Friday, August 05, 2005
Screwed By Genetics.....So To Speak
Poor Z-Man. He is his father's son. Might as well get used to it, kid.
You see, I have a lifelong absent-minded streak. For those of you who know me, I'm sure that's a real stunner. Take yesterday for instance: I needed a screwdriver, so I headed out to the garage to get one. I have to pass through my office to get there, and it was there that I remembered I needed to write myself a note for the following day. While writing the note, I realized my desk was a little too cluttered for my tastes. so I straightened up. Done with that, I headed back into the living room. That's when it hit me......
Wait a minute. I went in there for something else. What was it?
No clue. About an hour later I stumbled across the original project for which I needed the screwdriver, and started the whole process over again.
I average about 3-4 missed freeway exits per week. Even my own, the one I always use to go home. My mind goes off to la-la land as I drive, and next thing I know I'm looking at my exit in the rear-view mirror. The Fetching Mrs Crime Dog knows this as well as she knows my name. She can see it coming. Sometimes she tries to subtly remind me that my ass is supposed to be in the right lane:
Wow. Lot of traffic getting off on STAPLEY today.
Sometimes, she's more direct:
Are you going to get off the freeway, or are we headed to Apache Junction again today?
That's when I go in to "I meant to do that" mode.
Of course I'm getting off. That guy in the next lane is a little too close, that's all. You wanna drive? Can you do better?
Of course, this response sets me up badly for the next time it happens, for that's when she just lets me drive right on past the exit. Then I'm screwed. I'm forced to admit I just missed my own exit while woolgathering about work, or golf, or the Dallas Cowboys, or whatever. Or, I can go with the ol':
Didn't I mention that I needed to run by _________? (I fill in the blank here with an appropriate location east of my house, like Lowe's or Sam's Club)
Next thing I know, I'm dropping a hundred bucks at Sam's Club, all because I couldn't admit that I was a dumbass and just drove past my exit.
And poor Z-Man inherited it from me. He's doomed.
Yesterday, he and Miss J were celebrating the fact that they've been together in a committed relationship for one year. What a sweet girl, he'd better hang on to that one. But I digress once again. He bought her a lovely bracelet, which he planned to give her during an evening of wining and dining at an upscale resort near Camelback Mountain.
So. there I was, sweating my ass off in a tow yard, up to my hips in a stolen and recovered burned Tahoe when my phone rings. It's Z-Man:
Dad, where are you?
"Tow yard. 19th Ave and Broadway."
Shit!
"What's the matter?"
I'm almost to the resort, and I forgot Miss J's gift! I was hoping you could bring it up.
"Ouch. Can't help you, Z. Would if I could, you know. Wrong side of town."
So, he had to drive all the way back to Gilbert for the gift. I'd like to say he learned from the experience, but I know better. I've had to go out and unlock his car too many times after he locked himself out.
He is his father's son.
He'll be driving me home from my hip-replacement when I'm 80. He'll miss the exit.
No problem Dad. I meant to do that. Got a few things to pick up at Sam's Club.
|
You see, I have a lifelong absent-minded streak. For those of you who know me, I'm sure that's a real stunner. Take yesterday for instance: I needed a screwdriver, so I headed out to the garage to get one. I have to pass through my office to get there, and it was there that I remembered I needed to write myself a note for the following day. While writing the note, I realized my desk was a little too cluttered for my tastes. so I straightened up. Done with that, I headed back into the living room. That's when it hit me......
Wait a minute. I went in there for something else. What was it?
No clue. About an hour later I stumbled across the original project for which I needed the screwdriver, and started the whole process over again.
I average about 3-4 missed freeway exits per week. Even my own, the one I always use to go home. My mind goes off to la-la land as I drive, and next thing I know I'm looking at my exit in the rear-view mirror. The Fetching Mrs Crime Dog knows this as well as she knows my name. She can see it coming. Sometimes she tries to subtly remind me that my ass is supposed to be in the right lane:
Wow. Lot of traffic getting off on STAPLEY today.
Sometimes, she's more direct:
Are you going to get off the freeway, or are we headed to Apache Junction again today?
That's when I go in to "I meant to do that" mode.
Of course I'm getting off. That guy in the next lane is a little too close, that's all. You wanna drive? Can you do better?
Of course, this response sets me up badly for the next time it happens, for that's when she just lets me drive right on past the exit. Then I'm screwed. I'm forced to admit I just missed my own exit while woolgathering about work, or golf, or the Dallas Cowboys, or whatever. Or, I can go with the ol':
Didn't I mention that I needed to run by _________? (I fill in the blank here with an appropriate location east of my house, like Lowe's or Sam's Club)
Next thing I know, I'm dropping a hundred bucks at Sam's Club, all because I couldn't admit that I was a dumbass and just drove past my exit.
And poor Z-Man inherited it from me. He's doomed.
Yesterday, he and Miss J were celebrating the fact that they've been together in a committed relationship for one year. What a sweet girl, he'd better hang on to that one. But I digress once again. He bought her a lovely bracelet, which he planned to give her during an evening of wining and dining at an upscale resort near Camelback Mountain.
So. there I was, sweating my ass off in a tow yard, up to my hips in a stolen and recovered burned Tahoe when my phone rings. It's Z-Man:
Dad, where are you?
"Tow yard. 19th Ave and Broadway."
Shit!
"What's the matter?"
I'm almost to the resort, and I forgot Miss J's gift! I was hoping you could bring it up.
"Ouch. Can't help you, Z. Would if I could, you know. Wrong side of town."
So, he had to drive all the way back to Gilbert for the gift. I'd like to say he learned from the experience, but I know better. I've had to go out and unlock his car too many times after he locked himself out.
He is his father's son.
He'll be driving me home from my hip-replacement when I'm 80. He'll miss the exit.
No problem Dad. I meant to do that. Got a few things to pick up at Sam's Club.
