Picture this -
Well after noon on a Saturday, I drag myself out of bed, throw on some clothes that are clean-ish, and stick my hair in a ponytail to mask the fact I didn't bother showering. I grab my keys and head for the door.
My first stop is the gas station. I spend a full two minutes trying to figure out where the gas cap release is located on my new (to me) vehicle and feel like an idiot in the process, but hey - now I know. I swipe my card, fill my tank, and am done with the first stop on my itinerary.
Next, I drop by the local health clinic. I need a TB test for work. After thirty minutes of sitting in the waiting room - leaning as far as I can from the gentleman to my right who's hacking up a lung while simultaneously trying to avoid the toddler to my left, as he repeatedly rubs his eyes then smears his hands all over the shared armrests - I'm called in. Within five minutes, I've been injected and band-aided, with instructions to come back in a few days. Stop two - check.
I go over to Target and grab a few things I realized I needed five minutes after I left the last time. Then I'm off to the grocery store. I fill my mini-cart with a week's worth of food before steering it to the checkout.
Of course, the shortest line is four people deep, and I've been burned too many times by the professed "self check-out" at this location to bother. The woman directly in front of me turns around and shoots me a look of sympathetic misery.