I may have to pick up my parents on Tuesday at the airport, if they can’t get a car service to get them. They called me to get the number of a local one. They can’t stand on a taxi line given their advanced age and infirmities.
We both have to work Tuesday, but I’m the only one who will be within a 50 mile radius of the airport, and can ostensibly “work from home” that day, minus the two hours, which I can make up in the evening. Computer connectivity from home is a beautiful thing, but I can only push it so far, as far as my employer is concerned.
I’m “Plan C.” Plan A is the car service. Plan B is a friend of theirs. If those fall through, I’m it. Noon-ish at the airport isn’t the worst time for traffic, but it’s a workday for me, and I may have to blow a vacation day on it, if I can’t get permission to work from home.
Aside from that, I get phone calls from my parents’ friends here who read the obit in one of the major papers, can’t reach them, and call me instead. I can’t blame them for calling me, but I’m not the person to talk to about details. Being the point person in our home state isn’t fun.
This is not a typical Rusty entry. As the saying goes, “shit happens . . . deal with it.”
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