Months back my bosses--these would be my adorable and surprisingly easy to impress bosses---told me that they were moving our office out to the suburbs. Immediately I was filled with disgust and dread and made it quite clear that it would be a bitter pill for me to swallow. Kicking and screaming, I'd go. . . maybe, I thought. Regardless, I was going to make them suffer dearly.
But then the days, turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into. . (you guessed it!) months and here I am less than a week away from COMMUTING TO THE SUBURBS and ya know what?
There's been no panic attacks. No fits of crying. No waking in up in the middle of the night screaming because I dreamt I was trapped in an Olive Garden and I couldn't get out. I'm really O.K. Not even an iota of self-loathing because I didn't run out and snag me some brilliant job that would make everyone who knows me pea green with envy.
I've completely suprised the shit out of myself.
I'm going to give this carpool thing an honest to goodness try. Which is prompting me to brew up a big ol' post on my momentary farewell to rush hour public transit--I'm thinking three parter--because I can pretty much predict what any expressway commute post would say:
Yeah, co-worker dude picked me up late again today. BUMPER TO BUMPER traffic, man. Then this ugly guy totally winked at me in the toll lane, and then we were at work or whatever. I thought that Channel 9 bitch said 35 minutes to the Tri-State? What is she on?
Luckily for the guys, not only do they treat me like a human being, they realize my genius. Can you really ask for more?