Friday Big C went to school and Lil C was with me. It was harder. Note to self: 4 is not too young to learn to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
The highlight of my day was not dealing with how to pick up babies with a cracked rib and farked hand. No, the highlight was when the vet’s office called. No, really.
Why were they calling? Oh right, I still haven’t delivered the urn. Oh, no, that’s not what they wanted? No… They were just doing appt follow up calls and wanted to see if Waldo was feeling any better.
I swear I’m not making this shit up.
Yes, they were following up on Waldo, just making sure he recovered. I let her know that considering her office had euthanized him on Monday, I didn’t see recovery in his future. I also let her know that they had completely fucked any chance of my having any peace surrounding my dog’s death. Also, could she please let the other idiot know that I hadn’t gotten the urn yet, because “was nearly killed on the way to get it.”
Guess who the next person to call me was? Guess what she wanted to know?
Idiot #1: Hey, I just wanted to see if you still needed me to order the
insanely overpriced second choiceurn, because you didn’t drop off the one you wanted and you didn’t call.
Me: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! YOU PEOPLE ARE MORONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: I talked to Idiot #2 about 1.5 hours ago. She wanted to know if Waldo was recovering, and I told her to tell you that we would be getting the urn early next week because I & my four children were very nearly killed going to get the damned thing and you promised this would be easier and I am so pissed at you people!!!!!!!!!! Did she not give you the message? Do you people not speak to each other? What the fuck is going on up there? How do I even know those are my dog’s ashes you’re giving me? YOU PEOPLE ARE IDIOTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: When is my dog going to be back? We’ll just pick him up in the scatterbox and deal with the urn our own damn selves. GRRRRR!!!!!!
Her: He’ll be in today. C-ya…
Yeah, another more truth than paraphrase completely appalling conversation. I hate those bastards now.
Then today (well, technically yesterday) I had to go clear out and sell my car. The first car I ever bought and paid off myself. The car I debated over and researched for months. The car I just put $1,200 wheels on. That was a debacle. The old man at the tow yard took a nap rather than let me back to clear out my car. So, I had to find a way to entertain a baby in a parking lot for 45 minutes. Then, he took a couple of young kids straight back to their car. I FUCKING LOST IT. Rationally, I can tell you, that old man probably got more of the heat than he deserved, but… good fucking grief enough is e-fucking-nough! So, I finally got my shit (all of my good sippy cups and both of my baby carriers were in there) and they towed it to the salvage yard.
The people at the salvage yard were awesome. They gave me my wheels (which were undamaged) and took my plates off for me. Then they essentially paid the tow/impound fees. And they were nice. And they were amazed that I wasn’t in hospital. They know a lot more about car wrecks than I do.
This whole week I dealt with a lot of assholes. But I also dealt with several really awesome people who did a fabulous job of helping make this truly shitty week a little less shittacular:
- The medics that took care of me & Lil C were terrific. I’m totally taking them cookies when I’m well enough to bake. And have cleaned the plastic from my oven*.
- The cop that took my statement. He was so nice and comforting and did a great job of calming me down and getting the kids cared for.
- The nurse at Children’s. She was a rockstar with my little grumpigus Lil C.
- The doctor at Urgent Care. He was quick and efficient and cared and gave me vicodin.
- The guys at the salvage yard. They were sweet and took care of lots of little details I’d not have thought of and helped me get valuable parts I could sell myself off of the car (turns out it was only the wheels) before they scraped it.
- My husband. He has been so helpful and sweet. Even though he’s had the same week I have he’s still going out of his way to take care of me, hold my (good) hand through the stuff I have to do myself and handling everything else. I love that man.
OK, that’s the end. Seven days of hell. Nothing is allowed to go bad for at least a year now, right?
* There is plastic in my oven because on top of everything else, I melted a cutting board in there.