Tool Selection

Could be someone I know, someone I don't know, fictional characters, dead people. I don't care, I'm an equal opportunity complainer when it comes to complete dickwads.

Wherever there's a Complete Tool, I'll follow closely behind with my anonymous bitching. 'Cuz that'll show 'em.

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Wednesday, October 6, 2010

The Apocalypse

Imagine yourself in the middle of a 100 + degree desert.  You're going about your business despite the unusually high fall heat when all of a sudden:

Yeah, this isn't good.  Not at all.  Soon it starts raining so hard you can't make out the palm trees in the background.  That's not so bad.  You start getting hopeful that the power will cut out and you can go home and just curl up with your book.  

Then the hail starts up and your thoughts are scattered. "Wow!  Look at the size of that shit!" becomes "Wow!  I hope my car's not getting dented," becomes "Wasn't it just sunny and 100 degrees, like, 10 minutes ago?"  

You're bummed because the power does not go out, but as a consolation prize, the phone lines do.  Small victory is still victory.  Except when that victory only lasts 15 minutes.

The sky clears and you go back to business as usual trading war stories with everyone you encounter about your memories of the Great Storm of '10.  

You notice the sky start to darken again a couple of hours later.  This time, the hail -- which was incidentally the size of golf balls -- came first. 

This is when you remember that your 2 small children are down the road and the street in front of them tends to flood like crazy.  P - A - N - I - C !!  But there's no need to fear, your hubby's on his way to get them.

Just in the nick of time too.  The street is flooded just above the curbs.  Any more water on the road and no one would have been able to get in there without a truck.  Or a rowboat.

You're finally on your way home, excited to be on your way to leaving this weather behind you.  You start to dream about your fuzzy pink throw blanket and the chocolate caramel flavored hot chocolate you know is sitting in your cupboard.

Then, about 15 minutes into the commute, you realize you're not moving.  This is bad.  You look over to see other commuters getting out of their car and walking around.  This has just now gone from "not good" to "I hope I don't have to sleep in my car tonight."

For 2 hours you're stuck on the freeway, moving about a foot every couple of minutes or so.  You've got a hungry and thirsty couple of kids in the back seat of your car.  All you have to offer is a snack baggie of Goldfish crackers.  Thirty seconds after they're offered up, the fish are gone and you get treated to a cacophony of unhappy children crying.  The urge to get out of the car and walk home is now overwhelming.

You're finally diverted off to the surface streets.  Hooraaaaa..... oh, damn.  Where's the power?  Downed power lines quickly give you your answer.  The traffic lights are out everywhere.  You can see police presence at some of the intersections directing traffic, but they can't be everywhere.

At another intersection, you see the National Guard directing traffic.  Later, you'll realize that the men you saw out there didn't have any sort of reflecting clothing on.  They were probably just called straight out to direct traffic in the dark.  In camouflage clothes.  You spend the rest of your commute worried about their safety.

You make it about halfway through the surface streets that will take you to the highway leading to your home. The water is just rushing in little rivulets on the sides of the road.  The further south you go, the deeper the water gets.  At some point, you realize that it's actually up to the bottom of the passenger-side door.

An hour on the surface streets and you make it alive and well to the highway.  By this time, one of your kids is overcome by exhaustion.  You're grateful.  The other one is entertained by the catchy music you put on to lighten the mood.  You don't even care at this point that your four-year old is trying to sing along to "Dick In A Box."  You just care about getting home.

Over three hours after you leave work, you finally arrive home.

This was my Tuesday.