I had my first “Jackie Brown” moment at work the other day. You see, there was a Niners game on Sunday, causing an obscene amount of traffic hours before the game even started. Who knew that tailgaters started so early?

I left the apartment the same time I normally do for work, at least 1.5-2 hours early even though I live less than 30 miles away from the airport. I even checked Google Maps to make sure that there wouldn’t be any crazy traffic. Google Maps told me it’s take me 46 minutes as opposed to my usual 30 minutes, meaning a little traffic was to be expected.

Little is an understatement. I knew the moment I got to the curve to the toll bridge I was screwed. Cars were backed up around the bend and moving less than a mile per hour, if that. Getting to the toll bridge was going to be the journey.

I immediately called my DF to find out what was going on with the traffic. Would I make it in time to work? Because of the industry that I work in, being late isn’t acceptable and they’re pretty strict with the rules in that regard. The last time I checked in late, I was on reserve and got rear ended on the Bay Bridge. He told me that it was indeed all red before the toll bridge for no reason. There wasn’t any accident, no police cars, nothing. It was just a huge hot mess of cars.

That really is the worst kind of traffic: traffic for no reason. Why is there traffic when you don’t have an excuse for it? It drives me insane. The LA part of me will always have that inner road rage goddess that comes out during traffic. I can’t help it.

Apparently, the bridge was mostly red, but after it should be fine with the exception of a little spot of yellow on the traffic map. Okay, I can deal with that. The estimated arrival time on my nearly ten year old GPS keeps pushing back closer to my check in time, but it’s not that close yet. I still have time to park the car, take the air train, and then walk over to our check in computers.

With every minute that I lost, I’m pretty sure another hair of mine turned grey. Finally, after 40 minutes waiting, I get to the toll bridge and pay my dues. I put up with the traffic going across the bridge and my handy dandy GPS says that I’ll be there twenty minutes prior to check in time. Not bad… until I see that patch of yellow that my DF was talking about. It’s really more of a red.

Seeing as how I have twenty minutes from parking to checking in now, I think I’m screwed. Do I call scheduling and let them know? Or try to make it so I don’t get penalized?

As I pass the Candlestick park exit, I realize that all the traffic was headed there and I’m officially in the green. I can do it.

I book my little Cameron the Camry and finally make it to the parking lot at 12:16 PM. I  now have fourteen minutes to park my car, get out my luggage, sprint to the air train, wait for it to go three stops, get out, take the escalator down, sprint to the terminal, go through security, take an elevator to our office, log on a computer, open the website, and check in…. all of this while in heels because apparently I didn’t think of changing into my flats.

I can do it.

I kid you not, I’ve never sprinted so hard in my life. I was terrified for my ankles giving out or even worse, my heel getting stuck in a crack and going face first into the floor with my roller board luggage and carry on.

As I’m bustling past everyone in the airport, I can vaguely hear TSA yelling at me to be careful and “not to worry, [I’ll] make it on time.” It’s amazing how the crowd parts when they hear someone running in heels. I’ve never felt so many piercing eyes on me, but I didn’t care that my hair was half up and half down. I didn’t care that I was breathing uncontrollably. I didn’t care that I may or may not have had little droplets on my forehead. There was a chance that I could still make it and I wasn’t going to slow down.

I promptly checked in at 12:26 PM. Can you believe it? I had four minutes to spare. Never mind that I was heaving and sucking in all the air in the room— I made it on time! Never again will I let this happen to me. Running a marathon in three inch heels is not something I want to do ever again.

I also kind of failed at the granola. Apparently, I like to burn it whenever I make it. Mixing the granola every couple of minutes while baking in the oven is a lot of work! While the taste was there, it would have been better without the smoky/burnt flavor that I added. I’m going to stick to buying granola for now, unless someone has a fail-proof recipe out there. I’d love to try it! From Sally’s Baking Addiction.