Chaos Chronicles: The Real-life Saga of a Day Gone Haywire(True story)

By Chere B. Estrin

At the ungodly hour of 3:30 a.m., I am jolted awake to pitch-black darkness. Panicking, I fumbled around, desperately trying to figure out why my world had turned into a sightless abyss. No lights, no window, no door, no lights in the backyard, just me, groping for my phone like a blindfolded contestant on a reality show. I get it in my hand but I can’t see it. Put it right in front of my face and still can’t see it. Of course, I had forgotten to charge it. But that wasn’t my concern right then. There was nothing. Could feel it, not see it. Cue the melodramatic thoughts: OMG! I’m blind! I’m blind! But wait, a glimmer on the window sill—it’s not a vision apocalypse; it’s a power failure, according to my ever-so-calm husband.

Fast forward to the morning about to begin. A massive webinar looming, hundreds of attendees coming and thanks to the power outage, we are web-less. Solution? A Starbucks dash!

“Starbucks always has internet. No matter what.” GPS set for the nearest caffeine haven, only to discover it was a Starbucks within an Albertsons. Brilliant.

Plan B: McDonald’s. We pull into the nearest one: “closed for remodeling.” But behold, the drive-thru lives! Laptop precariously balanced on my husband’s well-endowed stomach, pushed up against the steering wheel, we host the webinar from the back of the McDonald’s parking lot, surrounded by trash cans and the dulcet tones of drive-thru orders. I could smell the greasy fries and salivated for a Big Mac.

Prestigious online event in the most unexpected venue? Check!

Next stop: the memory doctor. Two months of anticipation and nerves, fearing the worst for my forgetful brain. Diagnosis? Small brain, big intelligence. Turns out, I’m just drowning in information overload, a casualty of our high-speed, social media-driven world. Crisis averted.

Exiting the doctor’s office, reality hits in the form of a massive parking structure. Lost car? Check. Husband with a bum knee? Check. I can’t believe it. I just left the memory doctor. With a heroic “you sit, I’ll find,” I embark on a key-fob beeping quest across multiple levels. Finally, success! Text sent: “Found it, third level”. Commence waiting. And waiting. Still waiting. Husband texts me: “stuck in the elevator”. Are you serious?? Panic mode: engaged. Threatening to call the fire department, I envision those big hulky guys in sexy uniforms, big hunky boots, godlike chiseled features and rippling forearms.  Not so much a bad thing for a woman of a certain age. But no, he insists. DO NOT CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT. Ok! Ok! I think it’s a guy thing – you know, where they absolutely have to remain macho. The “I will figure this out myself” syndrome. A call to the elevator people, a futile attempt. Cue the fire department. Twenty minutes later, my husband emerges, knee intact, grinning like a Cheshire cat. I would have had a totally different take on it, believe me. Home? Check. That would really be a good idea. 

Yep. Just another day in the Estrin-Brody household, where power outages lead to impromptu McDonald’s webinars, memory doctors diagnose information overload, and parking structures become epic quests.