwy happens with the volume. That is, they take on an autonomous existence wherein the electronic devices themselves decide when volume will rise and fall and exactly what we will be listening to today.
I'll be in our minivan (because someone is blackmailing me or physically torturing me) and I'll decide that I want to pump up REO's "Keep On Lovin' You" because I can sing that really LOUD, and then the radio goes, "Hold on a minute, Squirrely Pearlie. I'm in control here." And then I have to whisper-sing, or tragically, lip sync, in order to keep hearing the music. Sometimes the van decides we are only going to listen to certain stations or either AM or FM. It's like a tiny dictator from Dynasty's Moldavia is living in my dashboard.
In my bathroom, the CD part of the thing quit altogether, and the radio volume goes up and down willy nilly. So I have to shake it and pound it lightly and move the "on" button to the left ever-so-gingerly or it will EXPLODE Mercy Me's "Bring the Rain."
But the worst is when the silky throated, ever-subdued NPR personalities are SCREAMING at me. It's like being in Munch's