I picked up a little piece of mail from the New York State DMV at my mama's house the other night, with a little love note, saying that I now owe them $300 based on the number of points I incurred for my speeding violation. This $300 is in addition to any fines applied by Brutus Township.
So, a $500 speeding ticket.
I'm not gonna lie to you, Internet: I cried. Who else gets $500 speeding tickets? On big empty highways in Upstate New York?
Enter: Monday morning. I
Annoyed, I leave the lot and make my way back around the airport once again, only to find that B Terminal Parking is now open, but the line is waaayyy long. I sneak into C Terminal parking and make my way to ticketing.
Confusion! I am booked on a United flight to Boston, operated by US Airways. I have to ask two attendants what the protocol is for ticketing, and I finally make it into the check-in line.
Alas, I have missed the 45-minute window and cannot check my bag for my 7:15 AM flight. I either throw away all of my Fekkai hair products, or take the 8:15 flight.
Naturally, I book the 8:15. Do I look like a girl who can (a) afford to be without quality hair products, or (b) afford to buy any more quality hair products because hell, I just got a $500 speeding ticket?!?!
All of this breathtaking stupidity on my part is exhausting. I pass out on the plane, and am roughly shaken awake by the flight attendant to put my damn seat back up already! We are landing!
Once in Boston, I buy a fully caffeinated cup of joe. You get it.
The caffeine works. I am fully productive, presenting at meetings at getting things accomplished. I even order sushi from the restaurant across the street from my hotel and pick it up on my way to the Springhill Suites.
"Hi, Melissa," says the front desk clerk when I arrive, as I stay here quite often. Then she looks at my oddly.
"We don't have you booked here until April 28th."
Oh. Fuck.
I am actually booked at the Marriott. Yes, I went to the wrong hotel. Luckily the doll at Springhill has a room for me, and calls the Marriott to explain the situation. I retreat to my suite and gorge myself on vegetable maki. Then I drag myself to the gym; and for the first time ever, the pool.
Ten-year old Janella joins me as I am jogging back and forth in the three-foot section.
"What are you doing?" She asks.
"Im exercising. I've got a wedding coming up in July, and I need to get in shape."
"Oh," she says. "Well, I'll do it with you."
That is how Janella and I become fast friends, jogging back and forth in the three-foot section of the indoor pool. She even makes up some exercises of her own ("let's hop!") and tells me all about her family, her travels, and how her fourteen year-old sister never wants to play with her.
A little after nine, I tell her I must get back upstairs.
"OK. Well, are you gonna be here tomorrow night?"
Ah, new friends.
2 comments:
May I suggest some 'American sass' the next time you are pulled over? - Allie
NO NEXT TIME! I can't ever get pulled over again. All of J's work friends who have been married for a zillion years claim: "this is where it begins." If there is one thing in my life I need to do, it is prove his jaded colleagues wrong.
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