Friday, July 08, 2005

Hitchin' a Ride

It only took about 12 years, but I finally managed to get it right: I have successfully picked Trish up from the airport. Honestly, I don't know why she even asked me to do it because my record with her has been spotty. No, that's putting it too nicely. My past record has been for total crap. You really should never ask me to pick you up from or take you to the airport. Or the train, or the rickshaw, or the zeppelin. Sure, I accomplished the task this time, but only because I concentrated really, really hard and set, like, 4 alarms to make sure I wouldn't wake up too late and blow it once again, thus giving Trish one more thing to remind me about when we're 90.

The first time I had been charged with responsibility in getting Trish either to or from the airport was Thanksgiving, 1993. She was to be flying out of SFO to visit her family in LA for the long weekend. We decided to head up to my mom's on Wednesday night, have a slumber party, then get her to the airport Thanksgiving morning.

We were up pretty late that night, doing what I don't know. I'm sure it involved gluttonous amounts of Ben & Jerry's. Eventually, I set the alarm and we headed off to bed. The next morning, I opened my eyes and thought how strangely well-rested I felt despite having gone to bed so late and having to get up so early. Because the flight, it was gone. Panicking, I ran to Trish's room. "Trish! We're late, we're late!"
"Ugggh," she groaned, as she started throwing on her clothes.
"No. Um. The flight. It's gone. You missed it."
The daggers in her eyes! I was sooooo dead. But I swear, it was NOT MY FAULT. That alarm was broken, and I will maintain that until I die. Thanks to some fancy phone callin' by mom, Trish somehow managed to get on a later flight (on Thanksgiving Day, need I remind you?), and mom took her to the airport. I stayed behind. You don't want a jinx like me riding along. I'd done enough damage.

Trish apparently got desperate and/or forgave (but still has not forgotten), because a few years later, she once again asked me to take her to the airport. The night before, I spent watching movies with my jackass then-boyfriend and we fell asleep on the couch. I woke up the next morning in a panic. "Trish...Airport...I forgot!" I was again, of course, too late. "Ehhh," JTB said. "She'll figure something out." How did I let him get away? I don't think I talked to Trish until she got back, when she told me that they realized pretty quickly that I was going to forget and so they arranged some backup transportation. Good move.

But now it can be told: I picked Trish up from the airport. On time. I can always remember this time. When Trish says, "Remember that time I asked you to take me to the airport and you didn't set the alarm? [Lie]" I can now say, "Remember that time I picked you up from the airport on time? And it was 75 miles from my house?" That'll shut her up good.

I shouldn't really be pulling any arm muscles to congratulate myself, because I still have to take her back to get my record to .500.