The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Today is just one of those days. A worse day than little Alexander claimed to have-anyone remember this book by the way? I can't help but wonder what on earth could have been so bad about her day considering she was 7 years old? Bet she didn't get a speeding ticket on her way to work, and I sure bet trashy high school rats were not rude to her either. She's 7 for God's sake, did her mom forget to pack an extra Dunkaroo in her lunch? Or perhaps her brother drank the last of her cereal milk, then again, this still really pisses me off today. I need to find that book and read it again because I am pretty damn sure her day could not have been that bad.
I woke up late today/chose to ignore my alarm to sleep for about 10 minutes longer. Stepped out of bed and into Izzy's piddle mark. Right next to the bed Izzy really, did you drink last night or something? I am running a couple of minutes late, nbd though, I wasn't in the mood to work today and every minute late is one less minute I have to talk. I am approaching my exit, going with the speed of traffic, perhaps a bit above, but how the hell should I know that I AM MOVING WITH THE SPEED OF TRAFFIC. Cherries behind me. Greatttt, I don't get nervous like I usually do. I'm just pissed because I know I wasn't going that much faster than anyone else. So cop walks up to me and I roll down my window and by force of habit take of my seat belt, then think better and quickly put it back on.
"Good morning officer, did you pull me over for speeding?" I ask, mind you, I have never argued a ticket before, considering I usually deserve one.
"Yes, I clocked you at 79 mph. I could barely get it off."
That's what she said. I can't help it but I think of Michale Scott jokes all the time now.
"Nooo, really? Nooo. I don't argue for tickets, but I really don't think I was." This is shit.
"Yes, I lazered your license plate at 79 in a 65. License and registration. Where are you headed?"
"But I was going with the speed of traffic. To work"
"The speed of traffic is too fast. You're a chef?" He glances at my chef jacket.
"Well why me then? And no."
"You're the one I got. My brother is a chef. He loves it. Is that a knife kit?"
I sense a potential to schmooze.
"Well yes, I am a chef, actually. And this? Yes, this is my knife kit- would you like to see?"
Blah blah blah. He walks back to his car. I tell myself warning, warning, warning. By now I am really late for work. He walks back and hands me a flipping ticket.
"Is your dad Jay Wolfe?" he asks. I'm pissed by now, and no time for small talk.
"Yes, yes he is. How much is this ticket for?"
"Wow." He looks pretty impressed.
Not that selling insurance isn't impressive, but then it hit me that he thinks my dad is thee Jay Wolfe of like the mass amounts of car dealerships here in KC, it's a pretty big name.
"Do you really think if my dad owned numerous car dealerships I would choose to drive a Toyota Camry?" What a dumbass. Now I really want to go off. "But really now, you think I would choose to drive a car that is typically only driven by 30 year old Dads who probably hold a nice little manager position at an Office Depot that has suddenly allowed them to upgrade from their old Cavalier they've driven since high school and onto a fancy little Camry that can now fit their growing family of five in the back seat for those nice get-aways across town to Worlds of Fun or a Royals Game?" Eeek. Too much coffee for me today, apparently.
"Oh, well, maybe not." He looks a little stunned at my rant." So he isn't then?"
"No. How much is the ticket?"
"Well I got you at 700..."
700 is the last number I heard before I started to have a mini heart attack. I instantly thought of that crazy old lady who jumped out of her car and caused the cop to tazer her. Maybe if I go completely ape shit I could end up on the Today Show, as well. I could just hear Meredith saying,
"Next up we'll speak with a young girl who was tazered for a routine traffic stop on her way to give a motivational speech to high school students." The camera would show me sitting on the Today Couch smiling sweetly dressed in a navy Marc Jacob blazer (I would borrow it from the clothing closet.)
"I clocked you at 700 hundred feet away, but you have to go online to get the price."
Okay, at least my ticket isn't $700. But I am still fuming. I start to beg.
"Well, can't you just give me a warning, I just don't think it's fair, how do you know you got me? All the cars were going this fast."
"Some people just need citations."
"And why is that me? Why do I need a ticket?"
"Well you were going more than 10 over. It's just how it works." And that was that. This little piggy went back to his cop car and I went to high school.
I spent the first ten minutes ranting to the kiddos about my ticket, first hour was really sympathetic. The next hour was a bunch of jerks. Saying things like,
"oh this looks gross," "omg this is nasty," "ewww who eats that?" I realllllly have to bite my tongue to not snap back with,
"Well white trash kids like you obviously don't, but if you guys ever get the luxury to have a dinner out that doesn't involve the words Popeye's or Long John Silvers, some day you might get to eat things like the rest of the privileged world." But until then, continue to be rude little assholes. I mean seriously, where were these inbreds raised to think it is okay to say such nasty comments to a person who is making them food? Imagine walking into a friend's house and saying how disgusting the food smells or looks that their mom has just made. I mean it's kinda the same thing. I better cool my jets here at Starbucks or next hour could get bad. If one kid says just one thing impolite Taylor's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day will reach an epic level of nastiness. And yes, I just said epic.