The Parking Garage

No, YOU got a panicked call from your husband a little after 5:00 this morning, right after he arrived at O’Hare airport so he could go on a one-day business trip, and after you asked if he had been in a car accident because he sounded THAT BAD, your chin dropped when he told you that he attached his keys to his laptop bag and then locked it in the car.

And YOU talked him down and agreed that since this was a very important trip and he at least still had his phone, he should just go catch his flight (travel light FTW!) and you would bring his spare car key to him tonight when he landed back at O’Hare, even though it’s BlogHer conference week and you have a million things to do yet, but you’re still happy to do it because he would do the exact same thing for you.

And YOU realized a couple of hours later that if someone really wanted to, they could bust open his car window and grab not only his laptop but also his car keys and therefore his car, and so you set your to-do list aside so you could make the thirty-minute drive to the airport and locate his car, figuring that even though you had a conference call you could listen in while driving.

And YOU got stuck in traffic on the way to O’Hare and entered the parking garage just as it was time for the call, so you dialed in and promptly muted yourself in case there was excess airport noise that you didn’t think the team would appreciate.

And YOU suddenly realized that O’Hare closes off the entrance to each level of the parking garage as they fill up, so you were forced to park on Level 5, and it was at that point when you realized that if you went into the elevator to get to Level 2, where your husband said he parked, you would get disconnected from your conference call, so you decided that you’d have to take the stairs.

And YOU took the three flights of stairs down to Level 2, located the car, and then realized that you left his extra keys in your car on Level 5, so back up the three flights of stairs you went.

And YOU grabbed the spare keys–silently cursing even though nobody on the call could hear anyway, on account of the “mute” button being activated–and made your way back down the three flights of stairs to his car where you retrieved the bag and keys, locked the car properly, and headed back up the three flights of stairs, suddenly panting because you had already done your workout today BEFORE the twelve flights of stairs you covered at the airport, oh and because you only slept for four hours last night.

And YOU arrived back at your own car just as the 25-minute conference call was ending, and when your husband sent a thank you text, saying that he owed you big for this (especially since you still have to take his key back to the airport tonight), you decided to let him do something nice for you, because that was a lot of driving, those were a lot of stairs, and it’s BlogHer conference week after all.