Two months ago on a Saturday morning, I stood fuming in a very long line to register my daughter for recreational soccer. I had already driven around the enormous parking lot twice to even find a spot to park. Then I joined a herd of parents in a bunched up line to do a task that we should have been able to do online but instead required us to stand in an actual line so we could register our kids.
I’m fuming again, remembering. A hundred of us milled around, checking the time on our phones, waiting to hand our registration form and a check to the lady who sat on the other side of a table. So inefficient. Such a waste of time. So annoying.
While waiting in that ridiculous line, I received a text message from a co-worker letting me know that the employee for the next shift had not shown up.
One of my job duties is to ensure almost around-the-clock monitoring of a website. I handle the scheduling and oversee a few employees. And for some reason, I had failed to note an employee’s vacation request. I hurried home and worked the six hour shift on a Saturday afternoon and vowed to create more sticky notes or something. Nothing* is more unpleasant than unexpectedly spending a Saturday working because of your own idiocy.
Seriously, with a Google calendar on my phone, an actual paper desk calendar and a variety of Post-it notes, things like this should not fall between the cracks. Ever.
And yet. Today I was still in bed (past 10:00 AM which seems late to you but I bet you get to bed before 2 AM, am I right?) and a text message roused me. (I had been awake and had sort of gone back to sleep because why not?)
Today, June 6 became my personal Groundhog Day. Months ago, the same employee requested a vacation day for today. I approved it, typed it into a Word document, printed it out, and set it aside. (At some point, my daughter spilled a glass of water on it, but it was still legible. No excuses.) But . . . no Post-it note, no notation on my paper calendar, no Google calendar alert. I completely and utterly forgot to plan coverage for today.
What is wrong with me? I’ll tell you this. In March, when I last took note of this vacation request, June 6 seemed light years away, too far to even truly consider. I didn’t even have a shelf in my brain upon which to set this thought.
Three months sped by in a psychedelic flash and suddenly, I’m spending my Saturday afternoon squinting at my computer screen and feeling like a dunce for for failing to hammer down this thing in March.
Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’ into the future . . . and I actually do want to fly like an eagle to the sea.
*Actually, I can think of quite a few things more unpleasant. The Norovirus, for instance.