Like pretty much every company, my place of employment has core values. Now, I know lots of people (myself included) have at some point looked on the concept of core values with skepticism. But I think my company got one thing right: It lets each employee choose one core value of their very own. We call this our Motley.
Today, I'm going to write about my Motley -- because it's much more interesting than the Little Things I've accomplished since last I wrote. (But don't worry, I'll hit those at the end).
So what's my Motley?
Low Expectations.
With the tagline:
Please, just make it work.
Inspirational? No. But you'd be surprised at how it really captures so much of my life, my personality, my being. (I can't even take credit for it, though. A friend filled in my value for me and boy, does she know me well.)
And that brings me to my morning -- one the proves that life really is stranger than fiction and that your expectations can never be low enough.
We're having an addition put onto our house, and today was supposed to be the first day that the workers actually entered the house. So I decided I'd check my dog in for a day of luxury and pampering at doggie day care. You see, my 12-year-old lab mix is OCD, and she's on anti-anxiety meds. So I felt that taking her to a strange place with a bunch of yippy little dogs with Napoleon complexes chasing her around and trying to deflower her would be better for her condition than sleeping in her bed while a strange man works on our furnace.
It made sense at the time.
So this morning I got up -- and promptly forgot about her appointment. After I walked her, I gathered my 47 bags of stuff for work, stepped out the door, and ... remembered. No problem, I thought. I'm just running a little late and day care is only a mile from my office. I can still make this work.
Maybe. Or maybe the rest of the morning could unfold like this:
8:15: Walk out door with purse, iPad, three bags of knitting supplies, and dog.
8:16: Realize I haven't called the vet to request vaccination records be faxed to doggie day care.
8:17:Drop bags and purse on porch and go back into house to call vet. (Leave dog on porch to irritate neighbors).
8:20: Exit house with a promise from vet tech that the fax is on the way.
8:21: Get dog, purse, iPad, and three knitting bags into Subaru (the "dog" car), adjust seat, discover seat belt is stuck, twisted, just seriously screwed up. (Note to Subaru: This is a design flaw that's only slightly less irritating than the passenger side seat that makes my ass go numb after 15 minutes of riding).
8:21-8:24: Struggle with seat belt. Notice neighbor staring as I bang head against steering wheel and scream profanities.
8:25: Contemplate changing cars. Decide to give seatbelt one final tug.
8:26: Seatbelt releases thanks to pure, brute force.
8:27: Pull out of driveway.
8:28: Discover HORRENDOUS STINK emanating from car engine.
8:29: Realize that it is, in fact, the stench of death. Something has crawled into the engine and died.
8:30: Contemplate changing cars. Decide to forge on because stench has destroyed ability to make rational decisions.
8:40: Pull up to stop light -- still delirious from death stink -- and heel gets stuck in rubber floor mat, which, shockingly, has precisely heel-shaped ridges. (Subaru, that's design flaw No. 3). Can't release clutch.
8:42: Light changes. Panic ensues. Use brute force (score 2 for brute force) to pull shoe out of floor mat. Car lurches forward and journey to doggie day care continues.
8:45: Arrive at doggie day care and attempt to park in the most congested and poorly designed parking lot in the civilized world.
8:50: Discover the vet has not sent vaccination records. (Can you believe it?)
8:55: Leave day care after negotiating (read: begging) for them to call vet and get records.
9:00: Get into car and throw STUPID FLOOR MAT into back seat.
9:10: Finally escape from the WORST PARKING LOT IN THE WORLD.
9:20: Arrive at work. Wonder how much my co-workers will hate me for filling the garage with the smell of dead, cute, furry animal.
The rest of my day did get better -- because, really, how could it get worse?
But that, my friends, is why I maintain low expectations -- and even then, I manage to be surprised at just how low things can go.
The bright side: I get to come back and tell you all about it.
Peaches,
LucyB
P.S. If you've survived this long and still want to know what I've accomplished:
LT No. 15: Updated contact information for friends and family on my address book and home phone.
LT No. 16: Emailed my triathlete friend to tell her about my half ironman.
LT No. 17: Emailed my friends from Australia.
LT No. 18: Set up a second meeting of the knitting club.
LT No. 19: Put insurance information into the Subaru (heretofore known as the Death Stench Car)
LT No. 20: Set up a folder for collecting tax documents.
LT No. 21: Dropped off pants to be hemmed.
LT No. 22: Cleaned out my closet. (OK, this was kind of a big thing.)
LT No. 23: Cleaned out my dresser.
LT No. 24: Cleaned off the top of my dresser.
LT No. 25: Foundd my Garmin (though, admittedly, I may have lost it again.)
