this is your wake-up call

So, I think everyone should be allotted one day a year where your brain implodes and everything goes wrong.

I work at a smoothie place. It's not the most prestigious job out there--it's not even the best paying job out there--but it's a job and it does pay. As far as the type of job it is, it's not bad. I've recently been trained how to open the store. It's not complicated and you can probably do it with your eyes closed and half asleep. Today was my third day opening, the second day opening by myself. Saturdays we open at 9a.m.

There is nothing quite like blissfully sleeping your little heart out and suddenly waking to your name being called questioningly and then discovering that not only are you late, oh no, but you're an hour and a half late. At exactly 9:38a.m. I shot out of bed swearing up a storm along with variances of "OH MY GOSH! I'M IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!!!"

It took all of .3 second to strip out of my pjs--it took longer to find my pants--before I was streaking out my bedroom door, half naked and struggling to pull a shirt on. The tongues of my shoes were down by my toes, my hair was a wild mess, I was still swearing, and my mom was yelling, "Calm down, just call and tell them you're going to be late."

As I threw myself down the stairs at the same time I'm finally getting my shirt over my head, I exclaim back, "I can't! There's no one there! I'm the one opening the damn store!"

I hit the kitchen floor running, scooping up my purse and the car keys as I race past my mom ("Don't speed! It's not worth it!") and I'm out the door. I arrive at work and am through the door--unlocking and flipping the open sign without pausing--and clocking in at exactly 10. I slam the drawer into the register and proceed to tear the place apart. I barely have my supplies set up when the first customer arrives. I, myself, am just barely put together.

Being late is not my thing. I'm hardly ever late and if I am it's only by five minutes. I have never, ever, been an hour and a half late to work. I spent my morning fretting over what I should do. Call the manager and confess or let her find out on her own. I ended up calling and confessing. I figured it was better to own up to my error than to try to hide it. Hiding it wouldn't have worked any way. When she asked what my excuse was, I simply said I had no excuse, I don't know what happened, and it will never happen again. I suppose I could have lied. Said that my car broke down or something, but it didn't really cross my mind until after I spoke to the manager. Besides, honesty is supposed to be the best policy. I owned up to my mistake. Now I just have to wait and see what the repercussions are. Joy.