Mondayest Tuesday Ever

On a regular weekday, I work 9AM - 3PM.  I generally take The Kid to school so she can sleep an extra 45 minutes.  I've learned that this extra 45 minutes of sleep can be the difference in bargaining with The Spawn of Satan all day OR enjoying The Kid while she's in a generally great mood all day.

It's not rocket science.

On days I take her, we need to be out the door by 7:30 so that gives her some cushion to not be rushed once she walks into the school doors.  Leaving by 7:30 puts us at school by 7:45 and the bell is at 8:00.  Then, for the next hour I make the 3 minute commute from her school to my office.  I park and catch up on facebook and twitter.

This week, on Monday and Tuesday my hours were 8-5 because my boss is out of town.  

Tuesday.  Tuesday was so Monday it was not even funny.

My 6:00AM alarm never sounded.  I must have shut it of the morning before, for whatever not-normal reason.  

I shot out of bed at 7:39 and ran down the hall to wake The Kid.  I hollered at her as I ran back to my bedroom, "brush your teeth, your hair and get dressed"!

By 7:49 I was pulling my car out of the garage.  This is a record land speed for me and the fact that both of us were sprinting out the door fully brushed and dressed was nothing short of a miracle.  Of course I came without my painted face or perfectly coiffed hair, but we were GONE.

The bell is 8 and I came in hot at 8:02.  I went a little heavy on the pedal on the right, but she was still 2 minutes tardy.  I had to sign her in and since there are multiple irresponsible parents who brought their children to school after 8:00, I had to wait in line to sign her in.  By the time I was able to, it was 8:06.  She was only 6 minutes late.  There are worse things in the world.  They were still doing Morning Announcements when I ran out the door to my running car.

8:10 I make it to work.  I'm here, I'm fine, right?

W R O N G

I didn't eat breakfast, have coffee or even wipe the crust from my eyes.  I was at the office physically, but mentally and emotionally I was still in bed or standing in front of my Kuerig.  I always keep a snack in my desk - this week it's pretzels.  I held off on eating them because I was not starving. 

By 10 I needed a little something, so I ate a handful of pretzels and kept on with my work.  By 11:30 I was starving.  I don't ever leave for lunch because I'm typically only here for 6 hours each day, but I always bring lunch.  I also safeguard against being a totally forgetful person by keeping a can of Chef Boyardee Beefaroni (don't judge me, PATRICIA!) in my desk drawer.  

I pulled it out along with my microwaveable soup mug and pull on the tab to open the can.  IT BROKE OFF IN MY FINGERS.  Am I as strong as Wonder Woman?  Did Jesus bless me this morning with the strength of 1,000 men while I overslept?  

It's Fine.  I'm Fine.  Everything is Fine.

This happens and I immediately want to cry.  I'm starving.  I'm going to wither away.  I'll die here and nobody will find me until morning when my boss returns to work after his Family Ski Vacation and I don't even have makeup on and I'm wearing jeans and I'm not really supposed to be wearing jeans, but I didn't have time to think through any of this when I was still comatose from sleeping. 

I message my TBF (Two of my Best girl Friends) about this and one immediately offers to bring me something to eat (because she knows I'm fat and I'll never make it if I don't consume something).  The other one was sleeping.  For sure sleeping.  They are the  best though.  I tell Kay that I'm going to look for a can opener in our very small and 1980's equipped "kitchen".

Microwave Circa 1987 (per the date inside that beast).  Don't even get me started on the Tiniest Sink to ever be seen in a "kitchen".  Oh, and the empty paper towel roll?  That's because my boss keeps the extra paper towels in the cabinet above the 1987 Microwave.  I can't reach them, so until he gets back tomorrow, it stays barren.

Below that ancient microwave (it was gifted to my boss and his wife when they got married in 1987) is a drawer full of many things.  Plastic cutlery, a box of matches, random salt & pepper packets and a can opener.  Not just any can opener though.  A 1987 can opener.

I am truly praying that I don't snap this thing in 78 pieces with my super-human strength.

I message Kay & Ess back and tell them it may take me 27 years to open it, but it should work.  In the process, I noticed that this 1987 Made in the US of A can opener is peeling metal shards.  They're on my desk and on top of the can, so naturally, I take a picture to document in the event I die from consuming metal shards.

Can you see them all piled up to the right of the circle of failure?  Also, I took this picture in facebook messenger and I have no idea how I got "Central Park" on there.

13 minutes later I got the can opened and my contents poured into my mug.  I put the mug into the 1987 Microwave and had a hot lunch before noon.  All the glory to God, y'all.

Why would I NOT filter this with celebration confetti?

Anyone who grew up in the era that I did would know that the slogan for Chef Boyardee was "Thank Goodness for Chef Boyardee", like, this chef saves the day and all goes right in the world.  As far as I'm concerned, truer words have never been sloganized.  

Now, I need to remember to bring another can of Chef Boyardee to save me the next time I forget to bring my lunch OR decide that waking up on time is totally fun.