ORF to LAS Again

I am at work and I am having a minor panic attack because I have to be on a plane to Las Vegas in eight hours. I have to spend the next four hours at work (even though I will be taken out to lunch and getting paid for it during one of those hours). Then it will take me approximately one hour to pick up my dry cleaning and hit up the bank in rush hour traffic. I want to leave for the airport two hours before my flight (in case of traffic, Virginia drivers, freak accidents, floods, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, Florida drivers and so forth), so that leaves me one hour to empty the dishwasher, pack the rest of my clothes, gather all of my hair/make-up necessities and obsessive-compulsively pack them all into plastic Zip-Loc bags, balance my check book, eat dinner and stumble out of my apartment with a few bags into my ride’s van.

I think I am going to need a drink once I get on the plane.

In the meantime, I am covering the phones at work while Stacey the receptionist is on her lunch break. I am vehemently staring down the little bowl of jelly beans on her desk — I refuse to grow corpulent due to the overconsumption of leftover sugar capsules associated with a holiday represented by a large white rabbit.

I think I got a raise today, by the way, so that’s awesome. However, my raise letter said that my salary was going to be increased one dollar per hour from $XX to what I am currently making. I was a bit confused. I had to take my job offer letter back down to my boss and explain to him that I am already making that amount and that if he wants to give me a raise, it will have to be from what I am currently making to $XZ per hour. He said he would take care of it.

Oh, speaking of dollars, I better remember to bring singles with me to the airport. Last time, one of those guys out front took my bags for me and I had no cash. I had to go up the escalator to the ATM, into the convenience store to buy something and get change, and then all the way back down the escalator and out the front door just to tip the poor guy two dollars. For some reason, I doubt I’m going to have time for that tonight.

Lisa DeNoia, author of Coastlined, blogging on and off since 2003. Jersey Girl in Virginia Beach. Entrepreneur, technology innovator, photographer, figure skater, traveler, sailor, avid lover of books. Guardian of Benny, also pictured above.

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