[tweetmeme source=”elizabethev” only_single=false]At 2 o’clock on Friday I got a panicked email from a colleague regarding the fundraising event we were hosting this weekend. The majority of our beer, wine and liquor had not been delivered, and we had until 5 PM to acquire a vehicle large enough to hold all the hooch… and then drive to the distributor in Avon (wherever that is) and pick it up.
I don’t normally ramble about work On Tap, but this situation seems like it warrants an exception. Mostly because it involves me driving, trying to park, and attempting to inflate a flat tire on a minivan. And because I got a total of three hours of sleep last night, and I am nothing if not overtired. And crazy-feeling.
When you get the “holy crap, we have no beer” email, you have a few options:
- Ignore it, and hope that someone else replies first.
- Reply with a weak “I suppose if no one else….. maybe… possible I could borrow my neighbor’s station wagon” and then really hope someone else responds in the affirmative. Mostly because your neighbor doesn’t have a station wagon.
- Attempt to ignore it for 30-60 seconds until your anxiety spikes so high that you can barely see straight, and then take the reigns. Something needs to get done, and you should probably be the someone to do it.
My car is too small to hold a six pack, let alone a 5 million pack, so the first objective was acquiring a vehicle. The rental place near my condo is sort of overrun with creepers, but they usually have SUVs available. Except when you really need one, apparently. I tried the branch closer to my office, which was also fresh out of SUVs, but had a giant pick-up truck available. Seeing as how the adult beverages would be sitting out overnight (in a garage, but still) this didn’t seem to be a viable option. Unless I wanted to essentially give away the booze, and then have grounds for firing myself. Next option: a painter’s van, most commonly driven by kidnappers and other social deviants. They have no rear windows. No thank you.
All that was left: a minivan.
The coolest, chicest part of my soul died as I was handed to the keys to the Silver Bullet (yes, it came with a nickname at no additional charge). That same part continued to rot and fester over the next 48 hours as I schlepped to Avon and back,
picked up the kids from violin practice, attempted to park in a city alley alongside our event venue, got yelled at for not knowing how to park in minivan, got wedged in between a dumpster and what can only be described as a monster truck, creeped across the city at 2AM with a nearly flat tire, attempted to return the stupid thing only to find that the key drop was broken at my local rent-a-car branch, and so on… and so forth. When someone asked if they could put an auction item in “Elizabeth’s minivan,” I was overcome with a wave of nausea. It is nooooot my miiiiiiiini vaaaaaaaaaaaan.
I suffered a serious case of minivanity this weekend. While plenty of people can make a minivan look good, I am not one of them. (I will admit I was intrigued by the self-opening sliding doors, and those stow-and-go seats were pretty awesome, too… but mostly because I feel like you could hide a lot of stuff, or escape from things… or whatever.) Wondering if you’re ready for that next stage of life? Rent the corresponding vehicle. You’ll figure it out quickly.
Also On Tap for Today:
- Having my parents (who made minivans look infinitely cool in the 80s and 90s) and Nick’s parents over
- So cute: hot cocoa ornaments!
- Catching up on sleep
Let’s play MASH. What’s your dream car?