Have you ever had one of those days when you woke up after a wonderful nights’ sleep and thought to yourself, “Man, today is going to be a GREAT day” only to have it turn to complete and utter caca before your very eyes? And no matter how hard you try or what you do, you keep sliding down that slippery slope to purgatory? You don’t make it to hell, because Fate or Karma isn’t through with you yet and hell is too good for you.
Waking up with a rested smile on your face, you glance at the alarm clock only to discover, to your horror, that you’ve overslept by an hour. Now you have ten minutes to get your happy ass out of bed and at your desk before Senor Happy Pants notices you’re late, for the third time this week. And it’s only Tuesday. Making a mental note to have a very stern talk with your alarm clock, you fly down to the kitchen to make yourself a pot of wake up juice.
Pulling on your work clothes for the day while catching up on all the pain and misery that exploded on CNN around the world while you were sleeping, you reach for your favorite coffee mug and fill ‘er up with a perfectly brewed cup of joe. Loading it up with enough cream and sugar to stagger a baby rhino, you take a big gulp and wish you hadn’t. The expression that crosses your face just before spewing the coffee across the kitchen would have gone viral on YouTube if you were still being watched by the nanny-cam teddy bear your psycho ex had left at your place. You look at what you thought was sugar only to discover the dubious kitchen Gremlins had moved the sugar and you where the lucky winner of salt. Feeling as if you have just sucked on a salt lick for breakfast, you snag the can of coffee only to discover you had used the last of the coffee for the ruined pot. Nothing is going to rehydrate your mouth after being salted and left to cure like a kippered herring.
Reluctantly, you give up and storm out to your car. You hop in, fire the gas guzzling beast up, trying to ignore the small fortune in gas you just blew by firing it up, and throw it into reverse. A loud crunch rewards you for your eagerness to get to work. Muttering obscenities that would make a Marine Drill Sergeant smile, you jump out to discover what used to be the neighbor kid’s bike in a Ménage a Trios with your axle and wheel. You look up to find Timmy staring at you like you just backed over his dog. You check to make sure you hadn’t and give a sigh of relief that your car isn’t also parked on his dog’s face. Promising to get him a new bike after work, you remove the Puzzle by Huffy and speed off to work before he can summon his dad to pummel you again. You make another mental note to start looking for a new place to live.
Navigating your way onto the highway while heavily contemplating how the heck you’re going to come up with the cold hard cash to buy another stupid kid’s bike, you are jerked back to the here and now by the sputtering and lurching coming from your steel stallion. The cute little yellow gas pump is blinking happily on your dash like a cheerleader on Ritalin. Managing to coax your ride to the shoulder while a dozen of your favorite commuters honk, wave and remind you that you are number one, you grab your cellphone and explain to your boss that things just aren’t going your way today. He sympathizes with you and decides you could use a day off to rethink your career path.
Since the day is turning into a carnival of rapture, you decide to do your most favorite thing in the world before you have to go down and apply for unemployment, after, of course, you wrangle up some gas and get on the road again. Finally, you head off to the grocery store, with dread in your heart and a growling stomach. Pulling into the Supermarket, you grab a cart and wobbly wheel it into the store to be silently greeted by the Produce Manager that likes to start you down. His look screams, “I know you want to pinch my plucky peaches and snip my sweetly succulent citrus!”
You hurry past his murderous glare and speed to the meat department, where at least you have a fighting chance. A leg bone is an excellent weapon; it worked for the chimp in 2001: A Space Odyssey, didn’t it? This is right about the time you realize you don’t have your shopping list with you. Again, the Drill Sergeant would be proud. As you meander around the Fun-house of Flavors, muttering to yourself and trying to recall what epicurean delights where inscribed on The List, a completely normal woman shyly walks up to you, listening carefully. She glances at first your right ear and then your left ear. Satisfied and still smiling, she suddenly and very loudly yells, “Who the hell are you talking to?!” Stunning you into stupid mode, you mutter, “myself, I guess!”
“Well, cut it out, it’s scaring the children!” and off she walks, leaving you traumatized, and the bane of children everywhere, both on and off bicycles. You decide a speedy retreat would be your best option and head for the exit. The sound of applause escorts you out the door.
As you shamefully head home like a beat dog, you begin to ponder how you ended up on this pathetic path to mediocre. Maybe your boss is right; perhaps it is time to take a serious look at your career and your existence. It just might be time to castrate your ego, pull up your panties, figure out exactly why you keep pissing yourself off and sabotaging your life. And you’ll start right now, with little Timmy’s dad, who is standing in your driveway, waiting for you with a smile on his face that doesn’t look like he’s gonna invite you over for a beer.