I got in the car this morning and remembered I needed gas. The fuel gage was on E, so there was no escaping this chore before work. Being sick all last week, I had ignored the need to keep the needle above the ¼ tank mark.
What I thought would be a quick trip to Home Depot for gas developed into a test of patience and anger management. How one compact car has the ability to block two gas pumps is beyond me, but I assure you it is possible. That said, I had to pump gas in the rain because another less than considerate, motorist was also stealing more than his share of concrete.
But the test wasn’t finished. I managed many more delays before reaching work. One commuter train, two traffic jams, a complete standstill in a sudden downpour, and one stalled car (not mine) later I made it to the office. I was 20 minutes late but all was well – at least until I dropped my brand new sneakers into a mud puddle.
I would have yelled but I can’t speak. My vocal chords are blown. This fact, I am sure, is immensely humorous to anyone who knows me. To say I am a talker is like saying the Sun is warm. But as I sit here, the last thing I want to do is speak. If only I had continued with sign language. Maybe it is time to enroll in a sign language class and check that item off my list.