Today is just one of those days.
Oddly enough, even though that last sentence says literally nothing, it is enough for people to realize what I’m talking about. This would be because everyone has experienced those days where they get up, start doing what they’re supposed to do, realize that today is going to be a steaming pile of poo, want to call a mulligan on the whole day and go back to bed.
Today, I woke up to rain. That is never a good sign. While rain doesn’t necessarily mean a bad day, it seems like it does mean today stands an increased chance of suckitude (and, yes, that is a scientific term).
I arrived at work to find myself the recipient of a terrific gift: the gift of messes. Two hours were spent cleaning up after other people’s bad, terrible, and often times, baffling mistakes.
As I finished, my phone rang. It was an ominous ring, echoing off the walls. If phone companies were smart, they would invent a way to make your phone play Beethoven’s Fifth whenever this kind of call was arriving. It would be a great warning system.
It turns out my wife’s car had decided to systematically explode. This is not much of a surprise. Her car is one of those you see and hear on the road that makes you look towards your passenger and say, “Geez, that poor car.” If this car were a horse, it would be glue by now. It would be the perfect car for a person who never wanted to drive. If you ever plan on turning it on, though, it is far from perfect.
Less than ten minutes later, my phone rings again. This time, a different number pops up. I answer to find my wife calling from a different phone because her cell phone has stopped working.
After talking her off of the ledge of a 70 story building, I worked out a system to get her car to the shop so that someone who knows what they’re doing can look at it. My knowledge of vehicles ranks right up there with my knowledge of fine French desserts: I’ve heard a little bit about them, I enjoy them, but I have no interest in becoming an expert in them.
As I left to retrieve the ticking time bomb of a car, over the horizon appeared four disc shaped objects in the sky. They continued to hover, slowing to a stop above me. They then sent off a great amount of green light and sucked me right up off the sidewalk and into one of these.
After four hours of probing and demanding to see my leader, the aliens aboard these ships realized that I was about as much use to them as my wife’s broken car would be. Not wanting to put up with me any longer, they dropped me off in an empty field and flew off to an undisclosed planet.
I quickly found the nearest highway, hoping to hitch a ride from some willing and friendly stranger. As I stood there with my thumb out and my pant leg pulled up (you have to flash a little thigh to get a ride, you know), a car squealed to a stop next to me.
A masked gunman stuck his head out of the window, then looked to his cohorts and asked, “How about this guy?” The others glanced and said, “That’s a pretty sorry hostage. We can do better,” before peeling out.
Then, I got a paper cut. Those hurt like the dickens.
I guess, all things considered, it wasn’t the worst day ever. The aliens weren’t able to take over the globe and my paper cut was not over a main artery, so that’s pretty cool.
It also gave me this incredibly mediocre blog post. That has to count for something.
*Not an actual translation. In fact, not even close to an actual translation. If you are a student planning on using this translation at school, you will get an F. Don’t do it.