Funky day

What can’t we tell the whole class?

Went up to Columbus with Heather for a potentially confrontational meeting with a client.

We decided on the way up that we need to really sit down and think about this whole business thing. We’re having these midlife-deliberations while the country is in crisis. Jobs are hard to find. The market is bleak. There’s this funky vibe permeating most everything. We’re tired of what we’re doing, but don’t want to have jobs where we can’t wear whatever we want (oh yeh, and take off for 7 weeks). It’s quite a pickle.

We came to some conclusions to tighten our belts and relish life however possible.

The meeting? It went surprisingly well, even though I think I said something to the effect of, “That sucks ass” which in normal circumstances might not be appropriate, but these folks are pretty down to earth and easy to be human around. They want us to keep doing what we do, and agreed to some terms to make it a good gig.

On the trip home, we felt a weight lifted that something was going well.

Randomly, I asked Heather if she ever had a ticket in this particular car. She slapped the dash and pleaded, “Why did you have to say that!” We knocked on faux wood. Then we hit The Traffic Jam from Hell. It was the worst backup, worse than anything i had seen on my trip. We didn’t move at all. It was really gross outside. We both had to pee, really really bad. If this was just me, I’d handle it right there, but I do have some manners.

Kings Island was off to our left. We wanted to ride roller-coasters and let this traffic go by. We thought the exit was just ahead. I triple-dog-dared Heather to drive in the berm (breakdown lane) and get to the exit.

Sirens blared immediately. Heather screamed for me to hide incriminating schwag while she scrambled for her seatbelt. A ticket was issued while we sat there melting. We were lucky only one broken law was cited. The cop said “bladder control” was not an emergency.

This was turning into the worst drive home ever.

We stopped by a friends house and enjoyed the facial expressions of her 18 month year old and the memory of the horrible horrible traffic of Cincinnati drifted away.

After unsuccessfully trying to get the baby to say bling bling, we split.

Heather has decided never to take me up on my triple-dog-dares.