Sunday, November 20, 2005

Flagstaff. Sunday morning.

It’s 8:15 am on a Flagstaff Sunday. My wife’s at work all day. I’m awake at 8:15 because my neighbor’s car alarm has gone off for the second time today. The first time was at 2:00 am, and it was pretty annoying. I’m less annoyed this time because I can actually be sure it’s not my car. I used to be pretty sure of this regardless, since the closest thing my ’87 Volkswagen has to a theft-deterrent system is a rear door handle that doesn’t work. But I left for work yesterday morning at 5:30 a.m., popped the key into the ignition, and was immediately greeted by a horn that turned itself on and wouldn’t shut off. I drove like that for about a half-mile, periodically smacking the steering wheel in an effort to get it to shut off, or at least look like a real jerk to the other drivers on the road. It shut itself off when I took a right turn. It hasn’t come back on again since. Even when I try to use the horn, it doesn’t work. Anyway, my wife has the ’87 VW today, so I’m pretty sure it’s not my horn I’m hearing.

Anyway, I woke up at 8:15. My neighbor got his alarm shut off pretty quickly, but I stayed awake, figuring I’d take advantage of the short period of time before 17-month old Sylvi woke up to check my e-mail, listen to the radio, read the New York Times, etc.

That was a lot of pressure on a short period of time, but by 9:15, I’d actually accomplished all of those things. Tiptoe upstairs. Check on Sylvi. Tush still straight up in the air, snoring away. I’d figured on throwing on a baseball cap and sweatshirt and taking her out to the coffee shop, but if she was going to let me squeeze in a shower, who was I to argue?

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed. Sweatshirt. No need for the baseball cap. I have bad hair, but not as bad as it would be if I hadn't showered. Sylvi’s still asleep. Back downstairs to read the sections of the newspaper I’d normally skip. I learn a few things: There are an awful lot of attorneys getting married in New York. Christian Dior makes a ski parka that costs $2365. It’s unclear who would wear such a garment.

10:15. No word from upstairs. Coffee will be great, but at this point, it’ll be too late to stave off the caffeine headache. Locate Coca-Cola product. Ahhhh, the first jolt of caffeine on a Sunday morning. A simple pleasure on a level even higher than reading about New York attorneys getting married. Check e-mail again, in case anyone has an important message for me at 10:15 on a Sunday morning. Nothing interesting to report, unless I decide to someday write dissertation on fake PayPal solicitations.

10:25. Commence channel surfing. Learn a few more things: It’s 44 degrees outside. John Murtha looks older than I imagined. Football analysts sure yell a lot. Oh yeah, I knew that already.

10:45. Start wondering if we should go out for lunch when Sylvi wakes up. Tiptoe back upstairs and poke head in nursery. Sylvi is just sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Decide it’s still early enough for coffee.

By 11:15, I’ve finally figured out an appropriate outfit, based on the crucial piece of temperature information I’ve gleaned, and on the fact that Sylvi’s $2365 ski parka is at the cleaners. I’ve assembled her breakfast of yogurt, a banana and milk, and loaded it in the diaper bag, and we’re on our way. Even with a Coke in my system, the coffee ought to taste pretty good.

We reach the coffee shop at 11:25. Naturally, it’s closed. Quickly revise plans and decide to go out for breakfast burrito back on other side of town.

11:30. Hit enormous traffic jam at major intersection. It’s apparently caused by the fact that the traffic light is out and the City of Flagstaff, instead of deploying a police officer to direct traffic, has deployed a stop sign. Since no one in Flagstaff is familiar with how a stop sign works, this causes much confusion. It would cause a lot of honking, except no one in Flagstaff is familiar with how a horn works either. I’d honk, except I’m afraid my 2003 VW may have gotten the message from its buddy and the horn wouldn’t shut off.

We arrive at the Plan B restaurant (which would actually be a good name for a restaurant down the street from a trendy place) at 11:40, at which point I learn they no longer serve breakfast burritos after 11:00 am, despite the fact that there are a half dozen other things on the grill. Also, they no longer have more than one size coffee or soft drink, which allows them to sell what I used to call a “medium” soda for $1.50. Look at list of $6.50 sandwiches and decide to order a chocolate donut. I decide to redub the place as the Plan Z restaurant. Sylvi eats entire 8-ounce carton of yogurt.

12:00 noon. Counter person stops by and asks if my donut was all right.

12:05. Decide to eat lunch at home. Consider staying in bed longer next Sunday.


Carol Davidson said...

I'm jealous. You didn't mention about Sylvi screaming during the car ride because she is hungry. That definitely would have been part of OUR day.

Anonymous said...

Sounds like a tough morning. I think you need a dog, so that you can add an early morning walk and poop-pick up to your routine.

Anonymous said...

Great little bit o' writing. I used to work with your mom. As I quit over four years ago, the psychological trauma is finally starting to pass.

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