We had an “office retreat” today, which ended up being a nicer way of saying, we’re heading out of the office around lunchtime to another non-office location where we will have some sandwiches, followed by a very long meeting. The change of scenery was welcome, but rounding the corner into the home stretch, it was all I could do not to collapse into the napping position. I did have some Dill Pickle flavored potato chips, which made up for some of the pain.
One co-worker volunteered his PT Cruiser to drive the five(!) of us to our destination. I hesitated, then later decided against, volunteering my more-sizable, but smells-like-dog SUV, because… well, I didn’t particularly want to drive. That’s fair, right? Moments before we boarded the Cruiser, apparently my pregnant privilege kicked in, when my driving co-worker put the kibosh on someone else who called “Shotgun!” He insisted (“my wife would kill me if I didn’t insist” he says) I take the front seat, because I’m pregnant. This move put my (tall) boss, my (taller) boss’ boss, and said Shotgun! co-worker crammed like children in the backseat. He informed the others one by one of his decision as they approached the car – as if I was completely removed from even resisting the offer.
I had no idea, other than “Expectant Parent Parking” in front of Babies-R-Us, that this kind of privilege existed. I know I’m exempt from heavy lifting (much to everyone’s dismay) and other unfortunate chores (litter box scooping), but who knew there were actual perks before I physically become a bother? But there you have it – I wonder what’s next?