Tell ya what,
it isn't the Friday the 13ths I dread so much as the Thursday ones. Like today.

*allows a moment for some to go, "Oooo, it is Thursday the 13th, isn't it?"*

Heh.

OK, so this is what it comes down to: I did muchly for mine place of employment this day. Debbie called me in the middle of my morning routine to beg me for help. Yups, beg; poor Debbie sounded absolutely flummoxed. (Rock! I finally get to use that word!) She needed more mayo from another Chili's, and then she needed someone to stand in as a volunteer at the Byron Nelson PGA Golf Tour. The only reason I know that entire name is because Dad watches the PGAs every time they are on television.

I ran late for work getting the mayo. Then our store was completely smacked repeatedly with 2o+ person parties. Ron (who was volunteering at the PGA, being the golf freak that he is, heee) called us in the middle of the shift, demanding to know where our volunteer was. Debbie squeaked that George had to step down at the last minute for some unknown reason, and another server, who had been slotted to take George's place, had to fill in at the store. (We are so freakin' short staffed it's not even funny. This bull about a lack of jobs certainly isn't in effect over our way.) She was trying to get me out there as fast as possible, but we were slammed, weeded, slaughtered, all that store lingo for "we are freaking BUSY."

Meanwhile, I'm nervous. I need to look up what one calls a fear of driving on highways, because I definitely have that phobia. Seriously. Driving on all those interstate highways just paralyzes me with terror. I'll do anything to get out of driving on them.

...but it didn't work this time. ^^;

OK, so I have the instructions to the PGA tour, which happens to be a half hour drive (joy). On many interstates and switching of said interstates (double joy). And I have a flat tire (triple j--wait, say WHAT?!). Completely flat, metal rim of the hubcap touching the cement pavement flat.

I thought poor Debbie was going to go mental at that point.

Fortunately, a server fixes it, and I'm on my way. And yes, I get lost (another one of those quiet little phobias--getting lost in the middle of nowhere and not being able to find anyone to help me). And miss lunch. And nearly run out of gas. And make it to the PGA tour, playing stock girl, only to be sent home two hours later. Story of my life, spending more time driving to place of work than actually working.

The PGA tour wasn't too bad. I never saw Tiger Woods, but I know he was there, 'cause his name was on the scoreboard. And I got out of work--always a plus. ^^

It took two frecking hours to get home again. On my spare tire. (Which, incidentally, is still on my car at the moment. I need to get a new tire and an oil change--I managed to blow my recommended mileage out on the little trip out to the Tour.) I don't know how driving can tire one out, but I am tired. Exhausted. Ready to take a bubble bath.

Oooo, that actually sounds like a really good idea. Bubble bath, plus "Get Fuzzy" book. And maybe some doodling afterwards, if I feel up to it. ^_^

If ever I doubted whether I did enough for my company now....