The Monday after returning from Vacation is pretty much destined to fail. So I was pleasantly surprised last week when mine was going flawlessly. At least until 1:30. That's when Caymen, who's going on week 4 of sporting a giant glob of dried bloody suture glue above her left eye from a trampoline accident, popped in to my office and excitedly said, "Notice anything on my face?" I swiveled my chair to see that she'd applied huge tattoos to her cheeks. Visions of this face dressed in a beautiful white flower girl dress preceding Aubrey down the isle flashed through my head.
But first there was the matter of her dentist appointment at 3:30pm. Maybe if I started scrubbing now, the 7 year old's fresh facial tatts would be but a distant memory...unlike the eye wound. That's when the phone rang and my daughter-in-law, Barbara said "What are you doing right now?" I looked down at Caymen's gangsta face and went the easy route. "Nothing." Zac's car broke down in the parking lot where he works and she was stranded.
We picked Barbara up and headed straight to the dentist to meet up with Ron for our cleanings. But shortly after Caymen was taken to a room, the dentist came out and said, "We have a little problem." My immediate thought was, 'So, you've seen her face.' He went on to explain that one of Caymen's back teeth is cracked and he needed our help to hold her still so he could numb her. Having just barely survived the ER visit where they tried to numb her forehead for stitches and finally resorted to the now infamous glob of super glue which Ron claims he could've done at home for free, I knew this dental visit had the potential for disaster. I wasn't disappointed. Five minutes into the chaotic scene, the doctor inadvertently pushed the needle full of numbing fluid into his own left hand. The procedure (and possibly the remainder of his afternoon), came to an abrupt end. She was immediately referred to a "specialist" and I'll be watching the mail for his announcement of early retirement. Sometimes "We're really really super sorry" just isn't enough.
Next stop, loaning Barbara our 2nd van and then all of us driving over to take a look at Zac's broken down car. It didn't take long for Ron to realize that the clutch is blown. Thankfully, his car broke down just one parking lot away from the service center. It was already closed for the evening, but they had a locked drop box for just such occasions. Thank goodness we're having so many strokes of luck here, unlike the dentist who's probably home hittin the sauce pretty heavily by now with his one usable hand.
Barbara filled out the service note, sealed the keys in the envelope and dropped them down the slot.
Our VAN keys. In envelope. Down slot.
Flash to Ron on the phone with Security while he worked a stretched out coat hanger down the slot like a toilet plunger, Caymen laying across the counter with everyone trying to convince her she wouldn't get her arm stuck...she wasn't buyin it...and Barbara digging things into the lock explaining that she's "really good at lock picking." I don't even wanna know.
Security finally arrived and busted up our little party. I thought, please don't ask about the child laying across the counter with her arm crammed in the slot, or about her face, or the fact that I just realized she's not wearing shoes.
Guard #1 dressed in a florescent green vest that screamed rookie, showed up only to announce that he doesn't have a key. Welllll, thanks so much for stopping by. Security guard #2, dressed in a legit uniform, saved the day with a key and retrieved ours. Barbara handed me our van keys, dropped Zac's keys down the slot, Security went on his way and we went on ours.
That's when Ron asked Barbara, "Do you have your apartment key?"
Apartment key. In envelope. Down slot.
The pregnant Barbara and barefoot gangsta child tore across the parking lot, chasing the security car and wildly waving their arms while I silently prayed that Zac wasn't witnessing any of this from a window.
The security guard returned, escorted us back to the drop box, allowed Barbara to retrieve her key...again...drop keys down the slot...again...and then he sent this freak show on our way...again.
If I knew where the dentist lived, I would've driven to his house to join him. But that didn't stop me from having the drink. An aptly named one, at that.
Screw you, Mondays.
From now on, I'm skippin straight to Tuesday.