This One's On Me

I didn't even recognize it at first.

It had been so long since I've heard it or seen it in action. I wasn't sure it still knew how to find me. The echoes of the doubt and questions in my mind had drowned out anything like it. Weeks had passed with none of it in my life.

When I was with my girls the other night, it appeared. Surprised us all.

I laughed. Out loud.

True, real, genuine laughter.

And I look forward to the day that it isn't rare, unusual or symbolic.

I should probably admit that the laughter came as a result of Comcast OnDemand TV Karaoke.

But that may be embarrassing.

Almost as bad as getting my Jeep Liberty stuck in a huge pile of snow today after an interview. I mean it. It is downright humiliating to drive what is probably the only Jeep vehicle in the Midwest that isn't equipped with four-wheel drive.

I bought it in Atlanta, get over it.

Anyway, teetering across the railroad tracks, after leaving the warehouse loft the design firm occupies, I slipped, slid and careened to my car, which was not so delicately entrenched in about 14" of snow, ice and general asphalt-grime. (Chicagoans know what I mean.)

I tip-toed through the snow, trying to avoid my heels digging in too far, and finally flung myself against the doorframe. Wiping the salt and snow dust debris from the front of my wool overcoat, I opened the car door and settled into the leather that was practically still warm.

It wasn't a long interview, thankfully.

I turned the car on, and put it into reverse. Turned around to back up, only then realizing how closely the yahoo behind me had parked. See how he likes a spare tire nudge. (Again, Chicagoans know what I mean.)

I gassed it, and went absolutely positively nowhere. I could feel the tires spinning in place. Since it is not my first rodeo (aka Winter), I put the car in drive and lurched forward. Or attempted to. I knew I needed to create some motion, to rock myself out of the miserable spot I'd landed myself into.

Drive. Gas. Brake. Reverse. Gas. Brake. Drive. Gas. Brake. Reverse. Gas. Brake.

The tires were useless. Is this thing on? Anyone?

Finally, I get out, wielding my plastic scraper (yeah, that's for windshields, Blondie) and headed to assess the back tire situation. There appeared to be a lot of snow everywhere (well duh) but nothing particularly icy or precarious or deep or treacherous blocking the tires.

I looked like a fool trying to scrape and hack my back tire out of the icy nothingness it was lodged into, but I had to try. Otherwise I'm helpless. In heels.

Then I get back in and repeat the method/madness again.

Drive. Gas. Brake. Reverse. Gas. Brake. Drive. Gas. Brake. Reverse. Gas. Brake.

Then, on one of my many forward motions, I actually caught myself lurching, leaning and stretching MY BODY forward to see if that would help. You know, like when you scoot forward a chair and use your body weight to help it move across the floor.

Yeah. Blondie? You're inside a 4,000-lb Jeep. I know you've eaten a few "I'm feeling sorry for my unemployed self and am lonely and bored too" candy bars, but come on sister.

You're not moving the Jeep with your BODY WEIGHT and will power.

I laughed out loud.

The sound rang out. The surprise must've caused a brief interruption in the drive/reverse/gas/brake method, and the car literally sprang out of the parking spot, and dismounted the mountain of hard-packed and slippery snow I'd gotten myself into.

The laughter bubbled up inside again when I realized I'd been parallel-parked in front of the back door of a police station. Complete with a window with lead-plated glass. And curtains. They probably were all inside munching donuts laughing at me.

But, I was laughing too, so that's okay.

This one's on me.