MMS is Monday Morning Syndrome, which is what I jokingly told the IT guy I had when he had to ask me three times to correct a link on particular University Web site before I got it right. “Yeah, sorry for the delay, I have Monday Morning Syndrome.” Hah-hah-hah.
But it’s a real disorder. Seriously. A couple hours later I went to the restroom and happened to look in the mirror, and that’s when I realized I’d put my shirt on inside out when I got dressed this morning. Three hours of walking around the office with the tag hanging off the back and all the seams sticking out.
I don’t drink coffee, but it’s times like this that make me think I should. What makes me a true geek is, the inside-out shirt incident actually made me think to check my underwear while I was there, because I have a terrible habit of putting on my underwear inside-out and/or backwards.
Just call me “spatially challenged.” It’s a bit more politically-correct than “special.”
Anyway, you can see what kind of day it’s been so far. My personal theory on Monday is, the quality of your Monday is inversely proportional to the comparative quality of the prior weekend. (Unless, of course, it’s one of those beloved national-holiday-observed-days, in which case we get to skip the Monday gloom entirely and go straight to Tuesday. Thinking about it that way, I wouldn’t mind if we declared EVERY Monday a national holiday from here on out, but then I suppose we’d eventually run into TMS, or Tuesday Morning Syndrome, which would usurp MMS and make the whole point moot. But let it be known that I am all in favor of three day weekends across the board!)
Anyway, my point is, this is not one of my better Mondays ONLY because I have the luxury of saying I had a good weekend. Look at me, putting a positive spin on things! This is totally unnatural, and as backwards as my underwear!
One of the things I’ve promised myself–after making the decision to work full-time, and after all those days spent trapped on the couch–is not to let my weekends go to waste. I have precious few days during the week where I can just do whatever the hell I want, and I’m finding that what I want is to get away from the computer periodically and get out of the house. Amazing, no?
Keeping that in mind, the S.O. and I have started a new tradition of going out to breakfast on Saturday mornings. This Saturday we chose Governor’s – one of those local, hokey, family-friendly places that serves a breakfast menu all day (because by “going out to breakfast” I really mean “going out to breakfast at noon, or whenever I decide to haul my lazy arse out of bed”) and generally has good service and cheap food.
This time, however, we got stuck with a waitress who might have had a touch of ADD. She was nice enough, but she kept interrupting us when we’d try to ask for something (one of those, “I already know what you want so I’m just going to blurt it out before you’ve finished speaking” people), talking too fast, throwing items down on the table as she rushed by, never quite looked you in the eye because she was watching her other tables, etc. We’ve had better service, we’ve had worse, and having worked a brief stint as a waitress the summer before I started college, I’m pretty sympathetic to the profession. It wasn’t the kind of thing I was going to make a big deal about (especially not in a place like the Gov’s, where her best tip is probably a five), but her lack of finesse was noticable.
When our meal was finished, she made the mistake of giving the S.O. and myself a comment card, and, because I’ve been brainwashed to “fill in all the little circles, completely, with a number two pencil” (many thanks to Mrs. Ivey, and all those second-grade aptitude tests), I made the mistake of filling it out. And when I got to the part about “Please rate the friendliness of the waitstaff: Exceeded Expectations, Met Expectations, or Did Not Meet Expectations”, well, I didn’t really think about the answer too much, because I’m a bonehead. By process of elimination, I circled “Did Not Meet Expectations.”
… not really thinking the the waitress would come back to the table as we were getting ready to leave, pick up the comment card, blatantly look at it, and then, without pause, in front of everyone else in the restaurant and in the LOUDEST VOICE POSSIBLE, glare at me and say, “OH, I’M SORRY I WASN’T FRIENDLY ENOUGH FOR YOU!!”
… making me think I’ve mistakenly walked into an episode of Seinfeld. I’m thinking, Are you kidding me? I’m getting called out on a comment card? Now you’ve proven that you have no tact, and I’m forced to reference a television show I don’t even like. Lordy!
The S.O. and I ducked out rather quickly after that, me feeling partly like she was way out of line to do that, and (let’s be honest) partly like a bitch. Because it’s not like I intended to hurt someone’s feelings that morning, and in hindsight, maybe I didn’t give her enough credit. Maybe she was having a case of delayed MMS.
Of course, after I’d gotten over the initial shock, my next words to the S.O. were —
This is so going in my blog.
Thankfully the rest of the weekend was normal-ish, and fun, and relaxing, and not at all like an episode of Seinfeld, for which I am very grateful.
Now, where is Tuesday when I need it?