Ever have one of those days where getting out of bed was precisely the wrong thing to do? That’s not what happened today. Had I not gotten up I wouldn’t have had one of those days that make me appreciate the mundane mediocrity of the rest of them.
The menagerie was in fine form. Mollie had to be let out three times before she could decide whether she wished to relieve herself or hang out staring at me while I shaved. Front door, bathroom. bark bark bark. front door bathroom. bark bark bark. you get the idea. I still managed to complete the morning ritual consisting of the most invigorating urination experience imaginable, shower shave brush tooth and head for the door.
I stopped at the refrigerator because I’m on a fruit kick. Not for health reasons, but because they don’t make you feel like you ate a Buick when you’re trying to work. Plums, these wierd plum apricot hybrids that I think are going to make me grow a third eye in the middle of my forehead, a mess of grapes, a banana, and a bunch of blueberries. All I need is a haircut and a latte and I’d be the oh so metrosexual MDVP’s midwestern soul brothah.
Still right on time, but then I tried crossing the living room. Roscoe was lying in wait. He latched onto my foot, and no matter how I petted, treated and cajoled the fuzzball wouldn’t release me. It appeared almost as if he was trying to tackle me. I’m not what you’d call large, but the wonder bunny was seriously deluded if he thought I was going to play along. I snatched him off and sent him on a little two yard roll across the carpet, and WHAM, before i could even straighten back up I again had a bunny shaped tumor on my foot. This went on for several minutes before he finally gave up and wandered over to watch TV. He sits sideways in front of it. If he sits face on to it he can’t see it and is therefore either sleeping or plotting death for his infidel owner.
And so it was off to work. The sky looked like this Dali painting, and about halfway to work it decided to rain like hell. I was doing the usual 60 in a 40 and doing commentary on my fellow commuters inability to exhibit even a modicum of motor control. I get into this work zone where you have to slow down or they fine you 7 gazillion bucks. they have those concrete barriers set up narrowing the road down to a lane you’d play hell driving a bicycle through, and there in the middle of the road is this honking big block and tackle with about 40 foot of logging chain attached. It had apparently fallen off a truck. This didn’t interest me. It must have weighed 200 pounds. This didn’t either. It somehow tangled itself around the front left suspension of my car. Again, no interest. My car went from 45 to 0 in 8 feet. Ok, now my attention was sort of riveted to the incident.
I have just become the lead car in what would be a 10 mile long traffic jam before they finally managed to drag the thoroughly shot carcass of my entirely to low slung piece of shit out of the way. I called my boss. He was still laughing when I got to work, which I accomplished by catching a cab, hopping in the eclipse, and checking out the view of indy at mach 2 on I-70 west. Indy is much prettier if you blur it just a touch.
We’ll not talk about work. Thats over for the day.
So I’m heading home at what could only be considered a reasonably sane speed when this truck hauling some sort of aluminum shafts, we’ll call them spears, suddenly loses part of its load.; to wit, one 12 foot long piece of perfectly balanced aluminum rod that took one absolutely beautiful to behold hop off the concrete prior to ramming itself through the fiberglass fender, the rubber tire, and the metal passenger door of the eclipse. I should not have poked fun of the gold standard yesterday, metals seem out to get me.
car, cab, car, that’s three. I’m not leaving the house tonight. Except to go either rent or buy a car. I’ve yet to decide.
I’m thinking something in an armored truck.