Bad Day

I've been busy.

Last week, I had a bad day. In the traditional sense of the term, where you wake up Irish, a son of Murphy, unwavering in your adherence to his Law. Tragedies, not so much. Just several tiny catastrophes, rocks just big enough to leave ripples, bouncing off each other and distorting your reflection in so many ways you can't even recognize yourself. A bad day. That's all.

This included my drawer being short fifty bucks, which is deducted from your paycheck. This typically means a customer was overpaid and didn't bother letting you know. Thanks guy.

I also accidentally locked my manager in the basement, forgot to go on break and complimented a co-worker on her weight loss only to find out that she's mad stressed and wasn't trying to lose weight and now she's all offended. Other little things, barely worth typing.

I'm not going to bother going into details. I just wanted to share my misery in the hopes that it spreads and earns some company. The tragedies I can handle. Maybe they're part of God's master plan, maybe they all do have silver linings. But the little things--the stubbed toes, the scratchy throats, the managers locked in the basement--how could they possibly fit into that Plan, what could their silver linings possibly be, what lessons could possibly be learned? They're just there to fucking annoy the shit out of you and that's what pisses me off the most. Fuck bad days.