The Friday Afternoon When Everything Went Completely to Hell

Friday afternoon began with the kind of optimism that, in retrospect, should have been considered a warning sign.

It was 2:47pm. The weekend was so close I could practically smell sweatpants and poor decisions. I had exactly three things left to accomplish: finish one small task, stop at the grocery store and go home.

That was it.

Three things.

The universe heard this and said, “Oh, that’s adorable.”

At 2:53, I decided to make a quick cup of tea before finishing my work. I filled the kettle, turned it on and walked away.

Several minutes later, I wondered why it hadn’t boiled.

Because I hadn’t plugged it in.

Excellent.

Friday Brain had officially clocked out without notifying management.

I plugged it in.

While waiting, I checked my phone and discovered a message I’d forgotten to answer approximately six hours earlier. I immediately typed a thoughtful response, hit Send and felt responsible again.

Wrong person.

I had just sent, “Absolutely! That sounds perfect. See you then! ❤️” to a delivery notification.

Somewhere, an automated computer now believed we had plans.

I was too tired to correct it.

At 3:12, I finally finished my work, grabbed my things and headed for the door.

No keys.

Checked my purse.

No keys.

Checked my pockets.

No keys.

Desk.

Bathroom.

Kitchen.

Under a pile of papers.

Nothing.

After ten minutes of increasingly hostile searching, I found them.

In my hand.

I wish I were joking.

At 3:26, I got into the car and decided to stop for groceries on the way home.

I needed five things.

Five.

This is important because I entered the store with the confidence of a woman who believed she could remember five grocery items without writing them down.

Milk.

Bread.

Eggs.

Coffee.

Toilet paper.

Easy.

I walked into the store.

Immediately forgot two of them.

So I wandered the aisles waiting for my brain to reconnect to the server.

That’s when I saw chips were on sale.

Obviously, this required investigation.

Ten minutes later, my cart contained chips, cookies, hummus, salsa, cheese, frozen pizza and a candle that smelled like “Autumn Orchard.”

It was September.

The candle had legal jurisdiction.

I continued shopping.

At some point, I remembered milk.

Then bread.

Then coffee.

I was doing beautifully.

Until I reached the checkout and realized I’d forgotten eggs.

I abandoned my place in line and ran back.

Got eggs.

Returned.

Different line.

Waited.

Then remembered toilet paper.

Son of a bitch.

Back I went.

By the time I returned, every checkout line had approximately doubled in length.

Fine.

Self-checkout.

What could possibly go wrong?

That machine took one look at me and chose violence.

“UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA.”

There was no unexpected item.

There was barely an expected item.

I moved the bag.

“PLEASE PLACE ITEM IN BAGGING AREA.”

I put it back.

“UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA.”

“Pick a lane, Susan.”

A nearby employee looked over.

I smiled politely.

Everything was fine.

I scanned the eggs.

The machine froze.

The employee came over.

Fixed it.

I scanned the bread.

“ASSISTANCE REQUIRED.”

Employee returned.

Fixed it.

I scanned the candle.

“ASSISTANCE REQUIRED.”

The employee looked at me.

I looked at her.

We had reached the stage of our relationship where words were unnecessary.

Finally, I paid.

I gathered my bags and marched triumphantly toward the exit.

That’s when one bag split open.

Naturally, it wasn’t the bag containing toilet paper.

It was the bag containing approximately every object capable of rolling.

Apples scattered across the floor like I’d released them into the wild.

One rolled under a display.

Another travelled halfway toward the pharmacy.

A small child picked one up and handed it to me.

“Lady, you dropped this.”

“Thank you.”

He stared at my groceries scattered across the floor.

“Did you drop all of them?”

Children are wonderful because they provide eyewitness commentary during your lowest moments.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I made some choices.”

His mother retrieved him before I could explain adulthood.

Eventually I gathered everything and reached the parking lot.

It had started raining.

Not gently.

Sideways.

I loaded the groceries into the car while the sky power-washed me.

Then I returned the cart.

Halfway back to my car, I realized I’d left my purse in the cart.

I turned around.

The cart was rolling away.

So now I’m sprinting across a wet parking lot chasing a shopping cart containing my entire identity.

I caught it.

Barely.

An elderly man sitting in his car gave me a thumbs-up.

Honestly, I needed that.

At 4:41, I finally pulled out of the parking lot.

Traffic was terrible.

My windshield wipers were working at a speed usually reserved for hummingbird wings.

Then my phone connected to the car stereo and automatically resumed the podcast I’d been listening to that morning.

At maximum volume.

A man’s voice suddenly screamed:

“AND THAT’S WHEN THEY FOUND THE BODY!”

I nearly joined it.

I turned the volume down and continued home.

Three minutes later, the low-fuel warning came on.

Of course it did.

I stopped for gas.

Every pump was occupied.

I waited.

Finally, one opened.

I pulled up.

Went to pay.

Card declined.

My soul briefly left my body.

Tried again.

Declined.

Checked card.

Wrong card.

I’d been attempting to buy gasoline with an expired gift card.

Friday Brain was now actively sabotaging the operation.

Eventually I got gas and headed home.

At 5:23pm, I pulled into the driveway.

I had made it.

Home.

Safety.

Freedom.

I grabbed the groceries and walked to the door.

Locked.

No problem.

I reached into my purse.

No keys.

I froze.

Surely not.

I searched.

Nothing.

Checked pockets.

Nothing.

Dumped purse onto porch.

Nothing.

I stared through the front window at my peaceful home.

Then I remembered.

Cup holder.

The keys were sitting in the car.

Which I had locked.

There are moments in life when you discover previously unknown depths of your personality.

This was one of them.

I stood in the rain holding toilet paper and whispered words that probably disturbed several ancestors.

Thankfully, I had a spare key hidden outside.

Unfortunately, I had hidden it somewhere “really clever” several months earlier.

Apparently I’d hidden it from myself.

I checked under the mat.

Flowerpot.

Planter.

Decorative rock.

Nothing.

Then I remembered.

Backyard.

I marched around the house.

The gate was stuck.

I pulled.

Nothing.

Pulled harder.

Nothing.

So naturally, I gave it one massive angry yank.

The gate flew open.

I flew backward.

The grocery bag ripped.

Again.

And the eggs hit the ground.

I just stood there.

Rain falling.

Broken eggs at my feet.

Bread under my arm.

Toilet paper slowly absorbing atmospheric moisture.

At that exact moment, my neighbor looked over the fence.

“Happy Friday!”

I stared at him.

He stared at me.

I looked down at the eggs.

Then back at him.

“Is it?”

He wisely disappeared.

I eventually found the spare key inside a fake rock that was sitting beside three real rocks, because Past Me apparently believed I was designing an escape room.

I got inside.

Dropped everything on the kitchen counter.

Changed into dry clothes.

Opened the refrigerator.

No milk.

I checked the grocery bags.

No milk.

I had forgotten the milk.

The first thing on the list.

I stood silently in the kitchen for several seconds.

Then my phone buzzed.

It was the automated delivery service I’d accidentally messaged earlier.

“Your package has been delivered.”

Finally.

Someone had accomplished something today.

I opened the front door.

There was no package.

I looked down the street.

There it was.

On my neighbor’s porch.

Of course it was.

I closed the door.

I poured myself a glass of wine.

Then I remembered I didn’t have wine.

So I ate cookies directly from the package while standing in the kitchen.

At 6:03pm, someone texted:

“Any exciting plans for Friday night?”

I looked around.

Wet groceries.

Broken eggs.

No milk.

A locked car.

A damp package sitting next door.

And one aggressively cheerful Autumn Orchard candle burning on the counter.

I replied:

“Nope. Quiet night.”

Because sometimes the biggest lie you tell isn’t to other people.

It’s to yourself when you wake up Friday morning and think:

“Today should be pretty easy.”

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