August 19, 2002~~5:33 p.m.
Late...

Terrible afternoon to be covered later when I am far enough away from it to stave off the tears. Fast forward through that mess...

Flying down the freeway I was but a blur to the men working in the hot afternoon sun to harvest the tomatoes growing on either side of the road. I was late. Late for an important first meeting of the year. Other people are always late for these things. You're always on time. It will probably go entirely unnoticed.

Exit freeway. Incredible luck. I hit every light green all the way to the district office. Pulling into the parking lot only twelve minutes or so after the start time. Not so bad. I scooped up my backpack, my BT box, and my phone, opened, locked, exited and closed the door in a single sweeping motion.

Scurrying across the parking lot I glanced around for other late-arrivers; I saw none. Darn. Through the door, down the long hallway, heart pounding, I hurried. I hate being late. I turned the corner into the east conference room, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Empty.

I checked the smaller room across the way. Nope. Empty.

Shit. I read the paper wrong and left it home. The meeting must be at a school site. I can take a guess at where they'd have it, zip over there, and hope to sneak in quietly or I can go to the BT office and ask where I'm supposed to be. The former will allow me an opportunity for anonymity in my stupidity, but it will come at the risk of not finding the meeting at all and looking like a total flake.

I choose the latter. I slink down the hall. If I had a tail it would be between my legs as I arrive in the doorway of the BT office. My chin is down, eyebrows raised as I look through my eyelashes into the faces of the secretary and one of the program coordinators. "Okay," I say quietly. "Where am I supposed to be?"

They look at me blankly, clearly as lost as I am.

"Isn't there a meeting today? Now? That I'm late for?" I squeak.

They invite me in. The secretary shows me that she is just putting the calendar together. There is no meeting today, but she turns the page.

SEPTEMBER 19. Four o'clock.

I am not late. I am a month early.

I laugh with them, but feel like an idiot. The secretary stands and hugs me, asks about my summer, compliments my tan and my flippy summer 'do.

I love her. She is the heart of this program and I always feel taken care of when she is around. I'll be okay.

I leave, stopping in my school to call home and let husband know I'm on my way back; the meeting is next month. He laughs and says, "I suppose you're going to tell me you need a Palm Pilot."

"Yea. And someone reliable to do data entry."

~Alice

Totally unrelated: I’m watching the A’s game. There is a guy on the Indians named Coco Crisp. I wonder which team is fielding Count Chocula…