A Comedy of Errors

Error number 1:  I failed to notice the cell phone charger resting on the floor near the piano.  I didn’t pack it.

Error number 2:  Neither the Goodwife nor I read carefully the airline ticket itinerary.  We missed a “P”.

Error number 3:  The Goodwife neglected to remember to call the farm phone, not my cell phone if she needed to get ahold of me while she was in Seattle.

Error number 4:  I didn’t listen to her voicemail to me before I left Denver.

     Following Monday’s eclipse, we headed to Denver where I would pick up the menagerie and head for the farm.  The Goodwife would catch an 8 a.m. flight to Seattle on Tuesday.  We missed the southbound traffic jam perpetrated by eclipse-watchers’ return to the front range anthill.

     Hemi, the cat, insisted on riding on my lap.  He hates auto-travel.  Somewhere between Watkins and Bennet, he unloaded his stomach onto the floor mat—mostly.  Duke the dog retained his equanimity.

     Heading north on Colorado 71, I was the only auto on the road.  A steady stream of traffic coming south met me.  Eclipse-watchers going home, I surmised.

      Monday evening when I unpacked and prepared for bed, I realized I had no cell phone charger.  Normally, there would be the 12v charger in the Ranger’s console.  But I drove the Chrysler to accommodate moving the menagerie.  (Making a dog ride in the back of a pickup is probably punishable by fine and imprisonment these days.)  No charger anywhere, not even in Limon when I tried to buy one.  

     I immediately shut off the cell phone and left it off until Saturday morning, about 11:10 a.m.  In my wallet, I found an ATT credit card.  It is at least 18 years old.  I got it when the Dakota died on the curve just north of Idalia.  I had no way to call anyone for help or to let the folks know I wouldn’t be making it to the Rockies September makeup game that rained out in July. 

     I had to prevail upon the bartender to allow me one brief phone call.  I called Jeanie and gave her the pub’s number.  She called me back and I had to prevail upon her to call Mom in Fort Collins to make my predicament known.   After that, I carried the credit card.

     I wasn’t sure the card would still be valid.  I dialed the 1-800 number on the farm phone.  Sure enough, after I punched in the number on the card, the machine lady informed me I had 48 minutes of call time left.  I punched in the Goodwife’s number (fingers somewhat punch-drunk after all three numbers were punched in).

     “Call the farm phone if you need to get ahold of me,” I told her.  Okay.

      I had the animals loaded, unloaded, their luggage taken care of a little after 11 a.m. Saturday.  I turned on the cell phone and called the Goodwife.  She answered!  She should still be on the airplane.

     “Are you still in the airplane?”

       “I’m still in Seattle.”

       “What?  In Seattle?”

      “Didn’t you get my message?”

      “On my cell phone?  You were supposed to call the farm phone if you needed to get ahold of me.”

     “Oh yeah.  I forgot.  Anyway, the plane doesn’t leave until 7:55 P.m.  I won’t be in until 11: 24 tonight.”  Groan.  I’m not much good after the sun goes down, now about 7:30.  Driving at night is awful, especially in traffic.  I can’t see very well with all the lights coming from every direction.

       I had twelve hours to wait.  Tisha wouldn’t be home from her Kansas City trip until later in the afternoon.  What would I do? 

     What I did was head home to Loveland.  I could charge my cell phone, maybe even put in a new battery if it had arrived.  (It had.)

      Safely plugged in and charging, I checked on what I had missed all week with the phone shut off.  Two messages, both from the Goodwife.  One pointed out what I now knew, that her arrival would be p.m., not a.m.

    The second message reminded me to pick up her computer and her empty purse when I delivered the animals.

     Sure enough, I had neglected to notice her purse and her computer on the floor near the door at Tisha’s house.  I would have to go there before I went to the airport.

     Now there was another complication.  The Broncos were playing Greenbay in Denver, at Mile High, right on I-25.  There would be traffic.

     About 7 p.m., the Broncos game began.  My eyelids drooped.  I loaded up a mug with crushed ice and took off.  I could get past the stadium before half time and avoid much of the game traffic.  The Rockies and Braves kept me entertained during the drive.  Shortly after arriving for the second time at Hemi’s house, the Rockies prevailed and we turned on the Broncos.

    The game was over and rehashed a dozen times before it was time for me to head for DIA.  I did get in a catnap or two.  I was only in game traffic a few minutes.  Airport traffic was absolutely light.

    I pulled in about 11:30.  With a new cell phone battery all charged up, I was able to contact the Goodwife.  She was waiting outside door 506. 

      We were back in Loveland by 12:45 A.m.    I was in bed soon thereafter.

      All’s Well That Ends Well.  (To rip Shakespeare off twice.)