Service With a Smile!

My day started an hour earlier than normal when Jamie turned on the bedroom light in our still very dark bedroom (in our still very dark house, in our very dark city) and announced that he needed to be at work an hour earlier than normal.

Please know, that it is not advisable to spring such information on an unsuspecting, half asleep girlfriend, who is laying warm in her bed, in -30 degree weather.

My vocal cords fought with the morning breath and the dry mouth to garble the words, 'Take the truck." I throw my arm over my eyes and then the blanket over my head. I am trying to keep the light from reaching Bridget who is like a little warm bundle in my bed, with her sticky off hair and pillow marks in her chubby little cheeks. No one in their right mind wakes a toddler, so it's my mission in life to keep her shielded from light and loud noises as long as humanly possible. I know I will eventually lose the battle with the sun, but I don't need to lose to Jamie and his GE bulb in the over head light.

Then my mind hears the noise my ears don't want to hear. You know, that noise. The one like a record of peaceful music screeching to a halt. Oh wait, maybe if you were listening it would have sounded more like, "But you have to drive Daniel to hockey-remember?"

Right. Now. Let me tell you something. I couldn't be more proud of Daniel. He is a very good hockey player and I love watching his games and practices. I love our hockey day Tim Hortons trips to warm up before (and sometimes after) practice. For as good a defence man he is, he is one million times better as a brother to Bridget. I would never object to driving him to hockey. Or the moon if he asked.

However, I was not thinking about any of this an hour earlier than normal when the over head light flipped on scaring away the dark. It was 30 degrees below zero. I could feel the draft through the curtains. The baby was still sleeping. I needed to straighten my hair before I went out in public.

"Yup."

Feet on cold floor. Toothbrush in mouth. Jeans and shirt (though not high fashion, both clean). Wake Bridget. Deal with gravity defying baby hair. Wash baby face. Pants and shirt (though not high baby fashion, both clean). Snowsuit, hat, mitts, boots for baby. Sweater, coat, sneakers, car keys, cell phone for grumpy morning mommy monster.

The passenger seat was frozen. No, the seat wasn't cold. The passenger seat was frozen. Solid. As thought it was a water seat. And it was 30 degrees below zero.



The friendly voice on the radio informs me that it's not -30 after all. It's -39 with the windchill. I am glad she has given it to me straight.

We need gas before driving to St. Albert and due to the rush to get out the door an unexpected hour earlier than normal, we also need a trip to Tim Hortons.

We pull out of the driveway and up the street. When we get to the main road, we head towards the Shell station that has the Tim Horton's inside. I say my silent Thank you dear Lord for inventing drive through coffee places for mornings like these."

But then I see it. The line. You know the line. The one that weaves it's way through the drive through lane, across the parking lot, and out onto the main road where drivers are swerving around it, swearing on coffee drinkers.

Dangnamit.

There could be a natural disaster causing all of the people in the city to head for higher ground, and Will Smith and Bruce Willis could be both on their way to save mankind and there would still be a line up of epic proportions protruding from the bloody drive through.

Jamie pulls up to the pump. I know what's coming. I can feel it (and the windchill) in my bones.

Then he says it. Those words that make the hairs on my arms stand up on end and makes me think there are spiders on my neck.

"Just go in and get it. I want a bagel and a French Vanilla. Thanks."

Now, I will admit that pumping gas at -39 with the windchill is much worse than getting out of bed. I will give him that much. Because I am nice like that.

"Sure thing".

The sound of my sneakers making their way across the compacted snow was like nails on a chalkboard. I still had the hair on my arms standing straight up. The spiders were still on my neck. I could feel the air in my nose crystallizing with every single step.

The girl in the Tim Hortons was awesome at her job, super friendly, quick to get to me, got the order right. She looked me right in the eye and smiled every time she spoke. She was constantly looking me in the face. I suspected she might be a toastmasters leader in her spare time. Then I notice someone else smiling at me. I know I pull up to the window a lot, but this was really something. I flash them all my pearly whites, thank them, and bid them a wonderful day.

So I scrunch my way back across the snow to the truck. Climb in. Open coffee, open tea, unwrap bagels, distribute bagels and beverages, put on seat belt. Turn the ever hilarious 'Best of Pepper and Dylan".

We comment on the terrible road clearing. We pass the scene of an accident that happened earlier in the week and analyze how it happened. We discuss what time I need to leave to drive to practice. We discuss the amount of butter on the bagels. It's a pretty routine trip to St. Albert to drop Jamie off. We arrive safe and sound (if a bit chilly). I kiss him goodbye, flash him my pearly whites and move to the drivers seat.

I put on my seat belt, change the radio stations, hand Bridget a bottle and adjust my mirror.

It was then that I spotted it. The huge omission that I had made this morning and that no boyfriends or daughters felt compelled to tell me about before heading out into the world.

I immediately knew why the nice gals at Tim's were doing so much smiling. They weren't happy to see me at all. They were holding in giggles.

I had left the house and in all of my feet on cold floor, toothbrush in mouth, get dressed, wake Bridget and change diaper, deal with gravity defying baby hair, wash baby face, pants, shirt, socks, snowsuit, hat, mitts, boots for baby, sweater, coat, sneakers, car keys, cell phone for grumpy morning mommy monster panic, I had totally forgotten to brush my own hair- never mind straighten it.

I looked like a hippie second cousin of my popcorn box pal Orville Redenbacher. With a rooster's comb in back. Curly in the front where it was meant to be straight, matted in the back where it was meant to lay flat.

You might think I am exaggerating. But I don't exaggerate. I took a bath last night and washed my hair. Then fell asleep on it. I was out of my house, sporting short naturally wavy hair, that had been slept on while wet.

I knew you would see it my way. It really was that bad.

At first I was a little embarrassed. Just a little though- it's no use to be embarrassed when you are long since out of the embarrassing situation. It won't change a thing.

But on the drive back from St. Albert with my Orville Redenbacher perm, I came to a conclusion. If having a ridiculously bad bed head is what I have to do to get people in customer service smile at me, I might make a habit of it. Tomorrow, I am going to photograph myself and enclose the result with any correspondence which I might decide to have in the future with Air Canada, Sears or Canada Post.