Thursday started off on the “I-hit-the-snooze-how-many-times?” foot.
That’s my least favorite foot. You know, the one with the sock that won’t stay up. The foot that stepped in the cat barf. You get the picture.
The day had just begun, and I was already late.
And it didn’t surprise me when it began to drizzle, ever so lightly, on my way to the bus stop. As my friend Paula has pointed out, no, I am not made of sugar (and therefore unlikely to melt in the rain), but I’ve never liked being rained on. Maybe it’s the evil and unsightly things it does to my hair. Maybe someone broke up with me in the rain and I never got over it. I don’t know.
It could be worse, I suppose. I had a friend, ages ago, who couldn’t stand to be in the wind. Any wind. Made her anxious.
Can you imagine not being able to handle the wind?
So the way it was going, it didn’t surprise me when I got on the bus and there were next to no seats. It was almost entirely populated with large, very large people. Hmmm. Is it just my perception that there are no decent seats available?
Maybe I'm just grumpy.
Which quarter-seat should I occupy? I balanced half my butt on one seat, bracing myself with my feet. It’s good for toning the thighs, I told myself. Look at me! I’m being isometric.
I dropped my cell phone in the street getting off the bus. Yay! What next? Perhaps this was one of those days the universe was trying to tell me something? But what? Something along the lines of “stay home!” or perhaps “take that, sucker!”?
Keeping a sharp eye on the pigeons strutting about Nicollet Mall (I don’t trust an animal who can’t – even healthy – control its own, uh, emissions) I made my way into a Starbucks, where I ordered the largest coffee they have.
Ahh. Soothing, calming coffee.
I parked myself at my desk, ate a very large and therapeutic chocolate bar (Lindt) and managed to live until lunch.
Buoyed by good chocolate and a hot-tub worth of coffee, I walked through Macy’s, intending to take the skyway to Target where I thought I’d do my bit to bolster the economy, i.e., buy Willie some new socks. (Hey, in Minnesota, that’s how we roll.)
And that’s when everything changed.
Half-way through Macy’s an older man in a tuxedo stopped me.
“Excuse me. Do you know where Macy’s is?”
“You’re standing in it.”
“Oh, so I am.” His name was Leo, and he went on to explain to me that he was the piano player for the restaurant they have on the 12th floor and could I point him in the right direction? So rather than try to explain it, because it seems Macy’s has gone out of their way to hide the elevator, I took him there. It wasn’t much out of my way, really, and it was worth the smile he gave me.
One skyway over and still on my way to Target, a woman and a child rushed by me.
“Is it 12:15 yet?” she called out.
I yelled after her as she continued running. “Not by a long shot. Maybe 11:45.”
“Thank you!” she yelled and she kept running.
In Target, while buying Melatonin, an elderly woman asked me to help her pick out a lipstick – she had left her glasses at home.
I went to a sandwich shop on my way back to the office, and returned to the office to eat said sandwich at my desk. I thought about how perception changes everything and I enjoyed my lunch.
And so it didn’t surprise me when I stood up to get something off the printer and found that I’d been sitting on a banana pepper. My chair – just outside my boss’s office – looks like I’ve had a small and rather distasteful accident.
There’s perception, and there’s reality, and I’m not sure which one I’m better off with today.
Season of the Buffalo
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