Worst. Day. Ever. Okay, maybe not. But surely it was the worst MORNING ever!
I was supposed to be manning a booth at a festival for some friends of ours who own a bakery. I was told to be there by 7:30 AM (big YAWN) so shortly after 7 AM, I was fifteen minutes from home and got a call that oh, no, I didn’t need to be there until EIGHT thirty. Since I had gotten up much earlier than usual in order to be on time, I was pretty thoroughly ticked off, but there was really nothing to do but turn around and go home. I collapsed in my recliner for half an hour (setting a timer so that I wouldn’t totally oversleep) and during that time, the skies opened and it just flat poured rain. Oh, great. This is going to be a lot of fun, hanging out under a little tent in the rain. But, having given our word, we started out for the second time, my daughter and I.
Oh, yes, that’s another bit of the story. We hadn’t even planned to do this today. My husband and I had originally planned to do the booth tomorrow, but not today. When we found out they were counting on us today as well, dh had other commitments and couldn’t go. So my 14-year-old daughter was taking his place. This was fine except for the fact that it left ME in the driver’s seat, driving to a place I had never been before, and let’s just say that I am not directionally gifted.
So we took off. As we left the village limits, I realized that the van was driving really weird. And then I realized that it wasn’t shifting out of first gear. And then I realized that the speedometer wasn’t working at all. And first gear just wasn’t going to do the trick when I had 40 miles of freeway driving ahead of me. So I did what all good wives do–I called my husband. “Honey, something’s wrong with the van.”
The upshot was that I limped my poor van (in first gear, with four-way flashers) over to the local golf course where my son was mowing, left him the decrepit van, and took his car. Everything should have been fine from here, but with my directional disability, of course it wasn’t. After following my husband’s directions to where we thought it was (but it wasn’t) and calling the bakery owner a time or two, we finally did find the festival, but finding one particular booth in the midst of hundreds was a little more difficult. We did eventually arrive, however, and were trying to get familiar with the things we were selling when the deluge began again. It dumped bucketsful, lightning blazed and thunder boomed. We scurried about with tarps trying to keep the baked goods dry, then realized that not only was it pouring from above, blowing in on the granola and pies, but there was actually a decent-sized river running beneath our tables full of bread and cookies. (Has anyone figured out why they put the booths in the gutter during these street festivals?)
I think it may have been at this point when I had a serious talk with myself asking exactly why I was doing this–standing in the midst of a thunderstorm under an awning with metal poles, with water running through my shoes, pulling pies to higher ground. Oh, yes…to help a friend. Um, yeah.
The day did get better. Out came the sun and dried up all the rain and I remembered how to smile at the customers and even though I had forgotten a chair, of all things, and ended up standing on my poor tired feet for over nine hours straight, and we ran out of change numerous times and had to trade with neighboring vendors for it, it did end up being a profitable day after all.
And now I can’t wait to get to bed. So that I can get up and go do it all again tomorrow. Well, the selling part. Hopefully not the rest.