idiot tax

I was waiting for a light to change on Boulevard yesterday and my friend Kate roared up in her truck, honked, and made a right to pull alongside me. She let her window down.

She’s always trying to get me to bring her treats at work even though I never have. I guess you’d call that optimism.

She finished the conversation by saying “So I’ll see you in a few minutes with that ice cream then,”

“Yep!” I said.

Down the street about two blocks I locked my bike up and walked to the door of the Martin Luther King Natatorium where I do my long swims on Wednesdays, only to find the door locked. A sign read “Closed until 1:30 for monthly meeting”.

I looked at my watch. 1:28 PM.

I waited.

Eventually a guy came and slowly unlocked the door, starting a mad dash among those waiting, all thirty to sixty year old adults, to sign in, change, and get in a lane and start swimming. I was first to the pool. I got in and started my 2600 yards feeling very pleased with myself for being first.

I stopped by the lifeguard high chair thing, though, and told the guy I would share my lane if I had to. I don’t mind swimming in circles down the lane. It’s what we do at group swim on Mondays anyway.

On the way out I got the call that my road bike was ready at the shop. So despite the grey occasional rain droplet weather, I decided to ride by my local shop and visit my bike.

When I got there I discovered that I had put the levers on and hooked them up backwards, meaning they’d have to be redone. The mechanic had finished the bike up that way figuring that’s just how I liked my brakes. He said I should have left him notes on the ticket.

“Well, I can’t just write ‘I am an idiot’ on there every time..” I tried, by way of admission of guilt.

“Actually there is an idiot tax…” he said.

I deserved that.