Either that or I really am mentally exhausted to the brink of a meltdown.
It was a long day yesterday. Kicked off with principal meeting in which my stress levels ascended to astronomical levels as principal and directors agreed to up my 2006 sales plan by 20%. In Euro!! Ack! Meeting was followed by lunch, which was followed by some frantic revisioning of numbers. Which in turn left me no time to review and revise my presentation (which is also a review for the directors) for meeting with principal #2 on Friday. I was number crunching until 7:30pm, appointed pick-up time for dinner.
Dinner was slow. Service was slow, and I was feeling the strains of a full day of fervent mental calisthenics. I had packed up my laptop and my file of notes for further plans to work at home after dinner.
We got done at 10pm. On my way home on the NKVE, I stopped by the Shell station for a fill-up. When the pump stopped, I pressed my finger on the trigger to keep it running slowly to even out the numbers (I don't like it when my bill shows numbers like 94.03 or 123.87, I like the full, round numbers of 110.00 or 95.50). The numbers kept scrolling by, from RM1 to RM2 and so on. There I was wondering to myself, "hmmm...I don't remember being able to fill so much after the pump has stopped."
And then I heard it.
A trickling sound. Oh shit!! Petrol was leaking out of my gas tank, making a puddle on the floor. I'd turned into one of those blondes and overfilled my gas tank. Luckily, since I was holding the trigger, the petrol was filling in and leaking out slowly enough that it was 'gracefully' leaking out and not splashing all over the place. So I didn't get any splatter on my pants, I just made a puddle on the floor and probably coated my tires and the side of the car with a layer of petrol. Thank gawd there wasn't anyone around near me to witness my moment of blondeness. I was mortified but cleaned up the mess in as unobtrusive a manner as possible.
On the way from the station to my house, I realised that I had left my file of notes in the office and that my plans to work on those numbers at home had gone to dust.
It was then that it dawned on me that growing old not only allows you time to build up your store of wisdom but along the way you compile an archive of inane acts such as these to relate to future grandkids so they can laugh and snicker at you.
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