What a day.

Once again I had trouble getting out of bed. I slept well, got to bed on time, no reason why I shouldn't pop right out of bed.

I decided that instead of play the game with myself I'd get up and call the KOI and just tell him I'd be late. I'd have called in sick entirely only there was the tour coming led by the very enthusiastic high school teacher with the very sticky fingers who tends to appropriate lots of our equipment when he comes in and I was to be the only person here when he arrived.

I finally got up at 11 when I realized Ellen was on and I could watch her while getting ready. Only Ellen wasn't on. My President was on. So I watched Roseanne because it's easier to love My President when you don't listen to him too closely I'm guessing.

So I got up, got "dressed" and set out to work. In the begining it went quite well. Then I got on 114 which apparently in the afternoons doubles as a parking lot. Construction. Moving roughly 3 feet for every 5 minutes of sit time with the guy behind me kissing my bumper with each inch. I call the Evil one. Well, I'm trying to call Dobie, but the Evil one answers the phone. I explain the parking lot situation and I explain that I'll be there in time to keep an eye on Mr. Sticky Fingers.

As I am hanging up the phone with the Evil one I get to the construction, move through it and then am able to sail along.

I take my "short cut" onto 62. Buzz buzzing along until I see McDonalds. I have no food. It's lunch time and I know if I get to the lab lunchless I'll spend the day lunchless and unhappy. I head for the drive through.

Loooooooooooong drive thru lines but I figure, I'm this late, what the heck. But weird as it may seem this particular McDonalds, on route 62 in Beverly MA is the one McDonalds on the good Lord's earth that understand's the meaning of fast food and I am out of there in a blink, after telling the girl at the drive thru how much this McDonald's rocks.

I pop back onto 62, no oncoming traffic to slow me down, singing away with Tim McGraw, agreeing the while he may indeed be a real bad boy, he probably is a real good man.

Train. Commuter rail. Ding Ding Ding.

I sit, I wait for the all of the rail commuters to do that thing where they laugh at you through the windows...silly car commuters, if you were us you'd be moving right now. Sure, but do you have McDonalds and a car full of (hopefully) dead spiders?

You do not.

Because I wanted to hit the now legendary McDonalds I had to take 62 the entire way around and not the super sneaky River Road. Due to that fact I am now forced onto Bridge street (I now know the names of more roads in Beverly than I do in my hometown). This is not the worst news ever. It's no 114, but there's always traffic. So I sit in the traffic. And then, when I'm almost up to the bridge (hey, maybe that's why they call it bridge street) I see Firetrucks. with FIREBOYS. This is normally a good thing, but I'm pretty late and there are...6 firetrucks. Six firetrucks don't just show up to make me happy. Six firetrucks tend to mean trouble. But I see no trouble, no evidence of trouble past and am shoo'd past the firetrucks after minimal wait time.

Over the bridge, through the marinas and here I am. At work. I come in the door and share the story of my journey with the Evil one and he says.."hey, you want a good ending for that story?" and I say "Sure, hit me with it" and he says "Sticky fingered very enthusiastic high school teacher called to cancel just a minute ago."

Thats right kids. All this just to get here and spend another day doing what amounts to...well, this.

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