Close Encounters of the Mommy Kind

Okay. Thursday was a little weird. Homer doesn’t believe in the mysticism full moons and claims it’s all overblown co-inky-dinks. I know better. I see them coming well before it gets dark and the cheese-sphere rises above me.

Here’s what I mean. Judge for yourself.

I stopped by the lab to do the pre-employment drug screen for my new job. On the way, I realized that I probably shouldn’t have left my return flow credits in the bathroom that morning.

Hmmmm. A very feasible excuse for a Starbucks run. Hello? Venti Passion Tea Lemonade (unsweetened) please?

Slurp. Gulp. Ahh.

I figured by the time my name was called, I’d be ready to drain again.

Oops! Maybe not.

The line wasn’t as long as I was expecting and I didn’t make my quota.

Back the the waiting room to drink my large glass of water in shame. I had a half hour and the tech suggested coffee, so hmmm. Back to Starbucks.

Hello? Tall Peppermint Mocha?

Sip. Ouch. Hot. Blow. Sip. Ouch. Hot. (Repeat about 75 times on the drive back to the lab.)

I only had 30 minutes between attempts to, as Project Runway’s Tim Gunn would say, ‘make it work.”

By this time the waiting room had filled and I had to squeeze to the back to find an empty chair that wasn’t next to a person that was too old, too scary, or too fragrant for me to share space with.

Okay. Must. Finish. Coffee. Must. Pee. Enough. Stomach. Hurting. Too. Much. Sugar. Too. Much. Caffeine. Too. Fast.

I look over my cup and realize there’s a woman sitting across from me. She looks familiar.

Hold please. Scanning. Scanning. Processing. BING.

Oh my Godded.

She’s the HotMess Mom from DayMommy land (Before you get all up in my kool aid about being a judgmental bitch, Homer and I call her this because its her license plate).

She’s fixing her hot pink stiletto pump with duct tape while she’s waiting. We see each other every day when we drop off and pick up our kids. We usually make polite conversation (if she’s not on her cell phone). But, what do you do when you run into someone in a place that’s so, uh, personal?

It’s not like the grocery store or ballet class. You know what you’re there for and it’s obvious to everyone else. But the medical lab? Hmmm. How does that convo start?

“So, what are ya in for? Prego test? HIV? Cholesterol?…Oh drug test? Good for you, uh I hope. Is it to get a job or keep a job? Voluntary, employer ordered, or ummm court ordered?…Oh great…Well, I hope it comes out clean! Hey, let’s get the kids together sometime, they can play, we can make some cocktails….oops! maybe that’s not such a good idea….Excuse me as I pull my head out of my ass and my foot out of my mouth….Oh. you’re up first. I guess I’ll see ya after school. Take care. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”