"Case of the Mondays"

Barry is always complaining that he is the only one that takes the trash out. "It only takes 30 extra seconds" he says. I succumbed to his logic this morning and decided to take the trash out.

Thirty seconds, my ass.

I walked down the stairs with my usual morning items in tow: My purse, makeup bag, lunch bag, carnation instant breakfast glass, and my keys. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I notice the trash and think to myself "Fine, I'll do it." As I'm reaching down to pick up the trash, my keys slip out of my hand. All thoughts of a full glass of liquid escapes me as I grab for the keys (as if they were about to fall in to hot liquid magma and never see them again.) Carnation Instant Breakfast goes everywhere: into my lunch bag, all over my hand/wrist/watch, and of course on to the tile. Here's where you think "Tile? What's the big deal?" Well... the bottom of the stairs is where our litter box is and if you know Barry and I at all, it's not a place we tend to sweep out that often. So now i have chocolate milk flavored litter splayed all over the tile, my new Tissot drenched in chocolate milk, and chocolate milk flavored pot roast for lunch. I "gingerly" removed all of previously said items from my hands and run upstairs. I try to get my watch off, but because it's a great watch it doesn't come off easily and the task of removing it is just exacerbated by the chocolate milk. So i wash it off the best i can whilst still attached to me, grab the paper towel, run down stairs, clean up my lunch, wipe up the chocolate litter, stuff the dirty paper towels into the trash bag, and take a breath.

I decide to take 2 trips. I grab my purse, makeup, and lunch bag and put it in the car. I go back and grab the trash and throw that in the trunk and make my way to the compactor. Of course when I get there there is 3 or 4 bags of trash sitting right in FRONT of the door to the trash compactor. I mean, how lazy can you be that you can't open the effin' door and throw your shit in. Literally, someone bagged their SHIT and had it just sitting there. Shit. I'm not kidding. Poop. (Gross.) Anyway, sorry. So i throw my trash in, throw the shit it, get back in the car and to the gate before i realize that I forgot my effing carnation instant breakfast sitting on the shelf where i left it. I yell "Fuck it." and head off to work. Thirteen minutes after my initial trip down the stairs.

When I arrived at the parking garage, for some reason I decided to use the "monthly use only" entrance, which i very rarely do. I reach out my stubby arms to scan my card, glance for the green light, and start to go. The gate doesn't move. WTF? I back up, scan it again and notice the light goes red-green-red. Hm. Ok. I try again. RedGreenRed. Damnit. Now the line is backing up and I have to reverse my car to go into the other lane with large truck grills glaring at me in my small sedan. I manage to get into the other lane and retrieve a ticket, but not without hearing an unimaginable pffping sound from my tire as I kissed the curb. Shite. I'll be damned if i popped my tire. I drive forward and don't notice anything strange (thank goodness), park and head to the stairs without looking back.

By the time i get upstairs I'm just watching the minutes until I can call Barry. I tell him my whole story and explain that this is why I never take the trash out and why I'll never do it again before work.

He say to me, "Sounds like you got a bad case of the Mondays." It's a good thing he wasn't within reach...