Ode to Shel Silverstein

I swung my legs out of the car at 11:02am. I am supposed to be at work by 11am. Because I work the evening shift, I have to park Where The Sidewalk Ends. Well, to be honest, I park there because I'm midly anal retentive and my car is less likely to be dinged in the area of the parking lot where no one really wants to park. i.e. far far away from the front door. But I digress. I swung my legs out of my car and firmly planted both feet on the asphalt. The ensuing plume of white powder was literally enough to make me cough and stare about in confusion.

"What the living fuck?"

I look around and see the white powder adhering to my black pants, my black heels and the black ashpalt.

Again I say,

"What the living fuck?"

I twist around and look inside my car, thinking some scary chemical reaction with the scotch guard has turned my spotless beige interior into a breeding ground for white powdery fungus.

And then this scenario plays out in my head:

10:43am: Racing around house, grabbing keys, book to read on lunch, purse, wallet, company ID with possibly the most heinous picture I've ever taken adorning the front, etc. Realize I'm about to walk out the door barefoot. Mild panic. Mentally rifle through shoe collection. Decide do not have time to be festive and find blue shoes, will have to wear black ones as I know they are currently residing in the cabinet beneath the bookshelf. Open cabinet doors, grab black heels and shove feet in. Have mental image of me walking quite briskly in my 3-inch black heels down the hill from the parking lot, down the stairs built into the hill, down another hill, across the parking lot, through the front doors and into the elevator, all while feet slide painfully around inside the innards of the black heels because the material with which the manufacturer mistakenly lined the inside of the shoes is strangely slick; leaving my size 9 1/12 (okay okay sometimes a 10) feet to slide forward and bump my toes. Nanosecond thought process decides still do not have time to find blue shoes, will have to make do with black. Light bulb! Remember sending brother to the grocery store last night to get milk and bread and him coming back with milk, bread and foot powder. Remember laughing hysterically when he told me that his girlfriend was seriously grossed out by his stinky feet/shoes and had bought shoe powder to eliminate problem. Think that powder may eliminate some slippage. Grab shoe powder bottle. Rip off top and point opening into the opening in my shoes and give 4 or 5 good hard squirts. Put top back on powder, throw on coffee table. Shove feet in shoes. Again. Spring out door, clutching all manner of objects deemed necessary for the day. Lock door. Spring up stairs to where vehicle is parked. Marvel briefly at the soft cradle that is now my black heels. Think perhaps should thought of this plan sooner, as shoes are now mucho comfortable and non-slippy. Have hit jackpot!

Fastforward to 11:03:
Have just finished mental flashback. Realize that perhaps was overzealous with powder. Take feet out of shoes and stomp around on black asphalt. Become slightly entranced with pattern feet are making on black asphalt. Realize white powder is breeding on the carpet of my car. Panic. OCD kicks in full speed. Reach over seat and open glove box to pull out interior carpet brush (yes, this is part of my car cleaning supplies that is always on hand).
Vigorously brush carpet to remove white powder. Not completely satisfied with cleaning, but rationality prevails and decide it's best to not be fired for being obnoxiously late than to get leftover white spot out by removing the carpet mats and scrubbing the whole carpet. Still the problem of the white powder on clothing. Brush at clothing with hand only to realize this was the same hand that tried to brush off bottom of feet. Marvel at white handprint now adorning my black pants. Stamp about to dislodge white powder from black shoes. Makes situation worse by turning black shoes gray. Pants are still horrendous.
11:04.
It takes 4 minutes to walk down the hill, down the stairs, down the hill again, into the building and up to my floor and desk. Have now made self horribly late. Stare at pants in resignation. Begin the walk down the hill. Can see white powder billowing out in tiny poofs with each step. Pray do not see anyone. See woman walking up stairs built into hill. Decide cannot hide scary white powder covered attire so will uncommonly make direct eye contact to keep her eyes away from my white feet, grey shoes and spotted pants. Plan works, though figure woman now thinks I'd like a few hours of heavy petting.

Manage to make it in the front door, in the elevator and onto my floor without seeing a single soul. Think this is probably due to my lateness. Waltz into cubicle land, head high. 20 feet to go and I can hide my pants, feet and shoes under my desk.

"OOOOH, girl. Somebody had a rough night."

Mildly insulted. This from the guy who tries to pass of his Express clothing as Kenneth Cole. I think not, short man.

Other co worker joins in on the fun. Super.

"Where'd you go drinking last night?" Laughter.

What is WRONG with these people?

Sit at desk and clock in. Breathe silent sigh of relief. Bossman one cubicle over is not at his desk. Cross fingers that he hasn't been at desk for the past ten minutes. Maybe does not know I'm late? Sweet.

Catch glimpse of self in the black abyss that is my screen while it attempts to start up my work program.

SHIT. SHIT SHIT SHIT.

I fucking forgot to put on my eye makeup. As in, I don't even have on mascara. I don't leave the house to check the mail without mascara. How have I forgotten this? Oh yeah. Was distracted by shoe powder and did not put on mascara while walking down hill. Did not put on eye shadow in elevator, as was so grateful I had almost made it to my desk without being stared at. Realize my giant eyelids make me look sleepy if they're not colored in by dark eyeshadow. My eyelashes haven't been curled to stand at attention or frame my eyes in mascara-ed loveliness. They are currently attacking my eyeballs in droopy lashed-ness.

SHIT.

Wait 30 minutes (in an effort to convey nonchalance at looking like heinous drug addict) and mosey away from desk to visit the loo and a) pee b) remove remaining white powder and c) put on eye makeup. Grab mascara and eyeshadow out of purse. Walk into hallway.

Glance up as about to push open bathroom door because a white somethingorother has caught my eye.

Sign on bathroom reads:

TOILETS DO NOT FLUSH
MAINTENANCE HAS BEEN
NOTIFIED

What the fuck do you mean, toilets do not flush?

Another employee joins me in the hallway.

"I was afraid of this," he mutters.

"Afraid of what?"

"Didn't you get the email?"

"No. What email."

"The email that said they shut the water off."

"Um. No. Did not get the email that said they SHUT the WATER off." Silence as we stare at each other.
"They shut the WATER OFF?"

Nod.

"Why????"

"I dunno. Didn't say."

OH MY LORD. They've shut the water off when I need to empty my teeney bladder and wipe off my pants and wash my hands of scary foot powder and MORE IMPORANTLY I need the mirror to put on my makeup in relative privacy.

[sigh]

Damn the man.