Let's be clear here: A morning person I am not. If left to my own devices, I would keep a total vampire schedule emerging only at dusk and going to sleep at dawn.
Alas. Life throws you these little obstacles every now and then that prevents us from having the things we want, to wit, offspring, employment (I actually do have a day shift), the occasional brick-and-mortar postal need, signing for the latest UPS delivery and required ethics trainings, just to name a few.
Trainings. Blech. I find most of them to be mediocre at best and a waste of time and money at worst. However they are a necessary evil if I want to retain my professional status as a "Licensed Clinical Social Worker." Seeing as my hold on this distinction is tenuous at best, I need to ensure I follow all the rules and regulations my state feels the need to impose upon me (read: send money). Following said rules allows me the honor of writing that four letter word behind my signature: LCSW.
And so this is where I found myself this morning: Stumbling OUT of bed at the un-Godly hour of 6:30 so that I could make myself presentable for an ethics conference which was downtown (can you sense the foreshadowing?) Rummaging around the office, I can't find the brochure to confirm the time...
Say you: You didn't think to check on this last night?
Say me: No, I didn't, Mr/s Type A Personality. Sue me.
...but I do have the time, phone number and address listed on my calendar. I listed the time as starting at 8:00, which, upon reflection, seems early. I think we're all in agreement that it's asking a bit much for professionals to show up at a conference at eight in the morning. Conference days are almost vacation days, right? Start late, hour-and-a-half lunch, leave early, tons of breaks. None that I have been to EVER started that early.
So I call the hotel to confirm the time. And yes, indeed they show the conference begins at 8:00. Fine. Stupid, but fine. The Geek, looking at the clock and noticing it is 7:10, gently suggests that I get on the road as traffic is going to be bad. And I'm thinking: "Hello? Drive by downtown all the time. It takes maybe twenty minutes." The variable I failed to factor when entertaining this snarky little diatribe to myself is I drive by downtown in the middle of the night, not during rush hour. Crucial, this little detail.
Say you: How could you not factor in rush hour...
Say me: I'm out of practice, Ok? Night job! Even on my day shifts I'm at home. And before that I was a contractor working from my house. And before that I worked for the state...the office was 3 miles from my house.
As I was saying.
Exit driveway: 7:19
I get on the road and think I'm doing good. I even take the high road and forgo the caffeine stop to ensure I make it on time. I am cruising along nicely on the interstate for the next six miles and then...
Parking lot.
For the next ten miles.
It was head-banging-on-the-steering-wheel excruciating. How people do that day in and day out without a Valium starter (or four) is beyond me.
By the time I arrive downtown, the clock is reading 8:03. And I've yet to tell you about my little problem, which is this (here we go again with the self disclosure): I'm directionally impaired. Ok, truth be known, I'm directionally retarded. We're not talking about a malfunctioning internal compass, we're talking about one that just doesn't exist. EVERY time I go downtown--a total area of maybe 3 square miles in a town in which I've lived for the past 30 years--I get turned around if I have to go someplace where I haven't been before. Every time. It's ridiculous. (In my own defense, I'm hardly ever down there.)
So now The Geek is The Navigator because naturally I'm lost and feeling panicky because the conference started.
Time: 8:06
Say you: Did you not Mapquest....
Say me: YES! OF COURSE I MAPQUESTED!
Say you: Ok! Ok!
I'm only a few blocks off course and The Navigator manages to get me where I need to be in real time via the wonders of wireless communication ("Where are you now? Ok, turn left. Ok, now? Alright go straight. Now? Turn right. Ok, now at the corner make another left. It should be there. It's not? Sure you gave me the right intersection?")
Oh, THERE it is!
Where to park?
DAMN.
Time: 8:11
Now I call the hotel because I don't have a clue as to where to park. They give me directions on how to get into the parking lot, which is naturally on a street behind me. So I have to circle the block (one way streets run amok down there) and park where? At the convention center. Now, why, I ask myself, did they just not have the thing here?
I drive into the subterranean garage and I see the sign for parking. Six bucks. Up front. Now I'm really steaming because hello? Who has cash anymore? And what kind of parking garage asks for money UP FRONT on a work day during regular working hours? It should be an hourly charge, right? Therefore pay when you leave. I expected to get raped on the parking costs, but not before I even got to the bloody conference and certainly not before the ingestion of any caffeine. Thankfully, I had a ton of change in the ashtray. I hand the woman two seriously crumpled one dollar bills and 16 quarters, cursed her existence, and drive on.
Time: 8:15
I get out the car, wander through the labyrinth that is modern-day parking garages and find my way to the elevator. Up to the ground floor and I'm cruising towards what I hope is the main entrance and Hello! Help desk! Thinking that perhaps by some lucky chance the conference is actually at the convention center, I ask the dudes at the help desk about my particular need.
Nope. Never heard of that particular conference.
Fine. In serious power walking mode now (in heels, thank you) I trek over to the other side of the street, into the hotel lobby, straight to the concierge.
Me: Ethics Conference?
Gay dude: Up the stairs, to your left and then make a right into the hallway. Follow the hallway to conference rooms 14, 15, and 16.
Excellent!
Time: 8:20
So I walk up the stairs, turn left and then right and....wow. That's a serious hallway. Time is of the essence! Onward I walk. And walk. And walk, and walk....
on to the second floor of the ever loving convention center.
And there, at the top of a (different) stairway I just passed, lit up like a beacon, are conference rooms 14 thru 16. And what, pray tell, is at the BOTTOM of the stairway? That's right. The help desk.
I stand there incredulous for a moment, calm my breathing, muster my strength and go into a room that is practically empty.
Me (to someone else walking in): I thought this started at 8:00.
Her (holding up the brochure): No, it starts at 9:00.
Time: 8:25.
Now I seriously need a Diet Coke.
Say you: Wait! I thought you gave those up?
Say me: Yeah. I gave that up.
Seeing as I now have plenty of time on my hands, I deposit my book, moronically head down to the HELP DESK and inquire as to where I might find the nearest Coke machine. Can't go wrong with this one, right? It's a convention center. They must have Coke machines (I KNOW they do, because I've seen them. I just don't want to walk the mile-and-a-half I know I will be forced to trek looking for one on my own.) And anyone who works there will have scoped them out on day one. I approach a native named Russ with my inquiry:
Russ: Um.....Hmmm.... (looks around)....Ummm....I dunno.....
Me: Don't tell me you don't know, Russ. I'm a woman on the edge here.
Russ: I'm sorry. I just started working here....Ummmm....maybe back at the hotel? ->
Read the complete post at http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/tXCM/~3/390565496/ethics-my-fanny.html
Posted
12 Sep 2008 11:00 AM
by
Trench Warfare
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