So, some of you know that about 8 months ago I took a new job. This turned into An Actual Grown Up Job Job (as opposed to Sure It’s A Grown Up Freelance Job But Pants Are Still Optional Job), and that’s the very abbreviated version of how yours truly, possibly the crankiest person to walk the planet, totally ended up drinking the Happier Kool-Aid. It’s awesome.
Less awesome: Happier is in Boston, and I live 1,000 miles away. Boston is great, but Georgia is where I keep all my stuff and my dogs and my family, so up until now I have spent a lot of time on Google Hangouts with my coworkers, trying to stay in the loop on everything while my dogs seized every conference opportunity to decide to bark at nothing.
So! The planets finally aligned and we planned a trip for me to come to headquarters. (That’s a lie; the planets never align, but basically I bought a plane ticket and wrote MOM IS GONE; GO ASK OTTO on the family calendar and called it good.) At long last, yesterday it was time to leave. My excitement wasn’t even overshadowed by the knowledge that I was likely to do any number of stupid things on my way; I was THAT excited.
But of course I did manage to make the most of my trip.
Having lived in Georgia for 7+ years, now, it is with some embarrassment that I admit I still need to use my GPS to get to the airport. I KNOW. I am not good with directions. But my GPS is connected to the Borg, or something, so my excuse is that it has live traffic and rerouting options and such. It tells me when there’s a problem and offers me faster routes, etc. Because I never know where I’m going, anyway, I’m happy to follow it wherever it directs me.
The first time it took me off the highway and sent me along some surface streets in Atlanta, I happened to look down and notice a big gray smudge on my pants. Huh. I tried to brush it off (maybe just some dirt I happened to lightly touch?) but it didn’t budge. I must’ve gotten myself with one of the wheels of my suitcase while putting it in the car. Great, I’m not even to the airport yet and I’m already a mess! How very… Mir of me. But then I remembered that—because I AM A GENIUS—I had a Tide pen in my purse. It was almost like I was prepared, or something.
Have you ever used a Tide pen? It’s great, because it’s little and handy and it really does obliterate most stains with just a quick application and some rubbing. I buy them a handful at a time and plant them around my environment because (surprise!) I often discover some mystery stain on my person. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to be digging in my purse with one hand while watching the GPS and navigating in an unfamiliar area, and in very short order I’d extracted an ancient-looking Tide pen (huh, guess I haven’t used that one in a while…) and was ready to take care of that smudge on my pants.
Well. The good news is that I opened the pen, applied it to my pants, rubbed, and the stain disappeared, AND I did not take a wrong turn or hit another car or anything like that. Yay!
The bad news is that… uhhh… apparently Tide pens can go bad…? Did you know this? I didn’t know this. In fact, I was still doing a mental pat-on-the-back at not crashing or getting lost while solving my stain issue when the SMELL hit me, full-force.
Tide pens smell like detergent. UNLESS you have a super-old one, in which case it smells like ammonia and curdled milk and despair. The smell was overpowering. It was awful.
I had a bottle of water in the car with me, and began pouring it on my leg and my hand while still trying to drive and also not gag. That was fun.
By the time I got to the airport, my pants were (mostly) dry and I no longer smelled bad. Crisis averted!
My time at the airport was uneventful, thank goodness. The TSA agents were delightful! My flight was on time! I successfully paid $4 for a bottle of juice before boarding!
I arrived and have since been busy talking a mile a minute with all of these coworkers I’ve never met before but feel like I already know. It’s weird. And wonderful.
I’m staying with the lovely Erin, our designer, who lives in the world’s coolest apartment, but once we stopped gabbing and were getting ready for bed, she apologized when I went to plug my phone into an outlet that “that one doesn’t work.” She pointed out that the attached lamp didn’t work, either. And that was when I became an instant hero by pointing out that said outlet was actually attached to a light switch by the door—Erin had been in this apartment for a month and didn’t realize this, and I had just granted her lamp functionality. It was a triumphant moment and I felt awesome.
Then I 1) plugged my phone into that same outlet and 2) flipped the light switch to turn off the lamp and go to sleep. My phone, therefore, did not charge. I am smart!
This morning I needed assistance figuring out how to buy a ticket for the T, and promptly put said ticket into the entrance machine thingie (technical term) and then pulled it out and put it in AGAIN because I was confused, which means I think I paid for our morning ride twice. I am SO smart!
We then came to the office and worked a little and then went out to meet an employee-on-maternity-leave for coffee, then came back, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t done anything ridiculous for at least an hour.
But it’s early.