That’s Not What I Meant, NSA

So, in my last post, I promised I’d tell you about the very eventful Sunday I had. So, here we are, at 11:01 am on Tuesday (note the day and time–boom, blogging on schedule, baby) and I intend to do just that.

You need a tad of background for this one. My family and I had taken a short trip out of town, just for the weekend, to get away from our house, specifically because our realtor was hosting an open house.

I, however, had work late on Saturday and all day Sunday, so I knew I would have to leave on Saturday to go to work. So we drove two cars down Friday morning, and I settled in for my 24-hour vacation with one goal: to finish the book I was reading before I had to come back home for work.

My 24 hours were quite nice. We went to a museum and I napped on Friday (I’m developing a new and improved napping skill set), and we spent the morning of Saturday on the beach, as my bum foot makes hiking unenjoyable and it was my mom’s birthday, and that’s what she wanted to do.

I completed my goal: I finished my book. It was nice. Water, book, some time with the whole fam-damily. I was also very confident in my ability to get back in time for work that evening–I had very carefully calculated and quadruple-checked that it would take me 1 hour and 26 minutes to get to the pool from the beach, and my shift began at 5:00, so I planned to leave at 3:00, to allow some buffer time in the event that anything didn’t go according to plan.

I finished my book very tidily at just about 3:00, grabbed my stuff, and hopped in the car to speed to my advantageous, minimum-wage job. I had the tunes cranked, the A/C blasting, and Google maps insuring that I wouldn’t pull a repeat of the Great Bus Fiasco of 2015.

Now, from this set up, I know what you’re thinking: “She 100% got lost again, didn’t she?”

And may I just say, I’m shocked and hurt at your lack of faith in my navigational abilities. Poor as they may be, I can follow one highway.

Anyway, no, I did not get lost. However, I did still end up ten minutes late for my shift.

“But how is that possible? It takes about an hour and half to get to work, and you left two hours early. That’s basic math, dude.”

Yes. I know. I had the same thought as I sat in traffic caused by road work for over an hour.

For those of you that don’t use Google maps or just don’t know, it has a handy function that tells you about when you’ll arrive at your destination. When I began my journey, it said 4:28, which I was extremely comfortable with.

However, as I was stuck in traffic, I watched the time of my arrival slowly drift upwards. As I watched it, I thought to myself, “If it hits 5:00, I’ll call my boss and tell her I’m going to be late. But only if it hits 5:00.”

So, naturally, it made it to 5:00. I called my boss and was all, “So I left early but there was road work, and I’m stuck, and, I mean, I don’t think I’ll be too late, but I won’t be on time.” My boss, because she’s awesome, was very understanding, and said, “Just get here as soon as you can while being safe.”

So I hung up and silently cursed the minutes of money-making that were going down the drain.

As I continued to sit in traffic and felt my brain aneurysm about to burst, I cursed myself.

“Why? It’s not like you caused the traffic.”

Alas, my friends, I did! You see, I was alone in the other car when we drove over on Friday, and, sometimes, I get bored and talk to myself. Except I don’t talk to myself, I talk to the bug that the NSA has in our Prius, because that’s obviously a thing. My family loves to point out that the probability that the NSA actually has our Prius bugged is infinitesimal, but talking to them amuses me, okay? And, trust me, if you’re the NSA agent(s) assigned to me, I’m a great time to spy on. I sing songs and tell stories, it’s really a great time.

Anyway, on Friday, we had been driving on this really gross and bumpy patch of highway, and my music was temporarily out of commission because we had driven out of service, so I was bored. The road was uncomfortable to drive on, and I had just been telling the NSA a story, so I said, “Ugh, this is gross. NSA, you should fix this road.”

And apparently they decided to do what I asked–because the road crew I was stuck behind were repaving the road. 

So I cried out in anguish, “No, NSA, not today!” But the damage of my NSA influence had already been done.

So, anyway, I got to work, my shift was solid, I only mildly spazzed out, no one drowned, I had Panda Express for dinner, and I got home at like 10. You know the rest–taking care of house stuff, serial killer squatters in my home, the whole shebang.

Like you do.

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