"I am the grammarian about whom your mother warned you."
This was mine:
Oh, it started off well enough. Got to the bus stop in time to catch my usual bus… but WAIT! Where’s my bus pass? I LEFT IT IN THE OFFICE. If I try to run back for it, I’ll miss the bus, which means 30 minutes until the next one. Ok, I think, I still have some tickets left in a book I bought before I got the monthly pass. I can use one of those. Which means of course I have to use another one in the morning to get to work.Well, I was kind of wondering what I was going to do with the leftover tickets now that I don’t need them. Eh, ok, I guess I can live with that.
But WAIT! Halfway to the park-n-ride, guess what else I realized I left at the office? My thumb drive, aka MY LIFE. All my writing, everything. Except for a couple of new things I started today and saved to Google Docs. Getting twitchy now. It’s only six miles back to work from the park-n-ride. I kind of had been wanting to clock it anyway, in case I decide to start riding my bike (yes, I know I just said it was 6 miles, but that was according to an online map. I wanted to drive it and see for realz what it was). Being parted from my little flash drive is like cutting off an appendage. So fine, I finally decide I’ll go back and get the stuff.
So back I drives. Park illegally in one of the parking lots, which at this time of day I figure carries minimal risk. Raced back to my building, down the stairs, up the elevator, let myself in to the now-deserted office (good thing they gave me a key or I’d be sitting in the parking lot, sucking my thumb and crying). Tear desk apart, rummage through drawers, consider dumping out the trash because guess what? THE BADGE/BUS PASS IS NOT HERE. No sign of flash drive either. Nooooooo…. it’s too cruel. Can it be? Back out I go, down the elevator, out the building, up the stairs, reach the car, start tossing everything of my backpack. What do I find? BOTH ITEMS. &^%$#@#***!!! Good thing my head is still attached (no telling how much longer that may be true).
So, ok, fire drill for nothing. Get almost home, have to pass the local pool where everyone treats the traffic lane like the loading zone at the airport: Stop all traffic to let their urchins climb out and run in to the pool. I unloaded (verbally) at the one in front of me. See, this backs traffic up out into the intersection, blocking people from being able to turn onto the street at all. Why is this allowed? Don’t ask me. Then of course there’s the Thursday night concert at the park on the other side of the road, so everyone not going to the pool is just circling like vultures, trying to find a parking spot. Then I nearly hit Douchebag #2 who’s standing outside the driver’s side of his car, door standing open, while he (yes, HE) brushes his hair. BRUSHES HIS HAIR. Seriously, we ought to be allowed to shoot them on sight. Or at least run them over. No?
I’m not worried about going to Hell when I die. I’m already there.