Today was one of those days where I wanted to channel my inner two year old and just throw a big fit in the parking lot of Chic-fil-A. I'm 46, and most people would find this somewhat unattractive. But some days are just impossible to keep from whining. Today is such a day.
I arose at 5:45 this morning to the sound of my daughter's voice. She spent the night with a girlfriend last night, and somewhere in my Tylenol PM induced coma I thought I remembered this accurately. So, either she stayed out all night (bad) or something was wrong (equally bad) since it is my experience that 19 year old college students DO NOT get up until at least 9:00 unless they have to go to work or want to go shopping.
She awoke at 4:00 am at her friend's house with a ripping sore throat and a headache. And so she came home because she wanted to be babied by the one person who does it better than anyone...her Dad. Yeah. But today was an early day for Big Dave, and so he left her with me.
Enter Dixie - our shih tzu - at about the time Big Dave was leaving looking remarkably pathetic. Tail between her legs and just looking like she didn't feel well. There was also the added bonus of a "gift" in Jill's room...something that she rarely does anymore. I use the word "anymore" because if there is one breed of dog that is next to impossible to housebreak...it's the shih tzu. Or mine, anyway. Fine...whatever.
So, I called the vet and made Dixie an appointment at 11:00. That meant that I had to ask Brian to bring her to town so that I don't have to drive alllll the way out here and alllll the way back to the vet and then allllll the way back home and alllll the way back to work. I mean...I DO currently have something known as...a JOB. Oh, he was fine with it as he was ignoring me and playing XBox at 8:00am. Never mind that HE was up, too. Weird.
So at 10:40, I phoned the house to see who was going to bring me the dog. Jill was whining, and Brian was trying to convince me that I didn't need to spend the money on the dog...that she was fine.
No, big boy,- you are L-A-Z-Y. But not today. So, after threatening to remove every privilege he has, I finally convinced him that it is in his best interest to bring me the dog...pronto.
I walked in the vet's office and a little receptionist didn't even acknowledge my presence. She was too busy flirting with the boy doing the filing. He graduated from the school my children attended, but did he speak, smile, or in any way acknowledge my presence either? UM...NO. The little flirt girl didn't even glance my way. One minute passes. Two. Three. Finally, I huffed and sat down. Eight minutes later, another lady came out and asked "Are you being helped?" Um, that would be NO. Do I look helped? Was it the scowl? Me talking to the dog and telling her that eventually we'll get in to see the vet loud enough for the little hussy at the front counter to overhear?
Eventually we got back there, and Dixie does have a throat infection and got a shot. She weighs fifteen pounds now - within the normal range for a shih tzu according to the chart on the wall. I read EVERY chart on the wall. Three times. Then backwards. By the way, there are 56 tile squares on the floor, they have a water spot in the ceiling, and they seriously need to clean the baseboards.
What seems like an hour later, the VERY loud new vet came in to check our girl. He's really super nice. So is his assistant. I then let him know about his front counter girl and how this was my first time here since the other vet died, and how it might be a good idea to let her know that greeting people at the front desk is generally expected. He was visibly mortified. Good. I'm just saying...it is common sense...spend less time ogling the boy...and more time serving the customer. Not a difficult concept, is it? For $107.45 (including antibiotics), I would appreciate at least being acknowledged. The worst part is that I have to take them back in a week for their annual checkup. I expect that this will cost a ridiculous amount of money as Dixie also needs her teeth cleaned.
While I'm in the vet's office, Jill called to let me know that she was feeling terribly miserable and would I PLEASE take her to the doctor. Drop off dog...pick up girl...check.
In the interim, Jill called in sick to Ulta and apparently nobody explained to her that she was to find her own replacement. Really? She's been there three weeks and she is unaware of this? Well, YEAH. She's temporary help. If it is that dang important, put it in the manual. She's responsible. If she calls in sick...she's sick. She got a crash course in Bosses 101 that she desperately needed...they ALL do...but today was probably not the best time for Jill to get her rear end chewed out.
But I digress...as I normally do...
I'm starving as it is noon and I've had no breakfast or lunch, my car is on fumes with the "hey, girl, get gas in me now" light on, it is hot, Jill is whining every three seconds about how bad she feels, and by gosh, forget it all...I'm going to Chic-fil-A.
Cars are wrapped around the building like the always are, but today was just not the day for what I can normally tolerate as part of the "Chic-fil-A Experience." All I wanted was a stupid sandwich.
So, I parked the car to go inside after dodging somebody's Mee-Maw on a walker, sixteen preschoolers, moms on cell phones, teenagers who walk incredibly slow, and enough cars to look like the exit at an Alabama home game so that I can park my vehicle. I went to retrieve my purse out of the backseat, and it turned over. Naturally spilling the contents all over the back seat. Beautiful.
It is at this point that I wanted to just throw the purse around in the car and scream. I didn't though...I just slammed the door. Oh, and you know that the seat belt thing was in it, so I didn't even have the satisfaction of a good slam. MAN, I hate that.
On the bright side, I walked right up to the counter and ordered. And because it was Chic-fil-A, they actually got my order right...TOO right, though. I ordered extra pickles on my sandwich. Today, somebody with an attitude put at least 40 of them on there...which made my bread soggy. I ate half of it and just gave up.
So, after dodging the crazies flying around the parking lot, we got back on the road. And we stopped at EVERY SINGLE RED LIGHT between us and the gas station. Really? I mean, do I REALLY have to stop every 30 seconds and wait for 3 minutes when I have a thimble of gas in my tank?
Fortunately, I made it to the gas station. Naturally, because I actually wanted to sit in the car and eat while the gas was pumping, I chose a station that you have to press the nozzle or it won't go. By this time, I'm beginning to think that nothing can get any worse.
But we know better, don't we?
So, we go to Pri-Med and join the legions of other people who are too busy, lazy or disorganized to find a real doctor. Jill is too old for the pediatrician...but we won't drop out of there because we are not going through the ADD thing again with anyone else. So, when she is sick, we go to Pri-Med.
Just so you know, there is definitely a Pri-Med in hell.
We check in and the girl wants to see my insurance card. Great. I just got new cards. Wonder where I put them in my wallet... I found 73 different cards...credit...store loyalty...etc. and the OLD cards. Wait! No, that's the new DENTAL card. Finally, I just sat down and just emptied the entire contents of my wallet into a pile. Hidden in some crease of one of the wallets in my purse (don't ask) is the stupid imbecilic health insurance card.
So I present it to her. Her response? Yep...it's the same one we have on file. And then I turn around. She says, "oh, well, let me copy that anyway, and may I also have your ID?" Really? I had it before I ripped THE CONTENTS OF MY STUPID WALLET OUT. But, I calm down enough to hand it to her. I sit down, and then she calls me to come and retrieve it.
There are no magazines in this office except National Geographic, Sports Illustrated and Parents' and Obama is on CNN telling us that all is well (don't get me started on this...) so there is NO way in my current mood that I'm going to listen to that dribble. So I sit. An hour passes. Finally, I see that we are going to have her in next. It's 1:30. The door opens and a lady walks in and announces that she has a 1:30 appointment.
You guessed it. She went ahead of us.
We then ended up in the room and all was fine except that when they tested her for strep, the swab looked like it had dried blood on it. Ewww. Everyone who looks down her throat does "wow, that's bad." These are not words one wants to hear...
Finally, the doctor quits talking to whatever rep kept him from coming in there and dealing with us, and we get her prescriptions. Diagnosis? Serious strep throat. Bad. Icky.
I went back to work and found that everyone who was on hold with their deals is no longer on hold. I hate my life.
So, now it is 7:00 pm and I'm afraid to move. The hassle factor of this day has been so phenomenal that I cannot even fully express my frustration.
I am currently listening to a lively discussion between my son and husband about peeling shrimp. Words like "lazy" and "Mama is on the computer" and "what have you done all day?" are flying fast and furious.
But, I have hope. I guess you always have to have hope. I hope that tomorrow...this is hysterical. Sometimes when things are THIS bad, you start looking around for Candid Camera crews. I didn't spot any, but you never know.