Being an Adult is Stupid

Being an adult is overrated, I decided after writing last week's blog post. Yes, I set the oven on fire, but my awesome adulting skills don't end there.

BEING AN ADULT AT THE GAS STATION
Gas stations, for instance, can be a pain in the ass. I tend to forget what side my gas tank is on even though I have driven my car for six years.

Once, I forgot what side the tank was on at a very small station with very tight pumps. I started to pull into one of these very tight spots. Then I thought, Wait! The gas tank's on the passenger side! As soon as I had managed to turn the car around, I remembered the tank was, in fact, on the driver side. I banged my head against the steering wheel a few times and attempted to turn the car around again when a guy on the other side of the pump tapped on my window.

"I'm done. You don't have to turn your car again. You can just pull around to the other side."

He was so nice, like he really felt sorry for me, that I didn't even have the heart to act huffy and embarrassed by my unintentional damsel-in-distress image.

"Thank you so much," with a sheepish grin is all I could muster.

Another time, I couldn't get my credit card to work at one of the pumps. I was about ready to either a) go inside the station or b) give up and go to another station to avoid going inside this station when one of my colleagues pulled up to the pump next to mine.

"Hi, Becky!"

"Hi," I grumbled. "I can't get this stupid pump to take my card. This isn't the first time. I think I'm going to leave."

"Here, let me try," she said and got it to work on the first try.

BEING AN ADULT AT THE GROCERY STORE
By the time I make it into the supermarket, my hands full with my grocery list, reusable bags, and produce sacks, I'm lucky I don't bite the heads off of the five billion clerks who ask me if I need help finding something just because I spend twenty minutes comparing labels.

The last time I went to the grocery store, I thought I was doing a good job avoiding helpful clerks. This one worker kept following me around, but I was able to move faster than her as I ducked in and out of the narrow aisles. It turned out she was following me because my reusable grocery bags had fallen off the bottom of my cart.

"I think these fell off your basket at the front of the store. Are they yours?" she asked breathlessly after chasing me down.

BEING AN ADULT AT THE COFFEE SHOP
Last week, I ordered a vanilla latte. I hadn't drunk a flavored latte in forever.

"Wow, this vanilla is really strong," I said. "I had forgotten how sweet flavored lattes are."

I lifted the lid to sop up the foam and discovered absolutely no espresso in my vanilla latte.

"No wonder I don't feel very alert."

Instead of taking it back and demanding a new one like an adult, I went about my business. Who has time for that anyway?

Sad, though. If you've been a faithful reader of my blog, you know how much I love my coffee.

BACK TO THE OVEN THING
After I set the oven on fire, I figured out this is why no one wants me to cook for them.

The night I set the oven on fire, a lady in a black SUV got angry with me as I drove to rehearsal. She was waving her arms at me by the time we exited I-84. I guess she was upset she couldn't get in front of me at some point on the interstate before the exit.

"Give me a break, lady. I just set my dinner on fire!" I said through our closed windows.

"What did you cook tonight? Did you burn anything down?" a friend of mine asked me the next day.

"I stayed away from the oven," I mumbled.

However, my track record is getting better. I used and didn't break our food processor or our espresso machine this week. I also roasted potatoes in the oven on Sunday.

And guess what? I didn't set anything on fire.

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