Have you ever had one of those days when nothing goes your way?
When you just can’t get a break?
When the entire universe is working in perfect collaboration to make the simple task of making it through your day as painfully difficult as it could possibly be?
I recently did NOT have one of those days - despite all of my efforts and despite my shoes.
It did actually start out as a legitimately bad day.
I woke up to a furry ball of unpleasantness.
Mo the cat was up, she was hungry and her volume was set to high as her persistent meows loosely translated to “I’m hungry…I’m hungry….I’m hungry…I’m hungry…I’m hungry…I’m hungry…I’m hungry…I’m hungry….I’m hungry…I’m hungry…I’m hungry”…and so it began.
My mornings generally work like clockwork:
5:20-5:25 (depending on the day) – roll out of bed.
5:25 - put on running clothes.
5:30 - walk into Mo’s room, grab her bowl, walk to the kitchen and fill it with her stinky food.
5:35 - deliver full bowl of stinky food to the hungry cat (who is, at this point, near delusion and walking in circles muttering to herself).
5:37 - put on my running shoes (resisting the urge to curl up on the floor and sleep another 10 minutes)
5:40 - step out the door and start running.
This particular morning, however, the 5:35 spot took a turn for the worse.
I’m not completely sure how it happened but Mo’s beautiful ceramic bowl (full of stinky food) somehow leapt out of my hand and wound up crashing to the ground in the most spectacular of scenes, chips of black and white ceramic pieces scattering across the floor and spatters of smelly cat food covering the walls and cabinet.
In the aftermath I was left stunned and surveying the scene as Mo stared up at me with one of her looks.
No, it was not a look of fear over the shards of ceramic that could have easily hit her in the face.
No, it was not a look of sadness mourning her heavily anticipated food which, once so full of promise, was now spread across the bathroom wall.
It was instead a look of pure annoyance. In fact, I’m pretty sure, had she been able to convey her true feelings in words that I could understand, it would have sounded something like this:
“You are such a dumbass”
(please excuse Mo’s swearing– we are trying to break her of the habit which must have come from her former family).
15 minutes later, after sweeping and mopping the entire area as thoroughly as possible, washing down the walls and, of course, re-feeding the thoroughly annoyed cat, I walked out the door of the apartment for my run
I was now 20 minutes behind schedule.
Many of you know my thoughts on being passed while running. I don’t like it. In fact, if I know a runner is behind me, I will do everything in my power, regardless of how tired I am, how much faster they are, or how stupid I look, to stay ahead of them. It’s a sickness….I can’t control it.
I saw him coming as I made the turn onto Washington Blvd. He was moving fast but he was still about a block away - I sped up.
2 blocks later I casually looked back and noticed he had made up some time and was getting closer - I sped up some more.
2 blocks later I could hear his shoes hitting the pavement behind me - I was running just about as fast as I could.
“Focus, Faith, focus. Just keep going, do your best. It’s ok if he passes you. It’s just your pride. At least you haven’t done anything embarrassing like fall or…………..”
Thump.
I’m an expert at falling while running so the impact was mainly relegated to a scraped up palm and a black and blue left knee.
My ego definitely took the brunt of the tumble as I quickly stood up and tried really hard to look like I actually meant to hurl my body onto the sidewalk (you know, as part of the workout).
The runner asked me if I was ok as he ran by, but the look on his face looked a whole lot like the look Mo had given me only an hour earlier.
I was now 25 minutes late.
Of course I had nothing to wear to work.
There was one outfit that was passable but it had one serious flaw - SHOES.
I have a very limited selection of shoes. I do realize, in this post-Sex and The City world, being a girl and making a statement about not liking shoes makes me ineligible for the Carrie Bradshaw ideal to which all of us aim…but I really do hate shoes. I hate shopping for shoes, I hate picking out shoes and I hate spending more than, oh say, $25 on a pair of shoes.
This particular pair of shoes (my “the only shoes in the closet I can wear with a black or gray skirt” pair) has a history of causing problems - we have had, in short, a tumultuous relationship. They are nice looking shoes but they are also the single most uncomfortable shoes I have ever worn.
Cheaply made (they fit easily within my $25 per pair rule) and about a size too big (Payless was out of 8s…but they had plenty of 9s!), not only are they characteristically uncomfortable but could be considered dangerous – it’s hard to stay upright and in control when your feet are sliding around inside your shoe and your toes are clutching tightly, in a vain attempt to keep the shoes from falling off of your feet at every step.
I don’t know for sure but I have a strong suspicion that, while wearing these shoes, I look slightly ridiculous….sort of like a 4 year old clomping around in her mom’s high heels.
Despite our history and the pain they have inflicted, I was now WAY behind schedule and had no time to put together an alternative outfit. Concluding that both Mo and the runner were right about the whole dumbass thing, I slipped on the evil shoes and walked (or should I say clomped) out the door.
It was only 8 am and, as I walked towards the elevator reflecting on the 2 ½ hours I had already been up, I decided that it was quite simply going to be a terrible day. There was no avoiding it, it was pre-destined and I just had to deal with it.
That’s when it hit me – “Faith, don’t underestimate yourself. Anybody can have a terrible day – why not go all out and have a REALLY terrible day!”
This was my chance to claim every piece of bad luck that came along, to wallow in utter unpleasantness, to bask in negativity all day long.
I was going to be miserable and nobody was going to stand in my way.
Who knows, it might make a good blog, right? After all, the only thing better than having a bad day is sharing it with as many people as possible.
As I walked down the hallway, indulging myself in the possibilities of my decidedly awful day, I noticed that one of my fellow 8th floor residents was already waiting for an elevator. When I heard the ding of the door opening, I didn’t rush, figuring that she would be gone by the time I made it the 15 seconds down the hallway.
I should explain typical elevator etiquette in my building – a building full of young adults who are all extremely cool and extremely important.
- There are 4 elevators
- The elevators come fairly often.
- The hallways are straight (so you can see people coming a fair distance away).
- Sound carries (so you can hear people coming a fair distance away).
- Everyone is in a hurry.
- Most of us are decidedly not friendly.
The results: We are a building full of people who know that we are supposed to hold the elevator if somebody is coming down the hallway (and it’s hard to ignore when somebody is coming down the straight, silent hallway) and we all complain openly when somebody doesn’t hold the elevator for us, but, if tested, most of us will (knowing that people are coming) let the doors close.
In fact, we may even push the button to make them close faster.
That said, imagine my shock when I found the elevator door open and my neighbor cheerfully holding down the “doors open” button.
“Good morning!”, she exclaimed with an overly happy smile.
Hmmm, morning friendliness didn’t really go along with my terrible day.
The morning passed with coffee that tasted better than normal and a very nice email from a friend I haven’t seen in years.
Interesting turn of events but I refused to be swayed from my bad mood, confident that my normal noontime errands would bring plenty of unpleasantness.
I wasn't about to let other people influence my bad day.
As the afternoon approached, I ventured out the door to face the noontime errand rush. It would have been helpful if the weather had been bad, but it was surprisingly warm and sunny for this time of year.
I continued my shuffle up the hill in my uncomfortable shoes expecting the worst.
First stop, the post office to check a PO Box. I hadn’t been there for ages so I fully expected a nasty “Mailbox Full” note from the postmaster. This means that, in order to claim your mail, you have to stand in the consistently very long line, with all of the other crabby people who don’t want to be at a Post Office. At the end of the long line you will come face to face with one of three post office employees who don’t mind selling stamps and adding postage but REALLY don’t like having to go to the back and get piles of mail left by irresponsible delinquent PO Box renters. As they hand over your mail, you will likely be reminded harshly that you “should really rent a bigger PO Box…or check it more often.”
As I walked in the door I noticed that the line was especially long and I knew, just knew, my fate was sealed when…
*surprise*
no note! Instead of an empty box with a “come and get your stinking mail” note, I found a whole lot of mail crammed as tightly as possible into the tiny square box.
Try as I might, I couldn’t bring myself to moan about the physical condition of the mail - I’ll take roughed up envelopes over standing in line any day.
Ok, so the post office went ok, but I still had the bank and CVS.
Except there was nobody in line at the bank. I walked straight up to my favorite teller who asked me how I was doing and offered me a piece of candy.
I tried to be grumpy…but it’s hard to be grumpy when a rootbeer flavored sucker is involved.
CVS was out of my generic brand of crackers – finally something to complain about – oh, but right next to the empty shelf was little red sign announcing that the regular brand was on sale for close to the same price as the generic.
The pharmacy also had my prescription ready…early.
Trying hard not to be cheered up by the effortlessness of my errands, I turned the corner out of CVS, looked up at the metro exit, and stopped dead in my tracks.
Matching shirts – check.
Clipboards – check.
Bored facial expression – check.
Yep, Greenpeace canvassers. Crap!
Normally, at this point I would turn around and take the longer route around the other side of the building to avoid the dreaded “Excuse me, do you have a moment to help save the planet?” (a well-crafted question to which there isn’t an answer, other than yes, that doesn’t make you sound/ feel like a complete jerk). Today, though, was a bad day (or it was supposed to be a bad day) anyway so I figured why not?, shrugged my shoulders and walked straight into the fire.
Wouldn’t you know it, right at that moment a heard of people came up out of the metro and two of them (who, apparently looked more socially responsible than I) were targeted and approached.
Not even Greenpeace canvassers were cooperating with my bad day and it was starting to piss me off.
I still wasn’t ready to give in to the good luck that I couldn’t seem to shake.
After all, I still had to cross two of the scariest crosswalks in Arlington.
These crosswalks aren’t at intersections or stoplights so drivers normally pay very little attention and walkers often have to wait for long periods of time and/or risk their lives by crossing.
That’s right, there were still two big opportunities for me, as a walker, to feel victimized by and angry towards big bad scary drivers.
Crosswalk #1 – Not a single car coming in either direction.
Crosswalk #2 – A car was coming fast….but the driver saw me waiting to cross and stopped dramatically, waving me across with a smile.
Unbelievable! What was wrong with people?
Half expecting a rainbow to pop out and small animals to break into song, I passed the rest of the day coming to terms with the fact that my terrible day simply wasn’t meant to be.
As I defeatedly walked into my building, head hanging low, I realized that I still had one thing to complain about,
“Well, at least my shoes are still uncomfortable - I can always complain abou.....”
“Wow, I love your shoes!” said a girl holding the elevator, right on cue.
I was officially defeated. As the elevator door opened to my floor, I smiled and wished my fellow riders a good night, laughing at myself as I walked down the hallway.
I opened the apartment door to find Mo sitting at attention waiting for me to feed her her dinner of dry food. From the look on her face, her impression of me from the morning hadn’t changed.
It’s good to know that somebody has my back.
When you just can’t get a break?
When the entire universe is working in perfect collaboration to make the simple task of making it through your day as painfully difficult as it could possibly be?
I recently did NOT have one of those days - despite all of my efforts and despite my shoes.
It did actually start out as a legitimately bad day.
I woke up to a furry ball of unpleasantness.
Mo the cat was up, she was hungry and her volume was set to high as her persistent meows loosely translated to “I’m hungry…I’m hungry….I’m hungry…I’m hungry…I’m hungry…I’m hungry…I’m hungry…I’m hungry….I’m hungry…I’m hungry…I’m hungry”…and so it began.
My mornings generally work like clockwork:
5:20-5:25 (depending on the day) – roll out of bed.
5:25 - put on running clothes.
5:30 - walk into Mo’s room, grab her bowl, walk to the kitchen and fill it with her stinky food.
5:35 - deliver full bowl of stinky food to the hungry cat (who is, at this point, near delusion and walking in circles muttering to herself).
5:37 - put on my running shoes (resisting the urge to curl up on the floor and sleep another 10 minutes)
5:40 - step out the door and start running.
This particular morning, however, the 5:35 spot took a turn for the worse.
I’m not completely sure how it happened but Mo’s beautiful ceramic bowl (full of stinky food) somehow leapt out of my hand and wound up crashing to the ground in the most spectacular of scenes, chips of black and white ceramic pieces scattering across the floor and spatters of smelly cat food covering the walls and cabinet.
In the aftermath I was left stunned and surveying the scene as Mo stared up at me with one of her looks.
No, it was not a look of fear over the shards of ceramic that could have easily hit her in the face.
No, it was not a look of sadness mourning her heavily anticipated food which, once so full of promise, was now spread across the bathroom wall.
It was instead a look of pure annoyance. In fact, I’m pretty sure, had she been able to convey her true feelings in words that I could understand, it would have sounded something like this:
“You are such a dumbass”
(please excuse Mo’s swearing– we are trying to break her of the habit which must have come from her former family).
15 minutes later, after sweeping and mopping the entire area as thoroughly as possible, washing down the walls and, of course, re-feeding the thoroughly annoyed cat, I walked out the door of the apartment for my run
I was now 20 minutes behind schedule.
Many of you know my thoughts on being passed while running. I don’t like it. In fact, if I know a runner is behind me, I will do everything in my power, regardless of how tired I am, how much faster they are, or how stupid I look, to stay ahead of them. It’s a sickness….I can’t control it.
I saw him coming as I made the turn onto Washington Blvd. He was moving fast but he was still about a block away - I sped up.
2 blocks later I casually looked back and noticed he had made up some time and was getting closer - I sped up some more.
2 blocks later I could hear his shoes hitting the pavement behind me - I was running just about as fast as I could.
“Focus, Faith, focus. Just keep going, do your best. It’s ok if he passes you. It’s just your pride. At least you haven’t done anything embarrassing like fall or…………..”
Thump.
I’m an expert at falling while running so the impact was mainly relegated to a scraped up palm and a black and blue left knee.
My ego definitely took the brunt of the tumble as I quickly stood up and tried really hard to look like I actually meant to hurl my body onto the sidewalk (you know, as part of the workout).
The runner asked me if I was ok as he ran by, but the look on his face looked a whole lot like the look Mo had given me only an hour earlier.
I was now 25 minutes late.
Of course I had nothing to wear to work.
There was one outfit that was passable but it had one serious flaw - SHOES.
I have a very limited selection of shoes. I do realize, in this post-Sex and The City world, being a girl and making a statement about not liking shoes makes me ineligible for the Carrie Bradshaw ideal to which all of us aim…but I really do hate shoes. I hate shopping for shoes, I hate picking out shoes and I hate spending more than, oh say, $25 on a pair of shoes.
This particular pair of shoes (my “the only shoes in the closet I can wear with a black or gray skirt” pair) has a history of causing problems - we have had, in short, a tumultuous relationship. They are nice looking shoes but they are also the single most uncomfortable shoes I have ever worn.
Cheaply made (they fit easily within my $25 per pair rule) and about a size too big (Payless was out of 8s…but they had plenty of 9s!), not only are they characteristically uncomfortable but could be considered dangerous – it’s hard to stay upright and in control when your feet are sliding around inside your shoe and your toes are clutching tightly, in a vain attempt to keep the shoes from falling off of your feet at every step.
I don’t know for sure but I have a strong suspicion that, while wearing these shoes, I look slightly ridiculous….sort of like a 4 year old clomping around in her mom’s high heels.
Despite our history and the pain they have inflicted, I was now WAY behind schedule and had no time to put together an alternative outfit. Concluding that both Mo and the runner were right about the whole dumbass thing, I slipped on the evil shoes and walked (or should I say clomped) out the door.
It was only 8 am and, as I walked towards the elevator reflecting on the 2 ½ hours I had already been up, I decided that it was quite simply going to be a terrible day. There was no avoiding it, it was pre-destined and I just had to deal with it.
That’s when it hit me – “Faith, don’t underestimate yourself. Anybody can have a terrible day – why not go all out and have a REALLY terrible day!”
This was my chance to claim every piece of bad luck that came along, to wallow in utter unpleasantness, to bask in negativity all day long.
I was going to be miserable and nobody was going to stand in my way.
Who knows, it might make a good blog, right? After all, the only thing better than having a bad day is sharing it with as many people as possible.
As I walked down the hallway, indulging myself in the possibilities of my decidedly awful day, I noticed that one of my fellow 8th floor residents was already waiting for an elevator. When I heard the ding of the door opening, I didn’t rush, figuring that she would be gone by the time I made it the 15 seconds down the hallway.
I should explain typical elevator etiquette in my building – a building full of young adults who are all extremely cool and extremely important.
- There are 4 elevators
- The elevators come fairly often.
- The hallways are straight (so you can see people coming a fair distance away).
- Sound carries (so you can hear people coming a fair distance away).
- Everyone is in a hurry.
- Most of us are decidedly not friendly.
The results: We are a building full of people who know that we are supposed to hold the elevator if somebody is coming down the hallway (and it’s hard to ignore when somebody is coming down the straight, silent hallway) and we all complain openly when somebody doesn’t hold the elevator for us, but, if tested, most of us will (knowing that people are coming) let the doors close.
In fact, we may even push the button to make them close faster.
That said, imagine my shock when I found the elevator door open and my neighbor cheerfully holding down the “doors open” button.
“Good morning!”, she exclaimed with an overly happy smile.
Hmmm, morning friendliness didn’t really go along with my terrible day.
The morning passed with coffee that tasted better than normal and a very nice email from a friend I haven’t seen in years.
Interesting turn of events but I refused to be swayed from my bad mood, confident that my normal noontime errands would bring plenty of unpleasantness.
I wasn't about to let other people influence my bad day.
As the afternoon approached, I ventured out the door to face the noontime errand rush. It would have been helpful if the weather had been bad, but it was surprisingly warm and sunny for this time of year.
I continued my shuffle up the hill in my uncomfortable shoes expecting the worst.
First stop, the post office to check a PO Box. I hadn’t been there for ages so I fully expected a nasty “Mailbox Full” note from the postmaster. This means that, in order to claim your mail, you have to stand in the consistently very long line, with all of the other crabby people who don’t want to be at a Post Office. At the end of the long line you will come face to face with one of three post office employees who don’t mind selling stamps and adding postage but REALLY don’t like having to go to the back and get piles of mail left by irresponsible delinquent PO Box renters. As they hand over your mail, you will likely be reminded harshly that you “should really rent a bigger PO Box…or check it more often.”
As I walked in the door I noticed that the line was especially long and I knew, just knew, my fate was sealed when…
*surprise*
no note! Instead of an empty box with a “come and get your stinking mail” note, I found a whole lot of mail crammed as tightly as possible into the tiny square box.
Try as I might, I couldn’t bring myself to moan about the physical condition of the mail - I’ll take roughed up envelopes over standing in line any day.
Ok, so the post office went ok, but I still had the bank and CVS.
Except there was nobody in line at the bank. I walked straight up to my favorite teller who asked me how I was doing and offered me a piece of candy.
I tried to be grumpy…but it’s hard to be grumpy when a rootbeer flavored sucker is involved.
CVS was out of my generic brand of crackers – finally something to complain about – oh, but right next to the empty shelf was little red sign announcing that the regular brand was on sale for close to the same price as the generic.
The pharmacy also had my prescription ready…early.
Trying hard not to be cheered up by the effortlessness of my errands, I turned the corner out of CVS, looked up at the metro exit, and stopped dead in my tracks.
Matching shirts – check.
Clipboards – check.
Bored facial expression – check.
Yep, Greenpeace canvassers. Crap!
Normally, at this point I would turn around and take the longer route around the other side of the building to avoid the dreaded “Excuse me, do you have a moment to help save the planet?” (a well-crafted question to which there isn’t an answer, other than yes, that doesn’t make you sound/ feel like a complete jerk). Today, though, was a bad day (or it was supposed to be a bad day) anyway so I figured why not?, shrugged my shoulders and walked straight into the fire.
Wouldn’t you know it, right at that moment a heard of people came up out of the metro and two of them (who, apparently looked more socially responsible than I) were targeted and approached.
Not even Greenpeace canvassers were cooperating with my bad day and it was starting to piss me off.
I still wasn’t ready to give in to the good luck that I couldn’t seem to shake.
After all, I still had to cross two of the scariest crosswalks in Arlington.
These crosswalks aren’t at intersections or stoplights so drivers normally pay very little attention and walkers often have to wait for long periods of time and/or risk their lives by crossing.
That’s right, there were still two big opportunities for me, as a walker, to feel victimized by and angry towards big bad scary drivers.
Crosswalk #1 – Not a single car coming in either direction.
Crosswalk #2 – A car was coming fast….but the driver saw me waiting to cross and stopped dramatically, waving me across with a smile.
Unbelievable! What was wrong with people?
Half expecting a rainbow to pop out and small animals to break into song, I passed the rest of the day coming to terms with the fact that my terrible day simply wasn’t meant to be.
As I defeatedly walked into my building, head hanging low, I realized that I still had one thing to complain about,
“Well, at least my shoes are still uncomfortable - I can always complain abou.....”
“Wow, I love your shoes!” said a girl holding the elevator, right on cue.
I was officially defeated. As the elevator door opened to my floor, I smiled and wished my fellow riders a good night, laughing at myself as I walked down the hallway.
I opened the apartment door to find Mo sitting at attention waiting for me to feed her her dinner of dry food. From the look on her face, her impression of me from the morning hadn’t changed.
It’s good to know that somebody has my back.
Love it!!!
ReplyDelete