Bad Day in Review
This is me in a bad mood.
Everything that might slightly annoy me is amplified. Everything that might make me happy is overlooked.
But can you blame me? Who likes to wake up knowing they're going to have a bad day?
There was this presentation, a real estate related thing, that I committed to months ago, only to see my real estate career fizzle out dramatically since returning from vacation. But still, this commitment, hanging over my head, that I had to do much preparation for, if only to avoid looking like a complete loser in front of S. Bullock's peers.
The presentation, you see, was to take place at S. Bullock's place of employment -- also my part-time place of employment. Come to think of it, it's basically my only place of employment at present, which is fine.
The presentation. Bearing down on me, the giant clock in my head flashing 12 noon. If I could get past this presentation, and then manage to not dwell on the cruel fact of doing all this work only to remind myself of another failed career attempt, I could then somehow salvage my day.
But first, the first day of 4th grade.
Which is fine, except when you are completely in knots over a presentation and you park on the grassy strip next to the sidewalk, where you normally park, only to have a cop -- a cop! -- there to protect us from the bad guys who occasionally drive around San Francisco, hitting pedestrians at will? No! A cop there to keep us from parking on the grassy strip next to the sidewalk, where you normally park.
It wouldn't have been so bad if the cop hadn't tried to explain to me that, well, maybe people usually park there, but "not when I'm here." Enjoy the donuts, officer. And apparently, that only holds for the first hour of your patrol, since I glanced out the window an hour later and saw people parked leisurely on the grassy strip. Erratic police work, if you ask me.
A parent in a bad mood can use their mood for random teaching moments, of course, so I told the Jawa to watch how I did not pop off to the obviously in the wrong officer of the law.
Me in a bad mood means acerbic semi-wit. Today it meant going back to the old standby: making fun of people's shoes and clothing. Specifically, Crocs. They are this year's awful progressive parent trend. When I was a teen, growing up in Orange County, the idea was to always look as if you were about to go to the beach. The idea now, I guess, is to look is if you could run off and do some gardening at any moment.
I apologize to any Croc-wearers I may have offended. Except the boys who wear them. I mean, come on.
From school I went to see my friend and presentation partner the mortgage broker, who was still hoping I'd be able to summon up some enthusiasm for the presentation. Well, no, but the two Hershey's miniatures I slammed down at 10:45 did help.
The presentation, when it finally arrived, was not bad. It was boring, for certain, and humorless by design, but it passed quickly. We spewed out data (as my friend the mortgage broker had advised we do) and I pretended to by enthusiastic but not funny. Scientists don't do my kind of funny. I learned that at the last presentation.
I was hoping that I would no longer be me in a bad mood. I even had a small dog waiting for me at home, who would be eager to chase a tennis ball and then flop all over the place while returning it to me. The Jawa would want me to bring the small dog to school so his friends could see it.
And I tried.
Now at this point, I'd like to recall the rude passenger on our flight back from Seattle, who forced the flight attendants to show him where in the regulations book it says that you can't wear headphones during takeoff. Being my grandfather's grandson and my father's son, I took the opportunity to let the flight attendants kn0w (while waiting for the bathroom) that I found his behavior abbhorant. "It's so much easier to not be a jerk," I said then, completely forgetting this when I arrived at the school with Shack, our new small dog, only to be turned away by the hulking Russian security guy.
"No pets," he said with his thick accent.
Pause. I've been seeing people pulling dogs on leashes at this school going on 5 years now. For awhile, I thought they were a requirment, along with clogs and hybrids. And now you're telling me I can't bring my dog? Forgive me if I'm feeling like the world's rules are being enforced only on me.
Fine. I give up. Even when S. Bullock says, "You really are cranky" at dinner, I don't fight back. Instead, I retreat to the library, on a beautiful San Francisco night, while everyone else sits outside restaurants and talks on their cell phones. Then I come home and have a terrible fight with the Jawa, who vows revenge and threatens at one point to "blow up your dresser."
And now, as we wind down, Sandra Bullock just told me that I need to take the dog outside again before I go to sleep.