Do you ever have a moment that makes you stop and think “I really shouldn’t be allowed to be an adult”?
I’d hate to think I’m the only one.
I’ve never really quite felt like an adult. Or, not like I think an adult should feel. I don’t have any interest in growing up. I still don’t like the flavor of Kale. I don’t drink Metamucil. Those are adult things, right? See, I don’t even know! Who let this happen?
Tossing kids into the mix forced me into the adult role I was never meant to have. Responsibilities, schedules, problem solving… all things I’ve never been great with, but here I am. HERE. I. AM. I’m not doing so bad. The kids are whiny piles of turd, but they’re functioning… for the most part. We’re making it work. Success! Well, sort of. Enough to be able to stop and pat myself on the back every now and then, which I definitely should never ever do, because every time I do, I get that lovely little bitch-slap back to reality.
I think we all know where this is going. My bitch-slap came swiftly and with a bite yesterday.
In all the five years I’ve been taking the kids to, and picking them up from school, I’ve always been on time. I’ve gotten it down to a damn science. I am the QUEEN OF PARENT PICK UP. THAT’S RIGHT, MINIVAN MAFIA! EAT IT! Well, okay, that’s kind of a lie. I was late the first day and walked in to an empty cafeteria (where they corral all the kids who don’t ride the bus) but that wasn’t my damn fault. Those turds told me pick up was at 3, so I showed up at 3. NO. IT’S 2:45! THESE TWO THINGS ARE NOT THE SAME!
Okay…. breathe… carrying on–
If I’m being honest, which I always am, I kind of avoid having to run errands. I don’t like them. They annoy me. I hate the grocery store. BUT- this whole adult thing forces me to do shit I don’t wanna do, so errands must be accomplished, and I always prefer to do them without kids present. I also prefer not to have to waste gas by going out and back to the house, only to go back out and pick up the kids again. SO, if I have shit that needs to be done, I time it with pick up at the end of the day. Down to the damn minute.
How long will this take? Okay, so however long it takes, subtract it from parent pick up time, add in traffic possibilities, leave the house a few minutes earlier to allow for a buffer. Surprisingly, it’s gone really, really well. For FIVE YEARS it’s gone amazingly. I get all my shit done before picking the kids up, and pull into the parking lot in time to have a few minutes to scroll through Facebook in my car before having to walk into the school and grab the kids.
I hadn’t planned on running really any errands yesterday until I got this lovely little e-mail in my inbox from CVS. I don’t usually shop at CVS, but they dangled a $10 off $15 purchase in my face like a starving horse, and I had to bite. I. HAD. TO. They carry the makeup I’ve been searching for, but too cheap to buy. YES, too cheap for drugstore makeup. LOOK. I OWE DISNEY MY SOUL RIGHT NOW, OKAY? I DON’T WANT MICKEY BREAKING MY DAMN KNEECAPS, SO YEAH. I CAN’T AFFORD THE CHEAP SHIT.
AHEM. I swear. I’ve got this under control.
Yeah, so, they were like “Hey, come in and try our new curbside pickup!” which is this fancy thing they offer I’ve never heard of where you order, pay online, and they send you a text when your order is ready. Once you arrive, you reply to the text with “HERE” and they bring your order to your car. It’s DRIVE THRU MAKEUP, PEOPLE. HOW CAN YOU SAY NO TO THIS???
Maybe you can, but I can’t.
I love makeup too much, y’all. The offer of cheap makeup was far too strong. It may have clouded my judgement.
CVS right now:
And I needed to run to the post office anyway, so… two birds, one car trip, right? 4 birds if you count swinging back and picking up the kids on the way home.
I put in my order. I pay. I do all the math calculations for how long this might take, and I wait until the perfect time to leave the house. I’m in a GREAT mood at this point. I love a good deal, it’s a beautiful day, and I’m about to get my hands on new makeup. Triple win! Nailing this shit right now!
To save some time, I avoid the main roads and take the back way to CVS, not realizing that in order to get into the parking lot, I have to do a U-turn in the main intersection of the road I’m avoiding to get there, and then a U-turn to get back out onto the main road and head to the post office. This adds a few minutes to my time, but with the buffer I’d already planned in because I’m super fucking smart and all and accounted for this kind of thing to happen, I’m golden. No big deal.
I pull into the parking lot, put my car in park, and pull out my phone. Just as instructed, I respond to the text message CVS sent saying my order was ready with “HERE” and I wait. A minute goes by, I’m staring at the doors of CVS waiting for them to open so I can flick on my hazards to alert the clerk that I’m the one waiting for my magical makeup delivery. Two minutes go by. A lady in scrubs exits the building and nearly gets whacked by a truck. Three minutes pass. At this point, I’m looking at the clock, watching my small, yet perfectly calculated buffer quickly disappear. This is about the point where I should mention that my car doesn’t have air conditioning, and this beautiful 85 degree day is beginning to feel like a 100 degree day in a car with no air flow, in a parking lot sitting in direct sunlight. I’ve got heat sweats, and stress sweats going strong as we hit the 5 minute mark with no one coming out to my car.
I’m beginning to curse under my breath.
“Come the fuck on. Is this why you gave me ten dollars off, because this service is straight horse shit and wants to torture me?”
“This service is shit. I could go in and grab all of this shit myself in this amount of time!”
“I’m not even going to have time to go to the post office at this point, and no way in HELL am I taking the kids to the post office with me because they’re filthy annoying animals. How dare you, CVS?”
Six minutes, and all but a few of my buffer minutes are gone. I’m sweating, I’m frustrated, and I’m tired of sitting and baking. I’m positive they’ve forgotten about me, and this curbside pickup is the thing of myths.
I get out of the car, cursing about how I absolutely shouldn’t have to, and put my way into the store, fanning out my shirt because at this point, I’m swimming in anger liquid.
I’m not an angry customer. I don’t cuss people out for screw ups, but I couldn’t hide my frustration. With phone in hand, I walk up to the counter and tell them the situation-
I’ve got this order here, and no one has come out. Chick behind the counter looks puzzled as fuck.
I’m probably looking like
She is very clearly lost.
“I’ve never even heard of curbside pickup.”
SAY WHAT NOW. I start questioning myself. Did I go to the wrong location? There are so many stupid CVSs everywhere now, popping up like pubescent pimples… but no way. I googled this location before I left to make SURE this was the right one, because I’m smart, and I plan for things like this.
She calls for a manager.
Two more minutes wash away. There is no more buffer. There’s air-conditioning but I’m sweating even more.
The manager arrives, and once again, I explain the situation, trying not to be a bitch, but it’s pretty obvious that I’m frustrated with their level of ineptitude ruining my carefully planned errand run.
“I’ve placed this order, I KNOW this is the right location because I googled to make sure- and no one came out to my car.”
Her face is completely emotionless.
“Ma’am. This is Walgreens.”
OH. MY. FUCKING. GOD.
SHE WAS RIGHT. I WAS IN THE WRONG STORE. THE WRONG FUCKING STORE.
The CVS I needed to be at? Across the street. Yeah, the one I was trying to avoid by taking the back roads.
I stand there silently for a moment, in shock, questioning my life.
Internally, I’m like
“I’m sorry. I’m a moron” are all I can manage to mutter before hanging my head in shame and leaving. Mortified. Sweating. Cursing myself under my breath.
I’ve done a lot of dumb shit in my lifetime, and I don’t embarrass easily, but holy shit, people. I have not felt so dumb in years.
Negative buffer minutes. I still have TWO errands to run, and no time. I can still do this, though. I CAN PULL IT OFF AND REGAIN MY DIGNITY.
I’m cursing myself repeatedly as I rip out of the parking lot (at a totally reasonable speed, don’t you judge me), wiping beads of anger sweat from my brow, and have to drive BACK down the back road to pull a U-Turn because in a cruel twist of fate, U-Turns are illegal out of this God forsaken Walgreens parking lot. Their ultimate revenge.
I’m yelling at old ladies to move out of my way. Questioning the validity of their licenses as I try to get my ass to CVS in record time, and for SOME STUPID REASON, do not ask me why, once I finally get there, I respond to the text again with “HERE”. Yeah, I know. I had no time. I was already late, yet still, I wanted them to bring the shit to my car. DO WHAT YOU TOLD ME YOU’D DO, DAMNIT.
I’m also not sure why I was slightly enraged when no one came out. ALL I WANTED WAS DRIVE THRU MAKEUP. IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK?
I at least had the wits about me to not wait another 5 minutes I didn’t have, so I sprint-walked in, and immediately, I can see my order on the counter. Yet STILL. SOMEHOW. THEY NEED A MANAGER. And this manager has no idea what she’s doing. She’s very confused.
Look, lady. I fucked up. I pressed here when I was at the wrong place. You came out, I wasn’t there. I’m here now. GIVE ME MY SHIT I HAVE TO GO.
She fiddles around with an electronic doodad for what felt like 74 hours but was probably 47 seconds before she’s finally able to scan the code on my phone to make sure I am who I say I am, and a FUCKING ALARM GOES OFF. AN ALARM. AN ALARM SHE CAN’T FIGURE OUT HOW TO MAKE STOP.
LADY. PLEASE. THIS IS SERIOUS.
I’m so done at this point. I’m ready to throw in the towel. Actually, I NEED a towel. I’m swimming in stress sweat.
I picture my children with their chubby cherub faces crying in the cafeteria thinking I forgot about them because I’m an idiot and have never been late before. How could I not prepare them for something like this? How could I be such a stickler? How DARE I always be on time??? The last time I sweat this much was when I attempted to do a 1,000 calorie workout and got dog hair stuck all over me like a fucking human lint roller.
FINALLY she somehow makes the alarm stop and scans my shit and sends me on my way. I wish hot farts on her under my breath.
At this point, I really should skip the post office because I know I literally have NO time left, but I refuse to back down. I’m GOING to finish these errands before picking up the kids. I WILL DO THIS IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO. Stupidly stubborn? Yes, that’s me, nice to meet you.
Now, it could have gone horribly here. The post office is notorious for being horrible. As I’m driving there, I rip into my makeup order, because with my shit luck, it’s probably all wrong, but it’s not. It’s perfect. I get in and out of the post office in record time. The makeup gods have smiled upon me! But I’m seriously late. Like, not so late that they’re calling the authorities, but later than I’ve ever been to pick my kids up. But not THAT late. I keep telling myself that. I’m not THAT late. No big deal. It’s only a few minutes away.
By the beard of Zeus, I make it to the school in record time. No red lights. No grannies going 20 miles UNDER the speed limit. I breathe a sigh of relief. The parking lot is half empty already, but people are still flowing out of the back doors with their kids, which means I’m not totally screwed, here. I’m patting myself on the back. I DID IT. I MADE IT IN TIME. I power walk to the front doors and bust through the front doors, and what do I see? My children on their way to the fucking principals office to call me because they thought I wasn’t going to show up. They throw their hands up “MOMMY WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN WE THOUGHT YOU FORGOT ABOUT US WE WERE GETTING WORRIED OH MY GOD MOMMY WHAT HAPPENED WHY ARE YOU SO LATE HOW DARE YOU”
Mother of the year, right here.
When I went to pick up the kids today, they walked in and were like “Well, look who’s on time today”
I can’t. I’m done. Ordering my shit from Amazon from now on, because at least they’ll bring it TO. MY. DOOR.
All of this because I tried to be a responsibly adult. Who let me do this again??
@anninabyrne He mentioned something about penis trampolines. I don't even know.
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Bravery AND confidence pic.twitter.com/voqjVXWgZx