One of Those Days...

Today has been "one of those" days. You know the kind. The kind filled with work, work, oh and more work. 50 projects all with the same deadline - yesterday. Stress. and not enough phone calls from friends. I break for friends. Oh, and don't forget what happens when you arrive home on one of those days...laundry stares you in the face. It has been staring at you for days and that hasn't prompted you to action before, but then, you remember your last pair (?) of underway is being worn. So, despite how stressed (and tired) you are, you trudge up and down, up and down, up and down three flights of stairs, fighting all the while with the stubborn washers and dryers that won't accept your tokens.

This isn't a post of lament. Rather, I've chosen to remember how to keep sanity...perspective...and most importantly, taught, young skin. (Wouldn't want those wrinkles too soon! Can't afford Botox quite yet.)

The trick: challenging yourself to remember that moment (or two), which despite the trudge of the day, brought a smile to your face...or your heart. (I do a lot of inward smiling, laughing, and even crying. I know I'm not alone.)

That "smile" moment of the day happened when I chose to spend my lunch break rescuing my sweaters from the cleaners. Yes, "rescue". The pick-up clock was going on three weeks because, frankly, the parking by this particular cleaners sucks. Why did I choose to stray from my usual cleaners? I don't know. Well, the cleaners abducts your clothes after 30 days, so I figured I better get on it.

Presumably, once again, the parking sucked. It does on a typical day, and it really did today. Hyde Park had marked nearly every street with the bless-ed orange city "no parking due to street cleaning" sign. However, no one in the whole neighborhood moved. I know some cop got great glee writing hundreds of tickets, slot machines and money signs chinging in his head all the way. "Yes," he mutters over and over and he thinks about how he's finally met his quota for the month...or maybe even year. From this moment forward he only has to pretend to "work". (Just for the record: I have friends who are Chicago police officers and they are great, ethical, moral people. Still, my personal experience has never been grand.)

Back to the cleaners story...With nowhere to park in a three mile radius, storm clouds forming, and my aching feet reminding me that, as is, I'm unlikely to get through the day in these heels, I opt not only to park in a tow zone, but in someone's personal permit spot. I didn't forget my hazards - an on-my-knees plead to refrain from writing the ticket. I'll be back in just a sec.

Picked up my drycleaning and who do I see round the corner, heading with way too much thrill toward my car...the dang police.

Despite being suere my toenails were going to bruise and fall off after a run through the parking lot, I have no other choice. I suddenly have slot machines and money signs going through my head - the money signs that will be added to my credit card bill when I have to pay off the ticket and slot machines as the only way I can afford to pay off this impending ticket.

Oh yes, I went running after the cop. Meeting up with him and running alongside his window....in my heels. He stops, rolls down his window and asks, "Are you running from the police?"

In great ministerial tact, I replied, "You're damn right."

He laughs. I keep running. He keeps driving.

"You really are, aren't you?"

"Yep"

"Where's your car?"

I think, "That's got to be the dumbest question. I'm not going to answer that." But, I reply, "Guess." The hazards keep beat up ahead.

Keep running.

"Look, I'm not going to give you a ticket."

Out of breath and already roll my eyes at the direction of this conversation, I give him one of those "death" female glare. "Right."

"I don't. 14 years of service and I've never given a ticket. You know, all police don't have the same role."

My feet hurt and so willing to accept the possibility I just might be the one to laugh at here.

Arrived at my car. Hung the drycleaning in the backseat. The cop isn't done speaking, however.

"So, not only did you park in a tow zone, but in a personal, permit spot."

I didn't know if that was a question, a statement, or an exclamation.

"Yep. There's nowhere else to park."

"But still. You've got guts. You must be a risk taker"

Was that a one-liner?

"Nope, " I replied, "I just live in Chicago. Have a good day."

He laughs, "You too."

The glee from avoiding a ticket was secondary to the glee I experienced from being called a "risk taker". You're darn right. Few have realize this attribute of mine. Instead, they dwell on my maturity, my first-born, Type-A, always-quite-capable abilities, But, somewhere between training wheels and dating the first of two ex-cons in high school, I learned that risk taking is worth it...some of the time. You'll only know what those times are, after you've accomplished them. Right? Okay, a young statement, I know. I'm having a "young" moment. Wisdom & discernment hats off.

Anyways...

Cheers to cops who have never written a ticket in their career! There should be more of you.