One of Those Days

OK, so it starts with me being late for this meeting I was attending this morning.  Normally, this is not a big deal, but I was supposed to keep the minutes today, and I have this general feeling that -- as a rule -- the person taking notes on the meeting should -- oh, I don't know -- be in attendance when the meeting starts.  I mean, it would've been NICE.

Got home, wrote up the minutes, did some internet stuff, fed the cat, the usual.

I had a theatre ticket for tonight.  Show at 7:30.  I punched up the location on Mapquest -- Mapquest thinks it'll take me about a half hour to get there.  Figure I'll leave at 6:30.

It is, by this time, around 6:00.  I toss back some food (nothing good), pop some of that gum that tastes like toothpaste (I'm a considerate theatregoer) and head out the door.  I'm about ten minutes later than I'd like to be -- mostly because I have to coax the cat out of my bedroom.  (I've had to do that a lot lately.  She used to just go out when I wanted her too, but I think she's discovered that if she hides in there, I'll go get some good toys and start waving them in front of her.)

I go downstairs to the garage.  My parking spot is across the from the elevator.

There's a small problem.  In the form of an SUV parked (sideways) in front of the elevator.  It isn't exactly blocking me in my space -- it's just making it impossible to get OUT of my space.  As a rule, I have to back up PRETTY FAR before turning so that I don't clock the front of my car on a nearby post.  And this would have me backing up into the SUV which is now parked where it shouldn't be.

I think I sort of see a way out of this.  The car in the spot beside me is parked kinda forward.  (All our spots are tandem -- most of us park, to some degree, straddling both spots.)  If I back up halfway, I can turn in front of the pole into the spot beside me, and then drive out.

A good plan.  A reasonable plan.

At least, that's what I thought right up until the moment I scraped the side of my car against the pole.  At this point, I am parked horizontally (that is to say, 90 degrees away from getting out of the spot) on the wrong side of the pole, with the rear passenger door of my car AGAINST the pole.

To review then:  I am now trapped in my parking spot, every attempt to extricate myself will do further damage to my car, and it isn't looking good for getting to the theatre on time.

Here's an interesting fact.  This is what I do when I'm frustrated.  In order.  The whole process takes under two minutes:
I turn off the car. (I'm presently listening to some History Lectures on Tape and, frankly, I don't really give a damn about Czar Nicholas I right now.)
I throw my hands in the air.
I lean my forehead against the steering wheel.
I cry in frustration.
I say a word that rhymes with "Duck."
I get out of the car.
I breathe calmly.
Rational Thought Returns.

I realize the best way out of the pole situation is to reverse what I've done, so I back myself BACK into my space -- this doesn't help me with the "trapped in my own garage" thing, but it does save my car from further damage, which was Priority One.  At this point, I see a new plan for backing out (which involves backing myself into the space on the OTHER side), and I get out of the garage without further damage.

I don't stop to look at my car, so have no idea what the pole did.  I do, however, stop to ask a neighbor (who I see on the way out) to please kill whoever parked their SUV in front of the elevator.

I speed to the theatre and hand my car off the valet with a good ten minutes to spare.  I get a chance to look at the HUGE SCRAPES down the side of my car.  There's no structural damage at all (yay for dent-resistent panels) but the actual scrapage is rather worse than I'd feared.  (Good thing I didn't look when I was still in the garage.  I would've been too furious to drive safely.)

Saw the show.  Thank goodness it was funny.

Came home.  Fed cat.  Am now going out to the movies.  I believe I will see Hidalgo.  Yes, I know.  I should stay home, get some sleep, do some work, fold some laundry, etc.  Screw it.  Sometimes agirl just needs to spend two hours staring at Viggo Mortensen.