24 Miles In 4 Hours

2:30: It’s snowing in Chicagoland. This being one of the first snows of the year, everyone will have forgotten how to drive. Got a 4:00 appointment at the dentist. Usually a 45 minute drive, but with the snow and idiot drivers? Best to leave now. Take the awesome Mustang? Probably not the best choice. I requisition an F-150 from the Mostardi Platt motor pool and set forth.

2:35: Stop by the Stanger to grab my cell charger. Return to the pick-up. Door is locked, keys in ignition. WTF? They still make vehicles that allow you to lock your keys in ignition. Stoopidstoopidstoopid.

2:37: Make humiliating phone-call to Pam, our fabulous office manager, for spare key. She is amused. I will be living this down for a while.

2:41: Pam comes to the parking lot with spare key, having been delayed by making sure the rest of the office gathers at the windows to mock me. I wave. (Royal-style wave of course).

2:42: Try to make it up the slope of the parking lot in the pick-me up. No go. Try to back up the slope. Nada. Repeatedly plowing up the lot, allowing the truck to roll back down after each gain, then following my tire tracks and plowing a little further on eventually works.

2:55: On the road. Yay!

3:15: Flying along at a top speed of 4 miles per hour, I notice that the wipers aren’t. Ice building up on the windshield faster than on the wings of Yukon Airlines. Windshield washer? Nope. Shootin’ blanks. (The washer, not me, you perve).

3:22: Call the doc. No way I’m makin’ it today.

3:37: The view through the windshield resembles a Salvador Dali landscape. Didn’t realize that Dali grew up in Chicago. It all makes sense now. Melting clocks – of course! Really need to fix this washer/wiper thing.

3:51: Roll into a gas station. (Marathon, thank you very much – trzupr don’t do no stinkin’ Citgo!) Chisel off the windshield. Attempt to restore washer function. Nothing doing. Where is Mr. Scott when you need him? Oh yeah – dead.

4:00: Turn up defroster to “blast furnace” setting. This makes the windshield warm enough to keep it relatively ice free. Downside: it’s like 8,000 degrees in the cab and I sweat more than a Muslim at a bacon factory.

4:11: Going 30 miles per hour now. Wheee! Wait, is this guy going to make a right turn in front of me? He couldn’t be that stupid could he?

4:12: Yes he can.

4:13: Slamming the ship’s actuator into “Emergency Stop” and then “Full Reverse” I manage to avoid the collision. Barely.

4:16: Back to 4 mph. It’s getting a little rank in here.

4:30: Call from the smokin’ hot Mrs. Trzupr. She reports that some guy carrying an M-16 landed in our backyard in a helicopter, looking for me. “Good lookin’ guy,” she says. “Sunglasses were kind of gay though.” File this in the ‘worry about it later’ drawer.

4:33: ‘Nother call from the smokin’ hot Mrs. Trzupr. Dogs crapped in the living room, tying their one day record of two dumps in the house per dog in one day. Marvelous. File this in the ‘why don’t we move into the backyard and just let the dogs use the house as a bathroom’ drawer.

4:35: Thank God we own a steam carpet cleaner.

4:38: The smokin’ hot Mrs. Trzupr reports the boys’ toilet is broke. Suggestion to the let them dump in the living room along with everyone else is not well received.

4:39: Apologize. Promise to pick up parts for toilet repair on way home, assuming I ever get home. Still topping out at 4 mph.

4:47: I AM GOING TO DIE FROM MY OWN B.O.

4:51: Seriously contemplating rolling down the window and driving with my head out the window, like a Labrador Retriever

5:01: Not really as bothered by the thought of dying from my own B.O. as I am about the eulogy that Rufus would deliver after he learned the cause of death.

5:04: Sudden revelation: entropy will probably destroy the planet before I get home.

5:07: Traffic light discipline has completely disintegrated. If I can just get by this intersection, I can actually use the gas pedal again, but the morons on the cross street are pretending like the traffic light doesn’t exist. This is what happens when we elect an Obama: people do whatever the f*** they want.

5:25: No closer to getting through the intersection than I was 18 minutes ago. Screw it. Alternate route time. This will swing me by Woodfield Mall – always dangerous in Christmas season – but what kind of idiot would be shopping tonight?

5:31: MY SKIN IS MELTING. Maybe I can turn of the heat for a few minutes?

5:33: Nope.

5:37: By Woodfield. Traffic streaming out of the mall. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? DON’T YOU OWN COMPUTERS? GET ON LINE AND BUY YOUR UNCLE HORACE A CRAPPY CHRISTMAS SWEATER ON LINE! HE’S GOING TO RETURN IT ANYWAY, YOU MORONS!

5:40: I’m better now.

5:43: Call big bro (aka: Stosh from the Sticks). He’s having a cozy dinner with his two kids, and no – he hasn’t had to drive in any of this crap at all. Bastard.

5:44: Double bastard.

6:10: Back to 30 mph! Can I handle the rush? Oh yeah. And now there’s another idiot, looking like he wants to pull out in front of me, while I’m cruising on a sheet of ice. News Flash moron: THERE’S NOBODY BEHIND ME! Wait an extra thirty seconds and you will have all day to pull out. He won’t jump my lane, will he?

6:11: He did.

6:17: On the home stretch now. Casa Trzupr is so close I can taste it. All that’s between me and a cozy fire is Mr. Magoo in front of me, who is determined to go 10 mph, even though the street is plowed and nobody else is around. All he has to do is make the left…

6:18: Still turning.

6:19: Still turning.

6:20: Thank Christ – we’ve turned! (I hear trumpets blaring).

6:22: Stop by hardware store for poddy part.

6:30: Christmas lights are on. Wifey is smiling Dinner is cooking. Dogs are thrilled to see me.

Home.

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