Wednesday, February 28, 2018

Dude, Where's My Car? A Cautionary Tale of Distracted Femininity

Photo by Glenn Carstens-Peters on Unsplash
Lately I have been channeling Green Day's Basket Case on a daily basis.

Things are pretty overwhelming.

But then, aside from my confessionals here, most people just see the outcomes that get produced, and think, "I don't know how she does it [all]."

Truth is, I am barely getting by [in my head, anyway] and this semester is thoroughly kicking my [rather large and growing daily] behind. Add in a touch of Heather's Crazy [un]Luck, and well, things have been interesting to say the least.

On any given day, I've got a gazillion "browser tabs" open in my brain from meal planning, to chauffeuring needs of my children for their various activities, to bill paying (read: juggling, given Seth's recent medical leave), to two graduate courses' weekly duties/contents, to relationship maintenance, to blah, blah, blah. It never stops grinding, this ole cerebral system of mine.




A week ago Monday, I had to get off work early to take Kels to turn in her new job paperwork at Taco Baco.

It had snowed.

I got overly invested in the work I was doing and ended up leaving later than I intended.

As I walked out the door, I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket and called her to say she needed to be at the ready when I got home. 

I do NOT like to be late. Ever. For meetings/appointments, assignments, deadlines. None of it. And, when I am, the self flagellation that ensues is nothing short of neurotic, especially if said tardiness is caused by external, uncontrollable factors. But I digress.

Walk to the parking garage, go to grab my keys.

And. They're. Not. There.

I rush back into the office to see if I left them there. 

Nope.

My phone rings. It is my gym calling to say that someone picked up my keys and called them, and that the woman also works on campus, in the Biology Center.

I wrack my brain, trying to mentally locate the Biology Center. The campus has changed immensely since I originally arrived 20 years ago. A flash of memory hit me with the revelation that I walk past the new Biology Center on my way to Clark every day. It is further away and I'm going to be still later.

Stress thermometer ratchets up more.

I walk to the Biology Center and go to their "front desk" area, per my gym's instructions, tell them like 5 times what I understand to be true only to be greeted with blank stares of confusion.

My inner voice is swearing a blue streak at this point.

Did they mean the new medical center?

I don't know, did they?

Add stress.

So I head out to check that alternative, when a train blares through the midst of my pathway, blocking my progress. I think to call the medical center - inside the Biology Center for quiet - and they say, no, no keys have been reported.

Ok, think, McFly!

Go to walk back out and see a woman I'd seen when I went into the parking garage, and just as I notice she has my keys, she asks me, and I'm like, "Yes,thankyou, lovetostayandtalk, butIgottago."

Call Kelsey's manager since this is MY mistake, and he's like, "Calm down lady, no big deal" dismissive.

All's well that ends well.

Fast forward a week to this Monday, and I'm heading to Denver to attend a meeting on my boss's behalf as he has yet to figure out how to be in three places at the same time. Will someone get on that, btw?

The balance in the checking account was -$1.20 (payday was the next day), my gas tank is half full, and I'm running on fumes. 

The ever present stress is simmering.

I have $10 cash in my pocket and roughly as much on the credit card in my wallet.

Google chimes, "Your destination is on the right," while I observed downtown parking had gone up considerably. 

I drive around shopping for affordable parking lots, feeling my anxiety rise as the time ticks further away from "on time."

I make note of the lot's general area, and decided to leave my heavy bag with my wallet in it, because I know I have to hoof it quite a ways to the meeting (roughly a mile).

It's a nice day, sunny and 60 degrees, so my black blazer will suffice.

I make a slightly less than fashionably late entrance, with some of the other attendees - solidarity! 

Learn, network, and fin.

I go back the way I came. 

Or so I thought.

I walked roughly 6 miles, back and forth, stopping to talk to some Homeland Security dudes. 

See also: this is a branch of law enforcement whose officers are less than impressive in their intellectual reasoning abilities. They were like, "Bruh," :shrugs: "maybe call DPD?"

Walk a bit more, notice it is getting dark. 

I know where I am, I just don't know where my car is.


I'm on Champa and 21st...aaaaaand there's CCH. These are my old stomping grounds, when I worked in homeless and affordable housing issues. The nature of homeless behavior has become more aggressive in Fort Collins in the 15 years since I worked in the field - legalized marijuana and the opioid epidemic has made the homeless more volatile than they used to be.

And I'm chilled. 

My feet are killing me. 

I'm not being kind to myself at all.

I walk to a 7-11 and I notice Seth has tried calling and texting.

I text, "I did a dumb thing....call you in a min."

When I tell him, he is incredulous. How?

Well, I was in a hurry and stressed and apparently my recall was screwed by the cortisol in my system. Also, do you not think I feel stupid enough? Because I assure you, I feel like THE village idiot on which the archetype was based.

I call DPD. 

"So, do you have a receipt - the address should be on there," the dispatcher says, kind of annoyed by my plight.

"See that's just the thing - it was a cash only lot. No receipts, just the slots system. It was $7, the sign was red and white, and it was somewhere near 20th and Stout, I thought. Seriously, the dumbest human trick I've ever done," I admit, defeatedly.

He tells me that he's sending an officer to me, but it will be awhile because they are busy.

I inform the cashier that I'm not casing her joint, but that I am waiting for the police because I'm an imbecile.

Then I post on Facebook.

And my friends - y'all are the best, you know? - tell me my Google maps should have a timeline (YES! It does! but, I've looped around no less than a dozen times, and there is no way to drill down to detail on my screen and see where I started/stopped) tracing my steps. 


Dark blue is driving (before and after I lost the car - we drove right past it several times). Light blue is my foot work. Imagine this on a smartphone, and every time you try to drill down or change from landscape to portrait, it zooms out and you have to start all over again.

Another friend (of the fabulous Tales of Public Transit) lives nearby, and comes to rescue me. 

The DPD officer comes at the same time and is awesome.She also looks just like Sylvie Brett on Chicago Fire and my pop-culture loving brain is dying to mention it, but, objection, your honor! Relevance?

My friend buys me a bite to eat (I haven't eaten since breakfast and it is now approaching 8 pm). We then drive around searching for this parking lot that has somehow been covered with an invisibility cloak. 

No dice.

The panic is real.

Amy is amazing - keeps me calm. I think if I can look at my Google timeline on a larger screen, I can pinpoint where we need to be. 

Except Google says, "You're logging in from a strange device - let's send your phone a code to make sure it's really you." Which is great, really, Google, I do appreciate your security, but my PHONE WAS DEAD. 

I use my backup e-mail to send Google a note that I was stranded and unable to get in with a phone code. Hope for the best.

I'm housed overnight, sleep a little and set out with her Amy's husband in the morning. 

Second lot we see is the one! 

And there is my Silver Subie in all her unadulterated glory. 

Car starts, bag and wallet are in, and I'm on my way.

I get to FoCo around 8am, stop at home, change my clothes, go get the cars registered (due the next day), and go to work, then class, then meet the fam for dinner and pick Kelsey up from work at 9pm.

This is my life. 

I'm exhausted all the time. 

There's more to it than the sheer bad luck and stress response clouding my judgment and/or memory (a nagging reminder of the scene in Still Alice where she hides a gun for when she loses too much of her brain to Alzheimer's occasionally plagues me when I'm really in brain fog).

My mind is packed to the gills with new information from classes, umpteen schedules, things I want to say (and often don't) to my loved ones about how important they are to me, dreams...

There's this stupid insecurity and self-doubt of a 1st gen student popping up that never manifest itself in my undergrad studies. It keeps the stress dialed up. 

There's the mom guilt of not being there for ev.ery.thing. Am I spiting the quality of their childhoods by chasing this dream?

And before anyone gets all self-righteous about "But HOW?" could this happen and they would never... let me remind you that this crazy, American pace of life has had more tragic results than mine.

One mom got so into auto-pilot that one day when the routine was upset, she forgot her son in the back of her hot car all day. He died. My heart breaks for that family still, because I can totally see myself in that situation. But for the grace of God go I.

And sometimes, it's not just busy mom dysfunction. Our human minds are feeble, quick to take shortcuts, especially when the primitive brain is in control and being doused with cortisol, adrenaline, and whatever external stimulants we're feeding it. [I'm living on a caffeine drip these days...this is stupid, I know, but you do what you hafta].

For instance, the Australian woman who was raped in 1975, and accused a guy who couldn't have done it because he was speaking on the news at the time of the assault. You would think in such horrific circumstances, someone would KNOW who attacked them. But, like commonly happens, her mind mis-recalled and subsequently misinterpreted the cues she had seen.

The moral of the story is that when stress compromises your executive functioning, there is hell to pay.

---PSA - Had I "dropped a pin" on my phone in the parking lot, none of this would have happened.

Had I realized my confusion before walking around in circles for hours, I could have read my timeline better, and maybe figured it out.

Links are for your benefit. 

This is Heather (actually Emma Stone, but she's pretty and I like her voice better than my own - I would totally cast her to play me in a movie of my life).


Don't be like Heather.

I'm here to serve. So you don't have to.

You're welcome.

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