Tuesday, February 15, 2011

The Prequel

My life should be a reality show.  Seriously.  Life is never dull in Weaselville and odd things happen to me at an inordinately frequent rate.  Not only do I believe in Murphy's law, but I think that that guy really has it in for me some days.  It would make for absolute compelling programming, simply because people wouldn't be able to look away from their sets, for fear of missing what absurdity would happen next.

I mentioned yesterday that I went to a  media preview of the Chicago Auto Show and told you about the fun I had playing with some of the cars.  What I didn't tell you about was how my morning unfolded prior to my grand entrance in the conference room, because well, that morning warranted a post all it's own.

We'll call this The Prequel to the auto show.

I woke up on Thursday morning and readied myself to leave the house by 7:15am in order to catch the 7:48 am train into the city for a 10am working brunch.  Please note that this is the LAST express train into city of the morning and it's still an hour long trek.

Mr. Weasel was combating the lion's share of the morning mayhem that takes place daily in order to get the Weasels out to school on time.  The morning mayhem goes as smoothly as ever with Weasels not wanting to leave their cozy beds, panicking about homework that they 'forgot' to finish, meltdowns about what was being packed in the lunches, etc.

My morning shower was intruded upon no less than 3 times by Weasels who realize that I am cornered and thus a captive listening audience for their morning mayhem emergency situations such as, "----- is using my hairbrush!" and "I can't find the lint roller!"

Just as I am finishing up my preparations to actually leave the house on time, for once, Eldest Weasel rushes into the bedroom, all prepped to go out the door to school herself, with the announcement, "My Car Won't Start!".

First of all, it's not her car, but Mr. Weasel's car that she uses to drive back and forth to school.  This is a regular back and forth subject of contention in Weaselville.  She has taken to calling the car Keith in order to prevent my regular reminders and dirty looks every time she says, "My car".

Secondly, it is now that it comes to my attention that it is -10º F outside, not factoring in the wind chill.  Cars don't always enjoy starting in these temps.  No problem, I will drive her to school in the Chevy Cruze that I currently have on loan from GM that BTW, started perfectly on the first try, before I head to the train, myself.  I will miss the last express train and that alone will extend my commute by 30 minutes, but I can get on the 8:17am and still get to McCormick Place on time.

Only, by the time I get to the later train, all of the parking had been sucked up by rush hour commuters and I have to park 4 blocks away.  Remember when I mentioned that it was -10º F?  Yeah.  

I trek it up to the train station by foot from parking lot Siberia just in time to hear the announcement that the 8:17 train is running 25 minutes late.  So much for my being on time, but that was not nearly as big a concern in my life as the fact that the only sensation I could feel in my feet was burning and pain - thanks to the joys of Chicago in February.  I feared taking off my shoes to find little blackened stubs of frostbitten toes.

The train finally came into the station and the ride itself was fairly uneventful.  That is until I realized that I had everything that I needed, except my crendentials to get into the event.  Yay Me!  Thanks to a phone call and the Awesomeness that is GM's blogger babysitter social media coordinator for the Midwest, Connie Burke who doesn't mind or doesn't show it if she does, that I am a complete putzFollow her on twitter, she's cool.

Once off the train, I needed to catch a cab to my destination.  No problem there.  I am in a cab less that a minute after stepping outside.  The ride was only about a 15 minute trip.  At one point, while stopped at a light, the driver opened his door and emptied a cup onto the asphalt.  No big deal.  We start moving again and I'm just mere moments from my destination when I hear a sound.  An unmistakable sound.

The unmistakable sound of the driver urinating into his recently emptied cup!

Shock.  Awe.  Jaw dropping astonishment.  Un-be-flippin-lievable!  That is except if you are me.  I seem to be a magnet for this kind of crazy sh*t.

All I could think was, 'get me the hell out of this stinking cab!' and then, 'OMG!, How long has that guy been sitting there exposed!'.

Lucky for me, my view had been completely obstructed by the cab partition.  I was so flustered and flabbergasted that all I could focus on was being seconds from my destination and wanting to run.  I didn't even think to get his name, number, cab number, not phone number, or cab company.

Who else do you know that this would happen to?  You wish I had video of this entire episode, don't you?

Yeah, compelling reality television, alright.

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