Super Bowl Sunday: WTF: What The Fiasco!

 

Super Bowl Sunday: WTF: What The Fiasco!

​I woke up early, ready to hustle. The plan? Knock out as many deliveries as possible before the Super Bowl madness started. It had snowed two nights prior, and my car was still wearing a thick white coat because, well, I hadn’t gotten around to cleaning it. Typical.

​I had my breakfast and hopped in the shower. Things were going smooth. Too smooth. That should have been my first warning.

​Suddenly, the fire alarms start screaming. I whip open the bathroom door, mid-shower, and find our newest resident, Larry, in the kitchen. Now, Larry either likes his eggs blackened or that’s just the only way he knows how to make them. Either way, Larry seems to be a little deaf, because he’s just standing there while the alarm is trying to wake the dead. I retreated to my room to get dressed, figuring if I’m going to meet the fire department, I should probably be wearing pants.

​The real kicker? Every other resident completely ignored the sirens. The Fire Department didn’t even show up until I was fully dressed and ready to go. WTF: What The Fiasco #1.

​I finally head out to work, and my hip immediately reminds me it’s still on strike. I’m navigating the supermarket in a mobility cart, dodging last-minute Super Bowl shoppers who are acting like it’s the end of the world. I finally get to the register with a mountain of food, only for the cashier to tell me they are out of bags.

​Out of bags? On Super Bowl Sunday? In a grocery store?! WTF: What The Fiasco #2.

​I scavenged some random boxes, loaded the groceries, and headed to the delivery address. The instructions said: "Feel free to park in the driveway." My ADHD brain heard "convenience" and didn't process "danger." I pulled right in.

​The driveway was a steep, snowy downhill slope. As soon as I realized my mistake, my stomach dropped faster than my car did. WTF: What The Fiasco #3.

​I spent a half-hour spinning my wheels, going nowhere. Then I spent another half-hour—me and my cane—digging through ice and snow before I finally broke free. By the time I was out, my body hurt so bad I called it a day. One delivery. On the busiest day of the year.

​I headed to the bar early to watch the game—not that I knew who was playing, or cared. I just wanted my version of a painkiller. I told the bartender: "One Bourbon, no Scotch, and a Beer!"

​I ordered dinner and settled in. But when halftime hit, the entire bar suddenly emptied out. WTF: What The Fiasco #4. Apparently, the party was elsewhere. I gave up, went home, couldn't find the game on my free Roku, and went to bed.

​To this day, I still have no idea who won that Super Bowl. And frankly, I’m too busy dealing with the fiasco to look it up.

WTF: What The Fiasco