Christ almighty, dear reader, what a weird few days these have been.  Due to contractual obligation and stern warnings from one of the attorneys, I can’t really discuss Saturday or Sunday.  But here’s just how things have been this morning:
1)  Had to fight a wolf spider, a raccoon, and an entire murmuration of blackbirds that had gathered on the roof of the writing shed for some sort of perverted bird orgy.
2) For lunch, I attempted to negotiate the purchase and delivery of assorted sub sandwiches through a guy named Turid, whose name I honestly misread as Turd, so that’s how I addressed him throughout the course of our communications today, which communications totally broke down very early on and only now do I understand this was probably a direct result of me repeatedly calling him Turd.
3)  After deciding to fire Turd and go pick up the sandwich my damn self, I, as a very conscientious driver, set my music and sat nav on my phone and plugged it into my car before departing.  As I always do.  Unfortunately for all concerned, when I placed my phone into its holder on my dashboard, the two side clasps that hold the thing in place triggered the “Emergency SOS” function.  Because I tend to exit my driveway and street in much the same way an F-22 launches from an aircraft carrier, I was halfway to my destination before the phone started beeping in a truly alarming way, the way bombs inexplicably beep 5 seconds before they’re going to go off in movies.  I hit the quick release button on the phone holder to hopefully stop the process of declaring an emergency.  Now I was holding the phone and driving the car.  Not wanting to take my eyes from the road, I only saw a flashing red button on my phone, so I pressed it, thinking desperately that the goddamn beeping would stop.  Which it did.  Thank god.  But then there was ringing.  The phone had dialed 911.  Instinctively, I hit the hang-up button.
It was then that I noticed the police SUV behind me.  This was no big deal…the Fecal Creek Police Department is a robust force, with a nice big budget and lots of officers.  And The Haunt is located fairly near FCPD Headquarters (and jail), so cops abound.  It’s nice.  But it put in a bit of a quandary when my phone started ringing.  Caller ID said “Fecal Creek PD.”  So I either blatantly take a call on my phone while driving right in front of The Creek’s Finest and likely get pulled over, or I don’t take the call and have them triangulate my position and send the SWAT team, and I’ll be on the local nightly news with an entire police force’s guns trained on me.  I took the call.  What the hell else was I gonna do?
“Hello,” I said stupidly.
“This is the Fecal Creek Police Department and we just got a hang-up call from this number…is there an emergency or was this an accident?”  The cop behind me hit his lights.
It actually all worked out…the dispatch operator talked to the cop and explained the situation and all was forgiven.  But still, all of this before 12:30PM.  I suppose the moral is leave the sandwiches to Turd.  And if you want something done, hire good people to do it.

N.P.: “On The Road Again” – Rockets