Disastrous Mission

Okay, not so disastrous but certainly an eye opener for us. April 15th. Tax time. Instead of using the $200 accountant, Wayne decided to do our taxes himself. It was just a day or two before he was to take off for AZ for his yearly cowboy ride, and taxes were not high on his priority list. I absolutely hate thinking about doing them, and I wanted to scream and whine and nag at Wayne to get them done. I don’t because I don’t want him to tell me to do them myself, so I stay contained.
       Finally, he’s finished. We write the shared exorbitant checks, sign the documents, and stuff it in the envelope. Signed, sealed, and stamped. Without changing out of our in-house grubby attire of sweats and flipflops, we head for the car to get to the post office. It’s only around 6:30pm, shouldn’t be too big of a crowd. We’re wrong. The post office is about 8 miles from our house. The line of cars started about 2 miles from the post office. Impatient as usual, I suggested that I take the envelope and run to the building rather than wait any longer. Surely I can run there faster than this snail train was going. We take about a half of a second to decide how we will do this. A half a second got us to the point of Wayne getting out to take the wheel while I run up to the PO; nothing about where we will meet up after the delivery. Shoot, we’ve been married 30+ years, we read each other’s minds, right? Wrong!
      We do a Chinese fire drill at the next light, and I sprint over to the PO a block away. Drop the envelope into the slot inside and snicker that we beat the crowd. On to the corner to meet Wayne…
      Only, he’s not there.
      Why didn’t I pick up my cell phone before we left? Well, I’ll walk on to the next corner where there is a street light. Surely he will see me there, and I have a good view of all the places he could be. I wait. I watch. My expertise of car identification kicks in. (read sarcasm here). I’ve had my Subaru for 4 years, and it’s nothing more than a “silver car” among the masses. Expertise, my eye! Did you know that ¾ of Highlands Ranch residents drive “silver cars”?! This is no good, I can’t just stand here; I’ve got to move. Surely he didn’t go into the PO parking lot. That was what we were trying to avoid in the first place. Going “around the block” covers a park, a driving range, and a big apartment complex. It would take him quite a while to do that, and again, the traffic was bumper to bumper. No he must have gone straight through the light, and maybe to the catty-cornered shopping center. I start a jog over to Walgreens. Not only do I have no cell phone, but I don’t have a purse, identification, or money. Maybe someone will let me borrow their phone. I get to the store and ask the clerk if I can use the phone. “Sure, what’s the number?”
      “Uhh… I can’t remember.”  My god!! Speed dial is the Devil!! I can only remember his business number, and I know he doesn’t have that phone with him. I go through mental contortions trying to remember the number. The clerk gives up and leaves me alone trying to recall his private line. I’m beginning to read everyone's mind? Is this woman all there?  Wait! I think I know Stephanie’s number. Punch in the numbers…voicemail. I leave a weirder than weird message that I am lost at Walgreens and I can’t find Dad. So, now what? I can’t just stand inside, I’ve got to be visible at least.
       By this time it is almost 8 o’clock and getting dark. I cross back over to the PO corner where the line of cars are still snaking (at a steady pace, mind you) through the parking lot and dropping off the confounded envelopes at the drive through lane. A couple of employees are there picking them up to make the line go quicker. If we had only been a little more patient, we would have been through the line and home eating supper by now. A patrolman is nearby and sees me walking up. How am I possibly going to sound coherent? I feel so utterly stupid. Through his genial conversation, he is obviously checking me out. He suggests that I go to the back of the building to check out the parking lot back there. I thank him and go off to see if that’s where Wayne might have stopped, thinking all the while that he would not be there, and besides I really didn’t want to wander around a dark parking lot alone at this hour…stupid cop!
      As I am walking back on the sidewalk, Wayne beeps the horn, and I climb in. He’s frustrated; I’m more on the verge of frightened, but relieved that the ordeal is over. He had gone into the parking lot and had even walked around looking for me. How we missed each other was really hard to believe. We just were not in sync. As for wishing I could remember his number, little good it would have done… he didn’t have his phone either. So we silently drove home vowing to never do that again. What exactly is “that” needs a little clarification. Never leave home without your cell phone? Communicate a little more clearly? Actually my “that” is to be a bit more patient and things will probably go smoother.