It's one minute before quitting time. The phone rings. What do you do?

Technically, you're still on the clock. So you're supposed to answer the phone.

Then again, according to someone else's clock it probably already is quitting time. So just let voice mail get it.

Who the hell, calls at quitting time anyway?!

This is either someone trying to cover their own ass because they didn't call you earlier in the day like they should have.

Or, it is someone who has the ability to fire. Technically you're still on the clock. You damned well better answer the phone or have a really good reason for sneaking out of the building when you should be answering your phone.

So, my phone rang one minute before quitting time today. To answer or not to answer, that was the question.

I answered. It was someone from the big man's office. Like my boss's, boss's, boss. The big man needed something done. Could I please wait around for a couple minutes while they finalize some "language", because it's important that this thing be taken care of this afternoon.

It is now an hour and 12 mintues past the time I should have left. I've had three calls telling me that what I'm waiting for will be to me in about ten minutes. It has been 15 minutes since I had the last one of those calls. I still don't have it.

I may not see my family tonight because I have to be at job two in a couple hours.

What is the lesson I have learned from this?

ALWAYS answer the phone when it rings a minute before quitting time. I cannot imagine the crap I'd have to endure in the morning if I had not picked up the phone at 4:29 this afternoon.

You'll have to pardon me now. I have some more waiting to do. I think I'm probably going to take care of it at shockwave.com.

Herb, our old nasty tabby, lives on the back porch. We make him stay there most of the time because he's old and nasty. His old, nasty habits include vomiting and crapping outside of the litterbox.

He developed these bad habits last year. He was sick. Lost a lot of weight. The vet couldn't figure what was wrong with him. We sort of expected him to die. The vet put him on a "chicken should be the main ingredient" diet. It has been a slow process, but Herb has bounced back.

He doesn't throw up very often any more. For awhile it was once a day. It's been months since his last vomit.

The crapping whenever and whereever is the bigger issue. He'll go a couple weeks deligently using his litter box. Then one day, SPLAT! Just for the hell of it, he's crapped whereever he happened to be standing.

For this reason, he's only allowed to come into the house on supervised visits.

Lately, he's been pretty good about using the box. I can't remember when he had his last "acccident."

So, this past weekend, we decided it was time to throughly clean the back porch. I'd been cleaning up messes as they happened. But it's not easy to thoroughly clean Herb's liqui-poo off the concrete. Stains had built up over the last year. So, Saturday we rented a pressure-washer and de-stained the porch.

I was confident Herb would be thrilled. Clean porch, clean litter box, clean lounging areas. What more could a cat ask for?

Well, the answer to that is "crap."

Bright and early Easter morning, Herb crapped on the porch. He crapped right next to his clean litter box.

See the new and improved Brady Bunch. Watch now, dammit.

So, the office I work for has a "motor pool"--for lack of a better term. It consists of three vehicles. A white mini-van (only videographers and photographers can use it), a white malibu (the dream machine), and car-du-jour (run away, run away).

Car-du-jour changes frequently. In general, you can bank on it being unreliable. Walking is preferable to getting behind the wheel of car-du-jour. It has been known to leave its occupants stranded.

You may ask, "what is involved in stranding?" Stranded means, the radiator may explode, a wheel may fall off, or it may catch on fire. Yes, all of these things have happened with little or no warning from car-du-jour. Today it may run without incident, tomorrow it will be towed to a junk yard. It will be replaced by a car of equal or lesser reliability.

The current car-du-jour is a green mini-van. We have had this vehicle less than a week. Today I had a 1:30 meeting I needed to drive to. At 1:15 I make my way to the front office to check out the Malibu. Another person checked out the Malibu only moments ahead of me. Lucky me, car-du-jour is ready for action. Reluctantly I check out the keys and make my way to the van.

There are three keys on the key ring. The mental red flags are raised. I've never quite understood why some car manufactures like to give you a separate key for each lock on the car. All I need is one. I don't care if the fob is square or round, plastic or metal as long as it works in all of the vehicle's locks.

As I make my way to the van, I'm fully preparerd for the first key I slip into the lock not to work. And, of course, it doesn't work. When the second key doesn't work, again I figure it's just my luck. I'm a bit stunned when the third and final key on the ring does not unlock the door.

Hhhmmm, obviously I must have used one key twice. I am careful this time. I keep track of each key so that it is only used once. Again, key one--NO. Key two--NO. Key three--NO. I delve into the definition of insanity and go through the entire process one more time. No. No. No.

I return to the building. Talk to our Office Administrator.

ME: None of these keys unlocks the van.
OA: Did you try all of them?
ME: Yes. Is there a trick to unlocking the door?
OA: Put the key in the lock and turn it.
ME: That's what I did.
OA: You didn't turn it in the correct direction. Turn it to the right.
ME: I tried turning the keys in both directions. Nothing worked.
OA: And you tried all the keys?
ME: Yes.
OA: Let me go try.

So we walk out to the van. OA puts a key in the lock, turns it. It opens. Laughter insues.

So, I assume that I obviously was not as careful using each of the keys as I thought I was. I drive off to my meeting. Don't give it another thought.

Now it is post meeting. I make my way to the parking lot. It is now raining outside. I don't have an umbrella. I walk out to the van, put a key in. Nothing. I try key two. Nope. I try key three. Nuh-huh.

Anger begins to boil within me. I try each key again. You know the drill. Still nothing. I'm beginning to get soaked now. Perhaps I'm not getting good enough leverage. I put my purse and notepad down in the puddle at my feet. I'm trying each key and attempting to turn it with both hands. Nope, not gonna open.

I return to the building and call OA.

ME: Are you sure there isn't a trick to unlocking the door?
OA: //laughter//
ME: Come on, you're certain, there's no special jiggly thing you have to do with key.
OA: Do you want me to drive over and unlock the car for you?
ME: No, I'm pretty sure I can do it myself. I just wanted to make sure I'm not missing some trick.
OA: Just put the key in and turn it. I can drive over...
ME: No, I'll get it.

I make my way back to the van. It is still raining. I go through each of the keys again. The lock just will not budge. I'm using so much force, I worry that one of them is going to snap off in the lock. My fingers are red. A blister is beginning to form. A FREAKIN' BLISTER IS FORMING!

I give up on the driver side door. I go to the passenger side. No. No. No. I try the lock in the sliding door. No. No. No. AAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

I return to the driver side. Still nothing. I'm standing in the rain. With three keys in my hand. I'm just about ready to break a window, I'm pretty sure I can pop the lock that way. I just happen to see a co-worker, R.B., walking through the parking lot. So I yell out for assistance. R.B. ambles over, hands me her umbrella, takes the keys from me, and unlocks the door.

I'm relieved and devasted at the same time. How can it be that I cannot unlock the door after hundreds of attempts? No one else is having this problem!

As I return to the building, others have already been alerted to my pathetic adventure with car-du-jour.

My ego is shattered. I have a blister to remind me of my adventure.

How do you not notice an orange tabby on the roof of your car? Find out now.