Last week a variety of annoying things, small and slightly bigger, happened to us. Some of it may eventually make its way into a blog post, and some of it will just go away on its own. Some of it has been resolved, and some of it looks like it is ongoing. Could I be any more vague?
The upshot of it all was that I was determined that this week would be better. Mondays are generally busy, regardless. We need to get our daughter to nursery school by 9:15, then I drive my wife to work for 10. If there’s time, I get the weekly grocery shop done in between and then get back home in time to pick up our daughter at 11:15, have a quick lunch and then I’m off to work myself for noon.
Needless to say, everything has to precisely click for it to work, and most mornings it does.
This morning, though was a bit different. Our daughter has been off her sleep schedule for the past few days, and visit from one of her west coast cousins and a busy weekend meant many late nights, which translates into slow starts the next day.
This morning, we COULD NOT stir our daughter. We started by calling her, then flicking on her light, then going over and pulling the covers off. Nothing would do the trick. I was about to get desperate and try my grandma’s “warm cloth treatment” when she finally started to stir. We got half a piece of toast in her and dressed (under protest) and out the door in 15 minutes. Thankfully the nursery school is within walking distance and I carried (trotted) her all the way there. We were the last ones there and were about to get “the glare” from the teachers when little Oliver came tromping down the stairs behind. God bless you, Oliver! We weren’t the last ones there after all, and Oliver took the brunt of the glares.
When I got home, my wife was distraught, although her voice was calm. “I left my purse at the restaurant last night,” she said as I came in.
My wife sings in a community choir and last night was their annual Christmas concert. A small group of us went out for a bite to eat afterwards. “I had it under the table, and I got up to use the washroom. When I got back, everyone was up paying the bills at the bar, and so I guess I never went back to the table.”
You’d think we would have seen this purse. It’s quite large. It also had her house and car keys, her wallet with all her ID, her bank card, credit cards, all the yarn barn frequent customer cards. It was a real disaster, but we couldn’t dwell on it. We had to get her to work.
“Try calling the restaurant and see if it’s there.” I suggested. We were probably the last people to sit at that table last night, and it was probably still under there.
I got her to work with minutes to spare and then it was off to the grocery store. I’ve got this new shopping list app (I’m so excited by it I am thinking about doing a separate post on it) and I was merrily making good time up and down the aisles. I was so efficient that I thought I even had time to visit the bakery across the street that offers “Bagel Mondays”: 12 bagels for $5.75 and there are like 15 varieties and they are all warm.
This week was starting out GREAT.
That is, until I had all my items checked through the cashier and I reached for my wallet.
Not in my front pockets, not in my back. Uh oh. Not in my parka pockets either. That weight that I assumed was my wallet was actually the cell phone. I’m still not used to having one on my person.
Has this ever happened to you? I got a sick feeling in my stomach and sheepishly told the cashier that I didn’t have my wallet.
“Do you think it’s out in your car?” he asked.
“Um, maybe. Can I go check?”
I put all the things back in the cart, and for a crazy second thought about making a break for the door, but the cart was pretty full and I would never have made it. They would have caught me loading the stuff into the trunk.
“Should I just leave the stuff here?” I asked.
The cashier nodded and moved the full cart to the side. I’m sure I wasn’t the first person he’s had to deal with on a matter like this. I jogged to the car, but no wallet. I thought it would be a long shot anyway. My wife works pretty close to the grocery store so I thought I’d swing by and just grab her bank card and everything would be fine and oh wait. Shit. Shitshitshit. Her card and everything else is sitting under some table in some restaurant across town. We were fucked. Doublefucked, in fact, because I didn’t have enough time to go back into the grocery store and explain my situation, go home and get my wallet, come back, pay for it, AND get back home in time to pick up my daughter.
So I bolted. I jumped in the car and sped off. My reasoning was that I could probably get home, hope to GOD that the wallet was in its usual spot, get back to the store, get the groceries and get home. It would mean aborting the bakery and forgetting about bagel Monday today, but it was a small sacrifice and one I was willing to make.
The force was with me, because I hit all the lights perfectly and peeled into the parking pad in the back seven minutes later, left the car running, ran inside and YES the wallet was sitting there, like an asshole, in its usual spot.
Back to the car, back to the grocery store (now I was sweating) and ran up to the lane #11.
No sign of my cart. No sign of my cashier. WTF?
I had to stand in line at the customer service counter for like 10 MINUTES and when I finally explained myself, the woman said. “Oh, that is Tony’s lane. He’s on his break”. Jesus Christ. He only just opened his lane when I got there 20 minutes ago, is it really break time, Tony? They tried calling him, but no answer. I was more worried about the cart. That cart represented a whole hour’s worth of shopping and if it somehow got reshelved or something I would have starting sobbing like a kitten.
At that point, the cell phone rang. It was my wife. She called the restaurant, but her bag was gone. They were going to check with last night’s staff to see if they put it somewhere, but they had already checked the back and honestly there was no way they could have fit that purse into the safe. So the mystery deepened.
No cart, no purse, no Tony.
Time was marching on. I seriously considered leaving the place, cutting my losses and getting home to pick up my daughter. When the staff room phone rang back.
Tony went home sick.
You got to be fucking kidding me, right?
He probably got sick but taking my cart, rifling through it, and eating an entire package of Timtams. Or maybe he hurt himself by doing something with my english cucumber *on special for $0.99* Fuck you, Tony.
“I can’t wait any longer. I need to go pick up my daughter.” I was almost out the door when another clerk wheeled up WITH MY CART.
“Before he went home, Tony left a note saying that he put this cart in the dairy freezer so stuff would stay fresh.” Well, God bless you Tony. No hard feelings, right? I’m sorry about those dark cucumber thoughts.
I cut it so close, I didn’t have time to bring in the groceries, but I raced over and picked up my daughter (Oliver was still getting his ski pants on. What was WRONG with that kid?)
“You won’t BELIEVE the morning I had!” I said to my daughter as we made our way home. I told her about all the losings and findings and about the still “at large” purse. We came in and took our boots and jackets off and I heard my daughter’s voice:
“Daddy, LOOK. Mommy’s purse!”
Sure enough, she found it. It had somehow got lodged between the desk and the wall in the living room. It was the right one, the black one, the big one. The one that was lost but not actually lost.
I was just about to phone my wife when she called me. The restaurant called back to say they checked the security video from last night. “There were three women in your party. Two left with small bags, and one left with a big one.” I find it a little disturbing that the restaurant had us on video surveillance, but I guess most places have that. The bottom line is that the wallet was found, the purse was found, the fridge is full of groceries and my daughter is in my care and control.
All in all, a good morning, bagels or not.