So this morning I woke up to glorious sunshine and a letter from my 3 year-old daughter written the previous evening still on my bedside table - painting a rare Tuesday morning smile across my face.
“Today is definitely a shorts day” I said to myself, in an Irish accent, for no particular reason I can determine.
Headed off to work. Did the work thing. Productive day.
I finished work on time for once and after changing from work clothes back into the shorts of joyous happiness once more I started the 10 minute walk from the office to the car park, noticing as I made my way there the big rolling, dark clouds outside (obviously) providing stark contrast to the golden sun and long summer shadows decorating the otherwise light corridor linking the working world to that alternative reality that is ‘home’. I comment to my working colleague that we might be lucky and make it to our vehicles before the deluge. A little jog across the car park would likely ensure our dryness.
Did the rain hold off? Did we make it? I hear you scream at your computer/phone/tablet/iPod in excited anticipation.
We were lucky. We did. Well…he did… well…I did too…but I also sort of didn’t. Let me explain…
Our work car park is entered and exited only upon the magical waving of ID card in front of the magic black box of admittance situated next to the magic striped raising-and-lowering barrier of access. Whilst preparing to drive home, I realise that in my short-wearing delirium, I had left the required ID card attached to the clothes of workingness.
“Tut!” I said to myself, in my normal thinking-to-myself accent this time (because clearly I was just a bit mad with the Irish thing this morning) and I began the ten minute walk back to the changing rooms hoping that my ID card was indeed still there and hadn’t just fallen out of my pocket while jogging to the car earlier.
I manage to still avoid the rain before getting to cover. My ID badge was eventually retrieved after a short search in my locker – phew! I now begin the ten minute journey back in the direction of the car park but this time to the tuneful accompaniment of thunder and the associated preceding light show.
I smile to myself and think, “I’m going to get wet, aren’t I?” (mainly because I thought I was going to get wet… which is one of the best reasons for saying such a thing to yourself) and I struggle to hear my own reply due to the crescendo of the increasing rain beating down on the plastic domey roofy thing that is above me. I take this opportunity of dryness to check my phone for the weather forecast on Friday – tennis match day. It’s ok. This should not last. Mmmm…neither will my battery… only 1 per cent battery life remaining.
At the external access there is a group of well-clothed people with umbrellas, not daring to leave the building for fear of drowning or being swept away by the newly created river.
I make a hilarious comment to the group of strangers along the lines of, “Well, at least I’m not wearing shorts or anything!” earning myself instant respect as a clearly quick-witted individual who is blatantly going places, and obviously avoiding anyone just thinking I was a bit weird.
Without hesitation, I walk purposefully towards the door with body language that boldly spoke the words, “Stand back, people! I’ve got this. Wish me luck!”
The crown parted (and I like to think perhaps even bowed a little bit) then as face met with the H2O MY WORD THAT IS PROPER WET WETNESS OF THE KIND THAT IS GOING TO SERIOUS DRENCH ME IN TWO SECONDS FLAT, I ran. I proper ran. Sprint, if you will. Jumping huge puddles, leaping over rivers, propelling myself in the air and doing one of those little heel click things like I was channelling the spirit of that bloke with the dodgy English accent off Mary Poppins… Dick Van Dyke! Him! Yeah… proper little heel clicks with a broad cheeky grin as I go over the zebra crossing, smiling to the car driver who stopped well short of it to let this clearly disturbed individual pass by without incident….and eventually make it to the car…dry my glasses so I can at least see something… and go to plug my mobile phone in to charge… my mobile…my mobile phone…
“my phone…? where’s my phone?”
“Oh Tut” I say to myself for the second time in the space of 20 minutes.
After a thorough search of the car, to ensure I hadn’t just dropped it there, I head back out into the downpour, slowly this time. Eyes peeled. Scouring the increasingly rippled concrete for a trace of the whiteness that is…or once was… a Samsung Galaxy II phone.
Becoming increasingly wet, I eventually spot it near the site of one of my earlier heel-clicking exploits, in three separate but seemingly intact pieces – battery, cover, and main phone. It must have somehow escaped the shorts pocket as I gracefully glided by earlier.
No longer getting increasingly wet, because as an annoying woman in ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’ once said, “There comes a time when you just can’t get any wetter, no more”, I eventually get back to my car…
…No longer smiling…
…after a much longer time than it should have taken…
…I get home…
…and I smile again.