As you may know (or may not know, depending on your skills in the stalking department), I work as a freelance musician/actor/director/teacher around the western PA area. This involves a lot of networking, gigging, and random acts of theatrics for the occasional paycheck.
It also involves a LOT of quality time in my vehicle.
Today, I had to go downtown (I hate downtown...hate it. I like parking lots and friendly, accommodating pedestrians.) for a meeting, which was stressful. And my printer doesn't work, which is also stressful when trying to...well, print. I was running late due to lack of printer, and when I ran out of my house umbrella-less (in a rare moment of non-downpour--what is this? Forks, Washington??), I thought...I should definitely run back and get my umbrella...no, no. I'm sure I'll be fine.
Suffice it to say, it was really, really rainy. But that is not the point of this little story.
I was doing my hair and makeup in my car, as per usual. I have these two little curly bobby-pins that hold my hair into a teeny little side bun just perfectly. I love them. They are my standby on bad hair days (like today). However, when rounding a curve in great haste...they rolled (in slow motion) from the passenger seat into the abyss.
Frantically, I reached in between the seat and the emergency brake to attempt to reach the precious bobby-pins--with visions of frizzed out homeless-person-hair clouding my judgement--and after nearly dislocating my wrist in the fruitless search, I gave up.
But my hand...my hand! It was stuck. Like, really stuck. Like, the time I got my hand stuck after dislodging a paper jam in the copier while student teaching, and couldn't get it out and had to wait for 20 minutes until I was found in a weeping, toner-covered heap by the gym teacher.
I thought, "I'll have to call and tell them I'm running late, so I can pull over and get my hand out. But I can't call them while I am driving, because I only have one hand! How am I supposed to parallel park??! I'm going to die in this car today with one hand lodged in a seat cushion!! I've never given birth, never been to Paris, never met George Clooney! My life is wasted, and now it's over because of a bobby pin!" I'm not going to admit to crying about this, but there were tears on standby, making ready in case the situation called for them. With little regard for the recently-applied mascara, I was about to turn on the waterworks and lament my fate as a car-cushion-handed freak.
In a moment of resilience and fortitude (which happened to be at the next red light), I got the brilliant idea to pull the lever and shift the seat back.
Poof! Cue the "Hallelujah Chorus!" Jazz hands (plural)!
Moral of the story: Be careful out there.
RobandBECKI
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