Humor is also a way of saying something serious. - T. S. Eliot

Friday, March 30, 2012

Oh No He Didn't

The girls have had this nasty little respiratory bug for the last few weeks. Dave came down with it a week ago, and it finally hit me this week just in time to head back to work. 

As clinicians on the crisis team, we've noticed that the universe is really unsettled...all is not well with folks out there.  The pace of our work just doesn't slow down.  But, it never hurts to ask and so as I walked into work yesterday, I sent a message out, "Dear universe, please be calm today."

It listened to me as well as my children do and not only did I put up with cranky clients, an incompetent therapist trying to send an actively suicidal and psychotic client to residential treatment (good lord how does she keep her license?!), the carpet measuring guy copping an attitude with me when he showed up to measure the house and found me not home when I told him I would be at work, and the rescue organization throwing a hissy fit that I wasn't home and they needed Larry the foster dog NOW for a home visit they planned but didn't tell me about, but...

I almost got run over as I walked into work.

By a mercedes driving insurance executive -- aka satan.

That is the second time in two weeks that I have nearly been run over by a luxury car driving executive as they race out of their heated parking garage.

The damn pecker heads.

I'm fine being run over by someone driving a clunker...or who is high...or drunk...or some mom who is turned in her seat screaming at her children as she drives...because, hey, that happens.  Wrong place, wrong time.

But getting run over by some hoity-toity beemer driving executive who hasn't the maturity to drive under 60 miles an hour in a parking garage because he has a little penis and a big ego is not going to be cool with me. 

And because I have taken the liberty of naming myself Karma's right hand woman I will rise from the dead and haunt him until the day he dies, at which point, if there is a gate into heaven, I will, in starfish fashion, stand in it blocking his entrance until God or whoever is the official guard of the gate wrestles me out of the entrance.  But since he is an insurance executive, I doubt (if there even is a heaven) that he will be welcome there.  And running over a tiny social worker with a case of the sniffles in a parking garage doesn't earn points for heaven, either.

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