This picture was taken a few years ago when my parents were visiting. That is their dog Cowboy, the shaved Shitzu and our Hecate, who was having her own very bad day and was wondering what the heck that strange cat-sized, non-cat critter was who was obsessed with her. Trivia: What movie are we watching?
My bad weeks started at the end of the previous week. Huh? Remember, we told you. Sam escaped, disappeared from plain view only to be found three gut-wrenching hours later, eating Halloween candy in some poor unsuspecting woman's bed. That was a Saturday. It was the opening act for the following week. I won't bore you with all the details, mainly because it's 9:00 and past my bedtime. Otherwise I'd do my usual and babble on and on.
If anything bad happened on Sunday, we really don't remember, because Saturday was so dreadful it was hard to compete.
But then Monday rolled around. Mondays have a certain unpleasant flavor anyway. But this particular Monday had a bad aroma as well. Martin Luther King Jr. Day. This meant that my kids were home from school, and my individuals from the group home were home from work. All of them. And as it so happens, one of them had an appointment with a neurologist in McMinnville, which is 22.5 miles from the group home (one way). Repeat, this was a holiday.
Holidays at the group home, regardless of which holiday it may be, are kind of pleasant. On the one hand, it's more challenging when everyone is home and possibly getting bored. On the other hand, all the higher-ups are at home and have no intention of coming in. So the atmosphere is more relaxed. However, I and co-worker had an individual to take to a doctor's appointment, and so we did.
Beautiful, sunny day. Relatively short wait in the waiting room. Our guy was mostly calm ( he is the calmest of all our people). The neurologist? Unbelievably arrogant and insufferable. The organization we work for requires that we get a short summary from the doctor and a signature for all doctor visits. This guy absolutely refused and said if we didn't like it, our guy could just get himself another neurologist. Ah, if only this were possible. Neurologists are a hot-ticket item, in very short supply. So I gave a saccharin smile, gave myself a case of TMJ, and told him that no, no, that would be just fine. Then he left the room, my co-worker stretched out a cramp in her middle finger, and I rolled my eyes and made gagging noises.
Then we left. Sort of. We were heading to the car and I put my hand in first one pocket, and then the other. Then I started over again, but hey, they're just jean pockets, not Carharts or a kangaroo pouch.
me: I sure hope the keys are in my purse.
Shayna: (worried expression). Me too.
me: Yeah, but I don't think so. I never put the house keys in my purse, always my pocket.
Shayna: You're sure they're not there?
me: yep.
Flashback: 45 minutes earlier, as we headed toward the elevator, it came to Shayna's attention (don't remember how), that I hadn't locked the car. Just so you know, I NEVER lock the car. There isn't anything in it. It's just the car and not a great car at that. Plus it has one of those stupid "How's my driving?" stickers on it and a telephone number for cranky people to call--who usually turn out to be disgruntled employees of the same organization--world's biggest tattle-tales. Anyway, Shayna ran back and locked the car. She did so because she left her tiny purse in it. Now I ask you, why bring the purse, if you don't need it and are only going to leave it behind? And if the purse is that small, what good is it anyway?
Well, you guessed it. Car was locked, keys inside. 22.5 miles from the group home. Holiday. No one in the office. Our other staff was stuck at home with three challenging individuals, probably wondering where we were.
Remember, I NEVER LOCK THE CAR. So the only problem we may have had would be somebody stealing the whole car. But no, keys are locked inside with a minuscule purse.
I return to the hospital, location of the doctor's office, and ask if anyone from their maintenance office can help us. That was a big no. Someone said the police department used to help in these matters. Well, that was a big no, too. And as I'm walking back to the car to tell Shayna this additional bad news, I stepped off the sidewalk onto the grass, at least it looked like grass, but looks can be deceptive, and I went SLIDING out of control, and SINKING, into what turned out to be a hidden swamp, masquerading as a lawn. My left leg plunged in, buried to the thigh.
Now I had one wet leg, including a soaked boot and sock, trailing green moss, grass, clumps of mud, and my leg reeked. IT STANK! And of course, no one noticed that I had on blue jeans with one stinky, wet, green-brown leg. No, I didn't have to suffer comments like, "Oh, it looks like you fell down. Hmm, too bad" said in the most blase' of voices from grown men who should have had a shred of sensitivity or common decency. BUT DIDN'T.
So we returned to the hospital lobby where we tended to make people nervous. Our individual, well, he constantly regurgitates his meals in his mouth, swallows, enjoying the whole meal again, gives a big smile, and then a scowl. Then he does it again. Shayna is a red-head who has died her hair black and looked not only less-than-happy, but dangerously unhappy. As for me, well, you know what I looked like. People walked in a big circle around us.
So we had to start with the phone calls. Keith is the guy who is in charge of all the vehicles for this organization and he is about as charming as swine 'flu. He is a troll. He is an impatient, sarcastic person with anger-management issues. I would rather ram splinters up under my fingernails than have to call him and tell him that we'd locked the keys in the car. And that we were in McMinnville.
Voice mail. I left a message.
Shayna, meanwhile, was on her cell phone and had called the On-Call. I didn't really know what the On-Call was for except to find replacement workers if someone called in sick. Apparently they are also there to drive an extra set of keys 22.5 miles and help the idiotic "front-line teams" get their individuals home. In fact, I found out yesterday, that this very gracious, helpful woman had made the comment that it was a damned good thing we'd had an individual with us or we'd have been on our own.
Keith called back. Taken care of, I said. Good, he replied. Click.
OK. I'm bored with my story. We made it back. Everyone was still alive. Everyone was hungry and waiting for lunch. However, the kitchen sink was seriously, definitely plugged AND the weekend live-in had put the griddle too close to the microwave and had melted the microwave door permanently shut. No kidding. She really did. I need to go to bed now so the rest of the lousy week will either have to wait or be skipped. It's all a blur of unpleasantness anyway.
Answer to the trivia question: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
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