Sometimes I feel so incredibly annoyed and irritated by things that I overreact and vent to the poor soul who sees me next. This is usually Nolan, but sometimes my coworkers- like when I used my lunch hour to pick up my packet for the Esprit de She 5K.

I made the choice to use up my precious lunch hour to pick up my packet. I know. What I didn’t select was the idiotic location of said packet pickup. The park, which includes a swimming pool, had about 5 parking spots (ok, more like 20) that was full of Maple Grove SAHM’s mini-vans. I should have known then, to turn around and drive back to work. But alas, I made it this far, so I drove around, looking for a parking spot while listening to my audio book.

I wouldn’t have minded the quarter-mile walk to the building, if it wasn’t 90° and I wasn’t wearing work clothes. Once inside, I saw the place was overflowing with wet, slimy kids yelling at their moms that they’re hungry. To be fair, it was lunchtime and I’d be hangry too if I’d just been jumping into a pool repeatedly, while screaming “cannonball!”

I weaved through this chaos to find the packet pick up area. Like the email and signs said, you need your race number and ID to get your packet. I had both ours ready to go, but the lines were full of dumbasses with neither items ready. You’d think they would move out of the way (or heaven forbid, go to the back of the line!?) when they realized they didn’t have their shit together. No, they just stood there searching their email inboxes on their phones, only after making sure they caught all nearby Pokémon. (I made up that second part for effect.)

I finally got to the front of the line and seamlessly recited our bid numbers and presented our IDs. I probably appeared to be a huge B and in that moment in time, I was one. I admit it. I was almost out the door when a poor little girl went running across the lobby and promptly fell flat on her face. I felt really bad, my niece took a similar fall when we were in Brainerd and I wanted to scoop her up and cradle her forever. I didn’t feel that bad for the girl in the lobby, but I’m sure her mom did.

I finally got the heck out of there, returned to work, and vented about the whole ordeal to my coworker, who graciously listened.

Maybe I need a chill pill or should start submitting articles to People I Want to Punch in the Throat.


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