Sometimes You Just Have to Laugh...After Throwing a Fit

This week was a long week. Each day something popped up to prolong my obligations for the day. I'm going to tell you about one day in particular--Tuesday.

ACU held the Toms shoes event that afternoon. I had already (willingly) worked a long day. My youngest sister is really into the Toms shoes craze right now, along with the innumerable youth donning the highly identifiable shoes that scream, "I'm a humanitarian!" Okay, Toms really is a great concept, and I am glad to see people doing good things for the planet. I digress...

ACU's event allowed people to buy a pair of white Toms and custom decorate them at one of their craft stations. "What a great surprise for my sister," I thought. So, I went. The event started at 3:00 p.m., so I showed up at 2:52. I eventually made it to the correct line for the 1% of people who had not pre-ordered their pairs. After waiting for 10 or 15 minutes, the purchase line was informed that we would not be able to buy any until 4 and that there were only 2 pairs of shoes in each size. Another girl and I asked the girls in front of us what sizes they were buying to make sure we'd get the sizes we needed. Given my sister's tiny feet, I was in luck...or so I thought. Foolishly, I didn't ask if they had a size 6; I assumed they did, since they announced having all sizes. After an hour and 8 minutes of waiting, no size six. The smallest size they had was a 7.5, my size. How ironic, right? I didn't want my hour of waiting under the hot sun in dark jeans to be all for naught, so I bought them.

I will shorten the ensuing details. It turned out, I could have paid $10 more at the booth across the way for a "fancier" pair, and they brought ONE SINGLE PAIR OF SIZE 6 TOMS! I asked them to hold the size 6, because there were still numerous girls hoping to buy a pair at the original tent, and I knew they would be disappointed. I figured I could sell my shoes to one of those girls, because 7.5 is the most common shoe size among American women. Immediately, I got a potential taker--the only other non-student woman I noticed at the time. She understandable wanted to try them on. She slipped one on, examined it, and decided she didn't like the fit. I insisted she not waste her money if she didn't like them. Unfortunately, by the time our interaction was over, the potential buyers were gone. I made the executive decision to spend more money and buy my sister a pair at the other booth. I had grown quite jaded at this point. I got my wallet out and asked for the size 6, only to find out that the other sales assistant sold them to someone else!

I blame no one for my failure to get Melissa's size but myself. I was extremely chagrin at this point, utterly disappointed in myself. I realize it sounds inconsequential when viewed aside the grand scheme of life, but those of you with younger siblings, namely sisters, should understand. I wanted to badly to do something to show her my love. More than that, I stood beneath the hot sun, in dark pants, after working a long day (My, those are a lot of prepositions!), for an hour and a half (Last one!). I did it all for Mel and left, ever-so ironically with a pair for myself. Moreover, I had a meeting to attend in two hours! I called the husband to vent.

The story continues...
On my way home from the shoes thing, stewing at this point, a car rolled over across the Winters Fwy. about a hundred yards in front of my. I, along with a few other drivers, immediately pulled over and called 911. I was asked to hold, which I found unusual. After waiting for a few minutes, I hung up. I was certain, at that point, that someone had reached emergency personnel. I headed home, a little unnerved that I was asked to hold. What if I was being attacked or was in a life-threatening situation? The next day, I talked to APD about the incident, and they were unsure at first as well. The extremely nice man working with me to find the answer was able to get to the bottom of it. I found the answer to be quite interesting and worth passing along to other residents. It turns out, though rare, when 911 lines are flooded with calls about a particular event, a caller can be sent automatically to the non-emergency line. That's what happened to me. The dispatcher correctly asked me to hold, thus giving me an opportunity to answer. Lesson learned: even if it's not the emergency line, tell the dispatcher if you're in an emergency! Simple. Life-saving.

The moral of the story is--Sometimes you just have to laugh. I did. Perhaps a bit maniacally at first, but I laughed nonetheless. Life is so much better when you learn to laugh.

*IF YOU ARE STILL READING THIS BLOG, YOU ARE ELIGIBLE TO WIN A MILLION DOLLARS.*

Not really. I am just curious if anyone trudged through the entire thing.

Cheers!

Meg