December 06, 2005

Bad Day

I am so sad that I cannot have an Eddie Izzard ringtone. How crap is it that they only work on phones in the UK? And how awesome would it be to have Eddie interrupt your conversations with, “Phone. Your phone. Your phone is ringing. Oy! The PHONE is RING-GING. PHONE. Ringing. Pick it up, would you please?” in his inimitable way. He and I have the same birthday, you know. I think that means we should get married and have babies.

I have had a rather bad morning. It’s as if the fates are aware that I’m leaving early today, so they have crammed as many terrible things into my five work hours that they would normally stretch out through eight. I don’t know if there’s more than usual, they’re just happening every few minutes. “One woe doth tread upon another’s heel,” as Gertrude says. [This is where I wow you with my knowledge of Shakespeare. Art thou wow-ed?] One of the downsides of a literature degree (besides the total lack of income, ever) is that a Shakespearean quotation will automatically pop into your head for any given situation. And if you’re me, you sometimes say it aloud, which weirds people out. Teachers loved it, though. Mine are usually from Hamlet; I don’t know if that’s because it’s my favorite or because I was so forced to read it so damned often. One of my huge pet peeves about the educational system (and I have more than a few) is how teachers will repeat the curriculum. I must have read A Midsummer Night’s Dream six different times, but only read The Winter’s Tale once, and that in college. And I will never read R&J or Caesar again. Yes, they are easy to read. They are linear. They are also boring, and a bad representation of the genius of Shakespeare. Why was I even talking about this?

Oh, yes. The bad morning. The beginning was funny, if you’re not me: I made a quick nip into Starbucks, because it was negative a million this morning, and if I didn’t get a latte and bit coffee cake, I was going to freeze to death. So I drive very quickly (and very badly, because my viewing space out of the icy windshield is about the size of a small child’s sweater) to the bus stop. I just have time to grab my coffee from the cupholder before the bus arrives. I freak out, grab my backpack from the back seat and leg it to the bus, groping my pocket to beep the car.

My keys are missing. What the hell? I just had them. I look back at the car: it’s still running. I had left the car on. And unlocked. I let go an expletive, violently (rhymes with “muck”—in retrospect, the best part of my morning), and run back to the car, slipping on the ice. I grab the keys (hopefully turning off the engine in the process; I guess I’ll find out later), slam the door, and run back to the bus, which to my great surprise is still there. Foot on the first step, I lean out and beep the car. I turn back in, apologize for keeping the driver waiting, then repeat the apology ten times over as I struggle to remove my bus pass from my pocket. [Upon rereading this, man—these people on the bus haaaate me…] So we go, and I sit down thinking it’s all over… and then I realize that, in my haste, I have spilled my latte all over myself. There is about three inches left in the cup. Here, I take a little minute to myself. Whatever. Just… whatever. I’m warm. I didn’t miss the bus. I’ll make more coffee at work. It’s fine. It’s all fine, I don’t care. Little did I know that my thumb was marinating in soy latte for the entire trip, and is still wrinkled. My coat also has lovely latte-colored accents now. Fine, then. Matches my boots.

Oh, and I’m leaving early, yes: for a dentist appointment. A filling.
This day sucks big donkey nuggets.

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