Good Friday Gone Bad


Yesterday was known, in the Christian world, as Good Friday. This is the day recognized as the Eve of Christ's crucifixion. Most respectable, God-fearing business owners give their employees this day off in preparation for the Easter weekend. Since the owners of my company, who shall remain nameless are all from the East Coast and Jewish, well....you get the picture.

So I rise at 5:55 a.m. as usual, a very UN-Christian hour I might add, and shoo myself towards the coffee pot and shower. Upon reaching the coffee pot I realize that the on-again, off-again headache that I have been nursing all week has reached epic proportions. Just the day before, I had several people ask, "are you feeling okay?" Try as I might, I realize that going into work was not on the agenda for me. As a good girl from a family of nurses and self-appointed doctors, I medicate appropriately and head back to bed after making the dutiful call-out to work.

I have settled into a nice drug induced sleep when I hear something. I realize it's my cell phone. DAMN! I forgot to turn the volume to vibrate. It's my loving husband calling to see how I'm feeling. I grouchily let him know. He immediately ends call with the standard, "sorry, go back to sleep". Once again, I settle into a nice drug induced haze. About the time I am dreaming of a nice conversation with the dirty-haired Gucci guy model, I realize there is an annoying dog barking in the distance. DAMN! It's Holly, our dog. She needs to go potty. After stubbing my toe, cursing loudly enough that Hank my cat runs from the room, I decide to check my email at work while waiting on Holly to return to the front door for more barking to come back inside.

Thankfully no storms are brewing and all seems quiet at work. This is good. Holly's back and I once again head to my big, cloud-like bed for another attempt of sleep. I manage ONE blissful hour. Yes! Head is still pounding but is better. I hear my cell phone vibrating off the table. It's my loving husband texting me to see if I'm up. I respond, yes. It's quickly determined that I should come pick him up for lunch at 12:30. For reasons beyond my control, I agree. This means I must really get in the shower and make myself presentable.

I do something I rarely do; after taking a shower and getting dressed I leave the house with a wet head AND NO MAKE-UP other than a touch of lipstick (of course). Now this may not seem to be much of anything to you, but trust me, in my world, this was HUGE. Having been schooled from the time I was 6 years old on the proper way for a woman to look outside of her home, a wet head and no make-up was almost sacrilegious. For once, I didn't care. Mother is 550 miles away and who is going to tell her? My sister here in town KNOWS better. I have too much dirt I could share on her in my own defense.

Anyway, we go about our business of having lunch but due to traffic and errands we realize we'll have to do drive-thru. Naturally this defeats the whole idea of having lunch "together" but I refrain from saying so since I was so bitchy earlier in the day.

I drop him off at his front door and wave on my way out of the parking lot. Visions of my cloud-like bed, and yes, I believe it is time for more drugs, are in my near future.

I-24 E is moving nicely even though a busy time of the day. Yes! About a mile from my exit I look down and realize my RPM gauge has stopped working. Hmm..interesting. Wonder how long it's been that way? A few seconds later, I see my speedometer is acting like it's been possessed by Linda Blair. What the?? Before I could ponder much longer, I realize the car feels like it's losing speed. NOT good. I ease over in the outer lane just in case, but thankfully I'm at my exit. My house is only 2 miles from the exit. Please oh please don't let me break down.

What can I say? Obviously, I have not been a very good girl lately (we won't talk about it) because as I get to the first redlight and brake.....Whitey Ford gives up the ghost. It is finished and I'm pissed. NOTHING will work. No flashers, nothing. OH, except the electric windows...go figure! I quickly pull out the phone, call my husband and tell him of my dilemma. We get cut off. DAMN! I try calling back. No answer. Double damn! I call my music partner and tell him what's going on. Can he look up the number of a wrecker for me? He is at Opry Mills with his wife and says he will find a phone book and call me back.

In the meantime, husband calls back, he's leaving work and will be right there. Traffic is flowing all around me. My head has started pounding double time again and to say I'm not happy is an understatement.

What occurred to me as I'm waiting to hear back from everyone is the differences in people today. Some people were going around me, blowing their horns and a few wise-ackers even had the nerve to flip me off! Bad karma will eventually catch up with you friends, be VERY afraid.

Just when I feel like giving up on the human race as a whole, a very cute guy on a motorcycle pulls up to my window. "Ma'am, are you okay?" I explain the situation. He asks if I have a phone...I wave mine for him to see. He parks his bike, jumps off and tells me to put the car in neutral that he will push me into the turn zone lane to get me out of traffic. OH thank cute bike boy!! He does this with very little effort. I offer to pay him for his time, but he refuses and makes sure someone is coming to help me before whizzing away on his shiny bike. Proof there IS still kindness found in strangers.

About this time, music partner calls with a tow service in Smyrna. I thank him profusely. I explain to the voice that answers where I am and what I need. An older man's voice sounding of too many cigarettes and coffee tells me that he will be there in less than 10.

I look in my rear view mirror to see my husband pull up behind me. Yes! Crisis almost over! We are discussing where and what we should do with Whitey Ford when here comes Mr. Tow Truck. Out jumps a very wrinkled version of Robert DeNiro with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

"Your car dead?" Uh no...just thought I'd stand out in the middle of Sam Ridley and enjoy the sunshine. He proceeds to load up Whitey and we decide that it MIGHT be the battery so he tows it to our house. Turns out it's probably the alternator but we have a plan and all will be taken care of first of the week.

Once again I return to my bed, giving up hopes of really napping but maybe just resting for a bit. My husband informs me that we've been invited to hear a friend sing that night and we're going and will have dinner after. He says that I have been acting "depressed" this week and I need a night out. I explain it's not depression but searing pain in my head.

He didn't bother to tell me WHERE she was singing so while we are in his car on the way a little later, I ask. Turns out her Methodist minister Dad has talked her into singing at their church's Good Friday service. I smile to myself thinking that it is a tad bit ironic that I've spent most of my day bitching and now here I find myself on the way to church. Obviously someone thinks I need some religion.

We arrive at the church in the Rivergate area, and I'm thankful that I'm dressed appropriately and am having a good hair evening (yes I did fix it and the make up while getting ready). The service was nice and while we were singing out of the Methodist Hymnal which was actually the Baptist Hymnal with Baptist scratched through and Methodist added, I thanked the Man upstairs for the cute bike boy that helped me. I ask Him to do something about those others that were mean and flipped me off during my crisis. I even ask Him to bless wrinkled Robert DeNiro for coming so quickly; my sweet husband for leaving work and rushing to my side; my sweet music partner for getting me the appropriate phone numbers and yes, for not breaking down on the way from work at the end of the day.

While sipping a nice cold drink after dinner with our friends later, and seeing the beautiful moon in the sky on our drive home, I realize it really had been Good Friday after all.