So, yesterday I drove a friend to the airport. It was Easter Monday, the last night of a long weekend, at 5pm. And it was raining.
Probably, most of you guys are thinking, “Traffic jam! Traffic jam!” I just wasn’t thinking period, and we made it to the airport on time, barely.
But there’s more.
Now, you must understand, the airport is west of home. With no traffic at all, it takes a zippy 20 minutes. Heading westbound towards the airport, I saw that the eastbound lanes were packed solid. So as I was leaving the airport, I call home, saying it’ll take ages to get home, don’t hold the dinner, blah blah blah. Everything’s great!
Until I start heading west. Again. In the opposite direction of home.
Don’t ask me what I was thinking. Don’t ask me how I missed the landmarks – major streets, major bloody highways, frickin’ water towers – all of which proclaimed that I was headed in a direction diametrically opposite to a warm house with a nice roast chicken. It took a major detour along city streets – during which I heard CBC Radio 1 extemporize on national election gossip, limestone quarries, and May the Zombie Month – before I arrived home…almost an hour and a half later.
And it’s only Monday. Let’s hope the rest of the week isn’t filled with such idiotic moments.
If you don’t mind sharing some of your less-than-finer moments, there’s plenty of space below.
– Jean AAR
I live in a unit on the 7th floor of my building. I used to live in a smaller unit on the 5th floor. One day about a year after moving into my 7th floor home, I came home from the grocery store, got in the elevator, pushed the button for the 5th floor — about a year on, you understand — and walked to the end of the hall. Where I proceeded to put my key in the lock. It didn’t work. I rattled it harder and harder, all the time wondering why the hell it wouldn’t work. Doh. I looked up and saw the number 529, not 729. It must have been scary if anybody was inside and I don’t know if they were since I got my ass up two flights of stairs lickety split. It wouldn’t have been cool to be arrested.
I walk to the wrong car FREQUENTLY!!
OK I’ll fess up. Last week I went to my purse to get my car/house/everything keys…no keys. I looked for a little while, but I had to get the kid to school, so I used the spare car key. After I got home I tried retracing my steps, I called my two sisters-in-law who were over hoping one of them had picked up my keys by mistake. No such luck. Then I looked out at the curb, yep the trash cans were still there. Well I donned my rubber gloves and went trash can diving. Yep, they were in the trash! I had some junk form the kid in my hand when I got out of the car the precious evening, and I threw both the junk from the car AND my car keys away. I just thank God that the trash guys were late picking up or I would have been in deep doggie doo.
Sandy – I’ve done that before, turning into the wrong driveway. And I’ve lived here for almost 20 years. TWENTY YEARS.
Kathy – If I ever get a car – like, actually purchase a car for myself – sometimes I think about getting a hot pink one, just to avoid this, which happens all the time to me.
Victoria S – Wow. That’s a very lucky save. So glad you found them.
I was getting ready to go to work one day. Grabbed my purse and bag and started towards the door – no keys. Ooops. Ok. Started looking. And looking. And looking. Finally had to call the boss and tell her I couldn’t find my keys.
Looked for keys. Looked for keys. Looked some more.
Tore place apart.
Finally found my keys in… the refrigerator with the milk I’d bought the night before.
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