I don’t know what it was about this Tuesday, but it just became the new Monday. Awful, disconcerting and disorienting, and above all, I’m pretty sure it took a couple years off of my life.
The day started with me leaving the house about 10 min. late in the morning. 10 min. is not a ton of time, unless you SPECIFICALLY set your alarm for earlier than usual to ensure that you got out the door on time. At least when I oversleep and run late I know that I got some extra zzz’s. But it’s terribly disheartening to wake up EARLY and STILL leave late.
Then, as I was plowing my way through the stupidity that is Ft Worth traffic, someone ahead of me slammed on their breaks. My reaction time was delayed, due to the “waking up early” and all, so instead of slowing to a stop, I, too, had to slam on my breaks. However minor this incident could have been, it became the sinister highlight to my day, since it caused me to tip my coffee mug all over my lap. Yup. Coffee in the crotch. Burning.
As I pulled over at a gas station to mop up (my kids asked if I used profanity. I said it wasn’t that bad. They asked why. I told them it was only minor because no one had to hear it), I reached into my bag to find my cell phone. I wanted to call my boss and ask if I could buy new pants on my way to school.
Great plan. If you can find your cell phone.
I tore apart my car looking for my cell phone, frantic and panicking. It’s one thing to call ahead and say you are going to be late because you spilled scalding coffee in your lap and needed to buy new pants. It’s another to show up late looking like you pee’d everywhere.
I grasped at my paper bag full of workout clothes and yanked. Instead of lifting, it tore in half, sending sports bra and sneakers and socks flying into my face and dashboard.
Okay. I thought. I’m officially angry.
My only recourse was to get back on the freeway and speed to school in tears. By the time I ran in, the kids were all in chapel so I was able to make the walk of shame to my classroom without anyone asking why I decided to wet my pants on my way to school. Annie, the secretary, came and I asked her how bad it was. She said, “Just don’t turn around.” and lent me her sweater.
Around 3rd period, my pants were no longer soggy, just uncomfortably damp. It was then that my middle schoolers all decided to fail their reading quiz. This meant that my lunch break was going to consist of watching them in detention.
But I had to quickly heat up my lunch before I could supervise detention. I pulled out the “Lean Cuisine” with shrimp that Jesse had kindly packed for me, and all of a sudden, it looked so gross I wanted to puke. The little shrimps were white and pasty, like emaciated albino alien squid. I knew there was no way I was going to eat it.
Luckily, I had a back-up can of pea soup in my desk drawer. I got another teacher to watch over my detention for “five minutes” so I could go mix it with some water in a bowl and microwave it.
Good plan. If there is a bowl in the kitchen big enough.
Instead, all they had were little sorbet dessert bowls. Not for mixing 2-3 servings of soup.
By the time I returned to class after having to figure out a complicated method of dumping out half the soup, getting more water, microwaving, straining, etc. to get the right consistency, it had been 20 min., not 5. And the teacher I had roped in to watching the kids was not happy.
Last but not least, during 6th period I passed the 1st graders in the hall as they were on their way to art class.
One little girl said to me, “Mrs. Cone, I got a TB test yesterday!”
“Neat.” I said.
“What does TB stand for?”
Not knowing that all 1st grade inquiries actually turn out to be TRICKS, I responded, “TB stands for Tuberculosis”.
“What does Tuberculosis do?”
“Well, it makes you really sick. Sometimes people used to die.”
Pause. Pause.
Then she wailed, “I’m going to die!”
“You’re going to die!” echoed her classmates.
“No! No one has had Tuberculosis in a really long time!” I protested. But my cries were feeble in comparison to the wailing.
“I’m going to die!”
“You’re going to die!”
“Mrs. Cone said I’m going to die!”.
I immediately had to go to my boss and explain the situation, just in case any parent came up and complained about my morbid death predictions for young children. And then I went out to my car to search my purse for chapstick (it’s like comfort food, but for lips).
This was where I found my cell phone, sitting prettily in the outside pocket.
So there you have it. Tuesdays really are the New Monday.
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nyx says
wow. I feel horrible for you! that is just wretched! I hope the rest of your week has been a bit better. =)
Christine says
I hate to say this, Kelly, but thank you for having such a horrible day. This Monday (today) I woke up ~2hrs late for work…so hearing how much worse this day could have been, was something I kind of needed to hear. That being said, I’m sorry you were the one who had to have that day and, like Chelsea, hope the rest of your week improved exponentially.