The best laid plans bite me in the ass
Those who know me know I have a bad habit of letting my laundry slide. When this happens, I have two mitigation plans:
Did my little plan hatch as expected? Nay, nay, Chrissy.
The trip from Tyson's Corner to Arlington took an hour. OK, I had a little less breathing room, but I could still swing it. I arrived at the Charo's at 6, but the fluffing counter was locked up tight. I was starting to sweat, and I had no clean clothes to change into. Confused, I turned around and saw this on the door:Hours:
9AM-4PM
7PM-10PM
"No, problem," I thought to myself. This just required a little outside-the-box thinking. I still needed clothes. I still needed to meet Joe at 7. I had it. I drive past an H&M every day. I'll just stop there, grab the first thing I find in my size, pay for it, put it on at the store, and dash to meet Joe.
I sped down Washington Boulevard to the entrance to I-395 and came to a flying stop. The 14th Street Bridge was blocked solid. Oh, here's a sidebar to you "you go against traffic" fuckwits I keep hearing from...I have a can of Cheez Whiz and I'm not afraid to use it, so you may want to think twice before spouting that drivel at me. I had just passed the Pentagon City exit, so I didn't have many options for bailing...or did I?
I crept up to the exit for Boundary Channel Drive...and I parked at National Airport. It was 6:15, I was on the Yellow Line and I needed to go to Gallery Place. Perfect. This way I would have barely enough time to bolt into H&M, snatch a pair of pants and a shirt, drop trou in the middle of the store to change clothes, and still meet Joe in time to guide Slappy Orzabal to pick us both up.
Yeah, not quite. I made to H&M at 6:45, tore up to the Men's department, grabbed the first size 34 pants I saw and the shirt that was next to it, bolted into the dressing room and tried it on. Things were looking up. The shit fit. I asked the dressing room attendant if I could go to checkout, have them scan my ass and my arm, hand them a visa card, and be on my way. No dice. Shit. I shed the new duds, threw on the suit I was wearing when I got in there, and skipped to the register to get rung up. Britney. Took. Forever. She must have noticed the blood vessels in my head ready to burst, and she apologized for the abysmal response time of their POS POS system.
By this time it is 7:15. Slappy Orzabal is already at 17th and New Hampshire, looking to pick up somebody he has never met in his life. He calls me and asks me where I am. I explain that I am hailing a cab to meet them at 17th and S. Bad plan. This would take too long. I conference Joe to ask him if he wouldn't mind jumping in the car of a total stranger. He seemed to take this in stride. I guide Joe to Slappy Orzabal's car; I guide Slappy Orzabal to Joe. I feel like I am negotiating a tryst for which I should get a cut. I redirect the cab to copperred's place on 13th and M.
Copperred suggests that I change in the lobby while I wait. "Go over there. Nobody ever uses that door." So I drop trou in the corner of the lobby and immediately a resident comes bounding down the stairs. "Hello, " said the resident, as if he sees this sort of thing all the time. Well, howdy neighbor.
Thanks to Slappy Orzabal and Joe for accommodating my tardiness and the silliness that ensued. Oy.
- Buy a new set of clothes right off the rack to get me through the function for which I am invariably late
- Collect every piece of clothing I own and drop it off at Charo's Fluff N' Fold to be fluffed, folded, and picked up later
Did my little plan hatch as expected? Nay, nay, Chrissy.
The trip from Tyson's Corner to Arlington took an hour. OK, I had a little less breathing room, but I could still swing it. I arrived at the Charo's at 6, but the fluffing counter was locked up tight. I was starting to sweat, and I had no clean clothes to change into. Confused, I turned around and saw this on the door:Hours:
9AM-4PM
7PM-10PM
"No, problem," I thought to myself. This just required a little outside-the-box thinking. I still needed clothes. I still needed to meet Joe at 7. I had it. I drive past an H&M every day. I'll just stop there, grab the first thing I find in my size, pay for it, put it on at the store, and dash to meet Joe.
I sped down Washington Boulevard to the entrance to I-395 and came to a flying stop. The 14th Street Bridge was blocked solid. Oh, here's a sidebar to you "you go against traffic" fuckwits I keep hearing from...I have a can of Cheez Whiz and I'm not afraid to use it, so you may want to think twice before spouting that drivel at me. I had just passed the Pentagon City exit, so I didn't have many options for bailing...or did I?
I crept up to the exit for Boundary Channel Drive...and I parked at National Airport. It was 6:15, I was on the Yellow Line and I needed to go to Gallery Place. Perfect. This way I would have barely enough time to bolt into H&M, snatch a pair of pants and a shirt, drop trou in the middle of the store to change clothes, and still meet Joe in time to guide Slappy Orzabal to pick us both up.
Yeah, not quite. I made to H&M at 6:45, tore up to the Men's department, grabbed the first size 34 pants I saw and the shirt that was next to it, bolted into the dressing room and tried it on. Things were looking up. The shit fit. I asked the dressing room attendant if I could go to checkout, have them scan my ass and my arm, hand them a visa card, and be on my way. No dice. Shit. I shed the new duds, threw on the suit I was wearing when I got in there, and skipped to the register to get rung up. Britney. Took. Forever. She must have noticed the blood vessels in my head ready to burst, and she apologized for the abysmal response time of their POS POS system.
By this time it is 7:15. Slappy Orzabal is already at 17th and New Hampshire, looking to pick up somebody he has never met in his life. He calls me and asks me where I am. I explain that I am hailing a cab to meet them at 17th and S. Bad plan. This would take too long. I conference Joe to ask him if he wouldn't mind jumping in the car of a total stranger. He seemed to take this in stride. I guide Joe to Slappy Orzabal's car; I guide Slappy Orzabal to Joe. I feel like I am negotiating a tryst for which I should get a cut. I redirect the cab to copperred's place on 13th and M.
Copperred suggests that I change in the lobby while I wait. "Go over there. Nobody ever uses that door." So I drop trou in the corner of the lobby and immediately a resident comes bounding down the stairs. "Hello, " said the resident, as if he sees this sort of thing all the time. Well, howdy neighbor.
Thanks to Slappy Orzabal and Joe for accommodating my tardiness and the silliness that ensued. Oy.