What are the hidden costs?
There were the costs you weren't expecting: a new rear tire, a new computer when the old one fails to boot, a replacement phone when you back over the fallen Samsung S3 with the motorcycle. Of course, these hidden costs are usually more expensive because, frankly, there isn't time to negotiate, investigate options, make the better choice. You're stuck and you make the best choice you can, look at the expense as a sunk cost, and move along to the next. Again, these are quantifiable costs, easy to track, easy or possibly difficult to justify.
Then there are the ones that aren't easy to quantify.
You've been gone for a month, missed important events, milestones in the lives of friends and family. People change. Will your relationships be stronger, weaker? How did your actions affect people?
Hugo and I hatched a plan to deceive Hurricane Melissa, never really a wise choice. She's a planner, a release manager, detail-oriented, a mom, a problem solver. We call her Hurricane because she's Hispanic, of a passionate people, easily stirred. You concern yourself when the winds are a blowin' - you can get along with minimal damage when Tropical Storm Melissa arrives but you don't want Melissa to spin up to full gail force. There will be damage, you know not where, but it will arrive, the consequences possibly deadly.
The first deception was the lie that I would stay in Portland overnight, ten hours away, too exhausted from the previous days' journeys to invest more time towards heading home. Of course, I decided to split the time towards home and stayed overnight instead in Yreka, only five hours away and easily reachable a day ahead of the alleged schedule. I was on safe ground here. She wanted me home and even though she tried not to apply pressure on me to get home earlier, I could tell that our time apart had taken a toll on her, a hidden cost, and any time added would be a benefit.
The second deception started with Hugo. Both Hugo and I are not exactly known for our ability to communicate effectively with each other and our friends. Frankly, Hugo is better at this than I. Family and friends chastise me constantly for my inability to text or answer or return calls in a timely manner.
The plan was for Hugo and Christen to meet me halfway between Yreka and San Jose, in Cummins, California, and escort me home. But Hugo told Melissa that he was meeting me in Yreka, sans Christen, and that we'd stay overnight, have drinks, make it home the next day. I, of course, was already in Yreka, and late that night, I talked to Melissa and told her that Hugo and I would meet the next day in Yreka, instead, that we hadn't actually scheduled the overnight.
On the morning of the ruse, Christen and Melissa texted and Christen told her that Hugo was on the way to meet me in Yreka, a day ahead of schedule. Melissa called me. I had already started down I-5 towards Cummins and I answered the phone via Bluetooth.
"Hugo is headed up to meet you," she said, the alarm bells ringing, the winds, they had started a blowin'.
"What? I thought we agreed that he'd meet me tomorrow instead."
"That's what I thought, too, but Christen said he's on the road."
"Okay, I'll call him, see what's going on."
Melissa texted Hugo, alerted him there was a miscommunication. Hugo didn't respond.
Later, after Hugo, Christen and I had met in Cummins and had started heading towards home, Hugo texted Melissa and wrote, "I'm in Oregon. Where's Rich?"
Melissa called me, panicked. "Hugo's in Oregon."
"Hmmmm. No problem I'm almost in Yreka," I said. "It's only 20 miles south of the Oregon border. He can't be too far north by now. I'll text him because I haven't been able to get him on the phone. The only problem is that the Oregon mountains blocked my signal on the way down, so he might not get the text until he gets into a serviceable area."
"You didn't see him on the road as you passed?"
"Well, I might've been getting gas and we just missed each other. I'm sure I would've heard the Gay Disco as it passed."
Melissa, ever the problem solver, said, "I'll just send you both a text and send the map. I just can't believe Hugo can't communicate with you."
"Well, I'm sure you're tired of being in the middle of this," I said. "Don't worry about it. I'll text him again. You have work and I'm sure you don't need this."
She agreed, we talked a bit more, she returned to dealing with work stuff.
Hugo texted her a bit later, "WTF! I'm in Portland. Where's Rich?"
Panicked, Melissa called me again. At this point, I'm supposed to be in Yreka. Actually, I had arrived home, greeted warmly by our dachshund Zoey, enjoying a Diet Coke, legs crossed, perched atop our living room table.
"Wow! That sucks. I guess he's just going to have to come down to Yreka but that's quite aways."
"<Expletive> Hugo!" she said. She shot him a text back. "Hugo, you're in logistics. How do you leave on a long ride without a plan?!"
Hugo wrote back, "It's Rich's fault. Why doesn't he answer his phone?"
Melissa wrote me, "Hugo's blaming you!"
"Well, it is what it is. We'll figure it out but I appreciate you trying to help."
Melissa had reached her peak gail force. I knew that when she saw me home, the hurricane would direct the energy towards welcoming me home.
I'm not sure what will happen to Hugo. It's hard to say when the energy will gather again but there's always hidden costs to pay.
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