Unlike Jack and Jill who went up that hill to fetch that pail of water, we knew that we were screwed.
You know how it is.
Stupid ideas never die.
And with each new chief, old, ideas are resurrected.
This time the damn thing stuck.
And just like that, the work, home, life balance, that our new guy’s predecessor used to brag about, bit the dust.
I work with numbers and charts and charts and numbers.
This is unfortunate.
Because I am not a numbers and charts and a charts and numbers person.
How I got here is another story.
It’s called, The Imposter.
But that isn’t the point.
The point is that if I make one tiny mistake, it can create a domino affect.
Sometimes of epic proportion.
Like the viral kind you see on Facebook with sixteen million likes because it ends up shooting an arrow through an apple on top of that curly haired kid’s head.
I don’t mean to brag, but I can make more mistakes in a day than most.
I hold the record in my office.
And when papers and graphs and graphs and papers are whizzing by my eyes at warp speed, as they have been, I can really crank them out.
Especially if you throw a calculator in the mix.
In my current state, I have the capability to single handedly cause a collision of charts, numbers and departments, that will have the same effect of an asteroid hitting Time Square.
And that means that innocent bystanders will get hurt.
This is a lot of responsibility for little old Millie Noe.
It makes it hard for me to breathe.
Which is not a problem.
Because I am living at the office, where they frown upon napping.
The food in our break room is below average.
So it’s not a big deal if I finish that cardboard sandwich or not.
These were some of the very reasons that had me looking forward to surgery.
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” asked a co-worker.
“No,” I said. “It’ll probably be the best day I’ve had in weeks.”
My alarm rang at 4:30 AM.
Of course I swore.
But that’s okay.
I wasn’t going to work.
When it comes to hospital visits I am usually the driver.
I am the bored person waiting anxiously in the room behind a curtain.
The one who stops at the pharmacy.
And the one who does all the dirty work.
But not on Thursday.
On Thursday I was wheeled into a room by a hot young man who spun me around in the elevator and hit a button.
And then, he dropped me off with a smile and left me with some people who were super nice, other than their incessant apologetic need to smash my poor little defenseless tit into a wafer and stick a wire into it.
But nobody’s perfect.
They didn’t criticize my width breaks.
Then my nurse brought me a pale purple gown with a tube in it.
“You can adjust your temperature with this dial,” she says.
I would have been half frozen by now if I were sitting at my desk.
I was carted into the block party room where I got to hang out with three hilarious doctors and a nurse who made them look serious.
“What is your cocktail of choice,” she says.
“Jägermeister,” I said. “But it’s kind of early.”
“No judges here,” they winked.
And then they stuck a bunch needles into my back.
“This is your day,” says Betty. “You pick the music.”
So I picked Mark Knoffler.
It was all so wonderful.
And then I was placed under a bunch of sets of lights.
They looked even mightier than the ones in the Kohl’s Department Store dressing rooms.
“You aren’t going to turn all those on, are you?” I said to a room full of mysteriously masked people.
They must not have turned them on.
Because I took a nice long nap.
We can’t do that at work.
I woke up wearing a pink flowered bustier under my purple gown.
And there was my Sweet Sven sitting in a little chair, with his Rolling Stone magazine, waiting for me.
My new friends stopped in.
“Would you like anything to eat?”
“No thank you.”
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Maybe a little water.”
“Are you warm enough?”
See what I mean?
Not one mention of my Alaska and Hawaii pricing not looking right.
But, all good things must come to an end.
So I had to say good by to my new pals.
Sven backed us out of our spot in the parking ramp.
To exit we were supposed to turn left at the first corner.
My sweet Sven is a very good driver.
I was just about to compliment him on his perfect wide left turn that had him an inch from the back end of a silver van that was situated at the tip of the lane, when there was a crunch.
“What the?” says Sven.
He put our little black Kia into reverse and gave it some gas.
That is when the crunch grew louder and louder.
It was like a wrecking ball knocking down a building.
The lady across the way was yelling, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God!” in unison with me.
And so did the crunching and the screaming.
We burst out our doors to find our front bumper and grill, which is all one unit, in case you didn’t know, lying on the ground.
All except for the one little spot on the left corner, which Sven had to stomp on to break loose.
And then we dragged the front half of our car, license plate and all and we stuffed it in the back seat, through the trunk.
And then Sven finished taking that wide left turn and we left that silver van without a scratch on it or on the trailer hitch that we had not been aware of.
And we unjammed the parking ramp traffic jam.
That’s when I noticed that my boob didn’t hurt anymore.
And it didn’t hurt as we crawled under our car two more times on the way home because of all the sounds coming from the front passenger side, like if you placed a baseball card next to your bike spokes.
And then put a megaphone in front of them as you pedaled.
Finally while on the beltline something broke loose and went flying.
And the flapping stopped.
Sven had previously made an appointment for the Kia for Friday.
You see I was sick of my heater fan sounding like an airplane and not blowing out any heat.
We picked up the truck and I followed Sven to the shop where we dropped off the Kia with the front of it in stuffed in the back.
I don’t know about you, but I was ready for a glass of wine.
It was real good.
So was the second one.
And then it was lights out for Millie Noe.
The end of my best day.
“Holy shit Sven. Look!” I said, as we pulled into the shop parking lot.
There she was.
Most of her front end was screwed back on.
Turns out there had been a nest filled with nuts in her heater vent.
Some poor little critter is now homeless because Millie Noe wanted a little heat.
Well, at least that explains why my proof of insurance and registration are all chewed to bits.
It’s a shame we didn’t get pulled over on the best day with our front license plate in our back seat and our registration paper half eaten.
Oh well, maybe next time.