Tuesday Morning

So I have been sick for awhile, but that is not the point of this blog. (Just so you know.) Anywho, I was off to yet another doctor, this time out in Colton. (I had finally just decided to go and see the people I had been going to since I was born.) But in order to get a same day appointment, I had to call EXACTLY at 8:00am, risk being put on hold for thirty minutes, and then findding out all of the available appointments for that day had been taken by the people who had somehow gotten miraculously connected before I did.

I set my alarm for 7:58, knowing I would be sleepy and probably need a minute before my eyes could focus on the numbers of my phone. Worst case scenario, I didn't get an appointment and I would just go back to sleep. 7:58, my cell phone buzzes me awake, and I groggily wave my hand around my night stand reaching for my phone to make it stop. I tap in the numbers and wait for it to ring. Now, I have done this before and if you don't call EXACTLY at 8, you get a voicemail and have to call back. But to my surprise, I was put through right away. The receptionist at the switchboard asked how she could connect me, I said, "Dr. Bourne's office in Cooley Ranch" she said "One moment please" and we were go for launch. Here again, I expected to be put on hold, but I spoke to person right away. Dr. Bourne didn't have an appointment until 2:45, but Miranda Lynch (sp?), his nurse practitioner, had one at 9:30, did I want to take it? It was 8:03 now, it would take me a little less than an hour to get there. If there was traffic (and there is ALWAYS traffic) I might be screwed. I took the appointment and jumped out of bed.

Nineteen minutes later, I walked out the door, no make-up, Trader Joes blueberry scone in hand. Crap, what day is it? Tuesday. Where did I park? I replayed getting home last night, and realized I was on the wrong side of the street; street sweeping takes place every Tuesday at 8am. Excellent, another parking ticket. Whatever. But as I veered right and approached my car, there was no little annoying white slip of paper waiting to greet me. Shocked at my luck (because I have very BAD luck with parking tickets), I got in my car as quickly as possible to drive away before the ticketing gremlins came. And as I drove off towards the 55 freeway, I passed the street sweeper just coming up the other side-- I had escaped in the nick of time.

Now to battle traffic. Little GPS on my iphone, what does my future hold? As I searched routs on my map to Colton, and navigated my lane of traffic on the 55 (I AM the driver your mother warned you about), I clicked the little "show traffic" bar and made a distinct subconscious association with "Show me the beast!" from Disney's Beauty and the Beast. I had clicked that button thousands of times since getting my iphone and never before thought this. I smiled and made a mental note to tell Whitney later. She is the only one who might even possibly appreciate that parallel.

As I analyzed my traffic options, I realized the 91 (the shortest distance-wise) was a sure failure. What about the 57? It was a little out of the way, but never as much traffic. I scanned the map on the my little screen, glancing up occasionally to make sure I didn't hit any cars, but I couldn't find the 57 icon on any of the freeways. I zoomed in and out of the map, knowing decision time was coming. I either had to go 5N and commit to the 57, or stay and go the rout of impending doom. Then finally I zoomed in again, and there it was, the path green the whole way. I lane surfed a few lanes to the right, and way one my way.

Fifty-four minutes later I was off the freeway and headed to the office. Crap, wrong turn. It was exactly 9:30, (I was AMAZED it was exactly 9:30), but I had come so far to be late now. Figure it out Mel, left on Mt. Vernon. I called and told the receptionist I would be about four minutes late. I found a spot right by the front sliding doors, parked and walked in. I told the lady my name and who I was there to see. The other receptionist looked up and smiled, recognition that she had been the one I spoke to when I called. It was 9:34. I had made it.

From the waiting room I tweeted, "Good morning! It is only 9:40, and I have already escaped the law and outrun the traffic demons!"

I sat amazed at how things had worked out. For all intents and purposes, it was a good morning.