And now for an interruption for…

A Tale of Woe
By a Woeful Geek
After a lousy day on my way
to MyCompany, inc.

I don’t mean to whine
or throw a big fit
but today I built so much character
that I have to share it.

So at 5:45 this morning, I wake up to the sound of pounding rain. And I mean, pounding rain — the type that leaves big puddles on sidewalks, drains, and driveways. Eventually my foggy brain recognizes the fact that it’s Wednesday, and that the parts for my car will not be in until later in the afternoon — leaving it dead in the, um, water. I calmly walk down the stairs to face the day anyway. There, in the kitchen with a halo, stands my Saving Angel: a fellow resident who just happened to have a working car and was up eating breakfast. Ever so smoothly I drop the hint, “do you know where the nearest bus pick-up is?” all the while thinking, “DON’T YOU KNOW I WOULD DROWN ON THE WAY LADY!??” Unfortunately she is not yet awake enough to get my hint, or to recognize the wild look in my eyes. Descending into a calm panic, I scurry outside with a role of blue masking tape in a frantic attempt to tape my PCV hose together enough to where my car will run for a little while, just maybe.

Or maybe not. Scrunched up under the hood to stay dry, my attempts fail and the car won’t start. At this point I realize it’s going to be a long day. So after running back inside, I change into old stuff, cram all my electronics into plastic ziplock bags, and put them in my backpack. Continuing to think happy thoughts, I stuff a complete set of clothing (including shoes) into Walmart bags and then into my backpack…

Shirt.
Pants.
Belt.
Shoes.
Socks.
Other-wears.
Lunch.

I grab a baseball hat and a sweatshirt and my bike, and venture out into the dark, gloomy, and WET day.

It’s nearly 5 miles to work, but I haven’t hardly gone 200 feet and already my underwear is soaked, it’s raining that hard. By the time I get to the office I’m a drowned fish, so I sneakily squelch down the halls home to over 200 of my peers praying silently that God would freeze time, just once. Heading to a restroom stall to change, I can almost smell the coffee and dry clothes awaiting me in the kitchen, but upon throwing my wet clothes over the divider, my pocket change drops in the toilet bowl.

Clank.

I am proud to report that after all of this trauma, the only casualties are my pride, pruned skin, and a half-dozen passerbys from the morning commute who gave themselves hernias from laughing at the spectacle only a pale, half-drowned geek bicycling for all his might can produce.

As far as I’m concerned, it serves ‘em right.