Whoop
Whenever people are in a hurry, there are always unexpected interruptions that appear. They are unavoidable. From having to endure another painful phone call from your mother, to telling the Jehovah's Witnesses that you believe in Jesus so they can leave you alone, the existence of others are reminders of how an inconsiderate person can be a time-waster.
Imagine my surprise when a simple fling results in a minor catastrophe.
Having several meetings in the same day, I dress up for the occasion. Black blazer, flat-front, grey slacks, black shoes and belt, and a black and burgundy tie. To top it off, a newly-pressed, crisp, white dress shirt.
While running around my place with the bottom half of my ensemble already on, I have plenty of time to put on my shirt. Since it is hot (even at 7 a.m.), I dress finish dressing underneath the kitchen’s ceiling fan to cool me. As I raise my hands over my head, I hear a distinct whoop. It is only when I slide my arms through my sleeves is when I see what the noise is all about.
There is a huge, black stain on my left sleeve.
So, doing what any rational person would do, I freak.
“Nooo. No. NO! Fuck. Fuuuckkk! Why? Why now? On the day of my meetings? Fuck. Fuuuckkk!" I yell as I pull at the sleeve.
Knowing I have no time to pull off the shirt, run back to my bedroom, pull another shirt out of the closet, throw that one on without flinging at the ceiling fan, run back to the kitchen, pick up my shit, and leave.
In the kitchen, I pick up the sponge that washes the dishes, run into the bathroom, run some water, wet the sponge, place some soap on the sponge, and rub the stain – with my arm still in the sleeve. Lather, rinse, repeat.
With most of the black streak out, I realize the 15 minutes leeway I had is now gone. Shit.
Although I run out of the house in a panic, I manage to get to the train station on time, although it’s probably due to me driving 80 km/h in a 50 zone.
When I stop the car, I look down at my sleeve and pull my jacket down to cover the remainder of the mark - a reminder of a freak accident and of a freaking idiot. Even I am not immune to being my own version of a time-waster.
Imagine my surprise when a simple fling results in a minor catastrophe.
Having several meetings in the same day, I dress up for the occasion. Black blazer, flat-front, grey slacks, black shoes and belt, and a black and burgundy tie. To top it off, a newly-pressed, crisp, white dress shirt.
While running around my place with the bottom half of my ensemble already on, I have plenty of time to put on my shirt. Since it is hot (even at 7 a.m.), I dress finish dressing underneath the kitchen’s ceiling fan to cool me. As I raise my hands over my head, I hear a distinct whoop. It is only when I slide my arms through my sleeves is when I see what the noise is all about.
There is a huge, black stain on my left sleeve.
So, doing what any rational person would do, I freak.
“Nooo. No. NO! Fuck. Fuuuckkk! Why? Why now? On the day of my meetings? Fuck. Fuuuckkk!" I yell as I pull at the sleeve.
Knowing I have no time to pull off the shirt, run back to my bedroom, pull another shirt out of the closet, throw that one on without flinging at the ceiling fan, run back to the kitchen, pick up my shit, and leave.
In the kitchen, I pick up the sponge that washes the dishes, run into the bathroom, run some water, wet the sponge, place some soap on the sponge, and rub the stain – with my arm still in the sleeve. Lather, rinse, repeat.
With most of the black streak out, I realize the 15 minutes leeway I had is now gone. Shit.
Although I run out of the house in a panic, I manage to get to the train station on time, although it’s probably due to me driving 80 km/h in a 50 zone.
When I stop the car, I look down at my sleeve and pull my jacket down to cover the remainder of the mark - a reminder of a freak accident and of a freaking idiot. Even I am not immune to being my own version of a time-waster.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
2 Comments:
It does seem like everytime you're in a hurry, you're your own worst enemy. I was once dressed up (which is a rarity in itself) for some special event...I don't even recall what it was now, and for some reason...had to reach into the cabinet at my friends house (where I lived). I moved the coffee can, only to find that it was full of bacon grease and had no lid (WTF?). I figured this out only after I was covered in it. So...being rather pissed off and running late, I showered and changed into my ONLY other appropriate outfit. As I was running out the door, I did that last minute check in the mirror...and found a giant grease stain spreading across my shoulder because I hadn't gotten it all out of my hair! I ended up borrowing clothing that didn't fit correctly, being late, and feeling like a giant dork all day!
What can I say? Shit happens to me all the time.
Conflict is drama, drama is good storytelling.
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