So Ya Had Uh Bad Day...
This post was supposed to happen ions ago, but when you get fat and lazy like me, you tend to write this great story in your head, and never actually get to posting it, because you think about the tedious workout you will put your poor, precious, tired fingers. Like the nubbins might get stressed or something.
Anyway, that was my clever yet stupid introduction. It either captured you, or you already left my post. What-ev!
The reason for my post is to tell you about a sucky day I had about a month ago.
See I'm the type of person who knows when a bad day is about to happen, even before the day begins.
It starts with stubbing your toe, hitting traffic, or hearing some depressing song on the radio. Maybe Getting stuck behind granny on the freeway is also a sure sign of a bad day to come.
However when there is a storm of bad events that occur before you leave the house for work, your best bet is to just call in sick.
My day started with a stubbed toe, due to the shit metal frame on my bed that isn't put together properly. Next I waddled upstairs, and stepped in some poo. I was trying to avoid that itch in my brain that kept telling me to go back to bed. However I continued on my usual morning ritual. Piss, makeup, cigg, coffee.
The weather when I woke up was dandy, and it hasn't been dandy in what feels like a decade. Maybe the nice weather would make up for the stubbed toe and poo? Yeah. Right.
Just as I opened the door though, one of those random rare events occurred, an event that you would only find in some movie about some poor jackass who never can cut a break.
Yes folks, it began to rain. It was light drizzle, so I made my way to my car. Just then the winds began, the gray clouds angrily came racing in for me, and lightning cracked up on me like an unexpected fart.
I hadn't even pulled out of my driveway, and I was already depressed. The day was going to suck, I knew this, there was no denying it.
At least I was prepared though, as I was not shocked when some 90 year old half dead lady pulled out n front of me, and kept me at a pathetic pace of 25 miles per hour, in a 40 zone.
What was shocking though was when an instant dose of depression set in when the radio began to play that pain in the ass cry baby 'had a bad day' song. I don't know who sings it, nor do I care, but I do think that the depression setting, son of a bitch, should be shot.
I got to work though in one piece. I sat for what felt like an eternity. The phone didn't ring, tick tock, tick tock. I'm tired. I'm bored.
5 years later I finally got my lunch break. Oh glorious lunch break. My savior; my reason for waking up in the morning.
Lunch break today though, on the worst day ever, of course had to suck. What was I thinking!?
I'm sitting outside minding my own business when I hear some whack-o sort of making a stink over his car. I couldn't tell though what he was rambling on about, because he sounded thrilled, yet pissed at the same time. A strange mixture rolled in to one.
He saw me staring. Crap.
He makes his way over to me and goes on to tell me how someone just hit his car, and would I believe that there is not a bump, a scratch or a dent on his car.
Wow, big-whoop, that steel can is from the 70s, we all know those old steel cars came with hella hard shells.
I wanted to say: 'Nothing amuses me Sir. Logic, now logic is interesting. Here have some of mine'.
Of course though I am courteous, and pretend to give a shit.'Oh gee, how'd it happen?'
This is when the conversation went from annoying to just bizarre.
As it turned out this fucking freak of a man began telling me his car was a Heaven mobile, and for this purpose it did not suffer even a scratch.
I smile. I don't want to be a rude douche-bag, nor do I want to question his strange beliefs. I figure he will just go on his way. But no of course not.
This guy has a mission, he is some sort of preacher, and seriously nothing pisses me off more than preachers.
Suddenly he begins to do some praise the Lord jig right in front of me. I felt scared at this very moment, because his sanity had to be questioned. He was not right in the head, that was clear.
Who does jigs in front of people while singing praise the lord at the top of their lungs on a sidewalk? Mental homeless people, that's who.
I worried he would see my skull jacket, or my satanic piercings and try to kill me.
I then began to wonder when he would whip out the rattlers. You know those weird folks who drink venom and shit? Yeah, he was from that cult. He had to be.
Next he looks up to the skies, as I back away. After peering at the sky with his arms hugging the air, he then shoots his eyeballs straight at mine. Fuckin A, creepy shit.
"Do you talk to God?" he asks.
Is he serious? Is this a trick question?
I ignore him, and he asks again, this time louder, and it reminded me of that church dude in Tales from the Crypt presents, Bordello of Blood.
Next he goes on to tell me... (I should say YELL), that he talks to God all of the time, and that God talks to him too.
Should I call the cops? I mean I have always been told that if you hear voices you have some severe mental head problems. Should I tell him to check himself into the nearest loony bin?
No, no, that would likely set this firecracker off. I begin to step away as he continues to preach to me. His preaching is filled with loud insane ramblings, followed by his self taught Lord Jig.
My break is only a 10 minute cigarette break, and already this fucker managed to kill 7 of them.
I already have a few words I would like to say to him; but him, and others like him would probably burn me at the stake. However the more I moved away, the closer he got, till finally he was nearly in my face.
Now I was willing to be respectable, and let him preach on and do his weird jig...just at a safe distance away from me. When you push your boundaries, and get too close I take it as a violation of my comfort zone, and that is a major no-no Mr. Preacher.
While he is in my face, I can see disgusting white foam that looked like cum spilling at the corners of his mouth. Perhaps he is rabid, and this is the explanation to his odd behavior. He asks me a question. "Where do you stand with God?"
I really am not in the mood for this. I tell him "fine". One word. I haven't said anything since he went off on this tangent of his. I was hoping he would detect my boredom and move on, or away.
His huge white eyebrows raise, and he begins to rabidly say the word 'fine' over and over again, but with that question mark tone.
Next he preaches some more about everyonegoing to heaven when they die. Even the sinners. Oh gez. Does this mean when I go to heaven I have to roam with the same scum sucking people that I roam with here in hell? The baby killers, the rapists, the murders, the scum, and the preachers will still preach about something there too, I just know it. Ugh.
Sorry pal, but I'll take my ticket to the other place if that's the case.
Before I know it, I'm being delivered a sales pitch. Oh how, godly of him. He wants my money now. He seems to think he has me convinced enough to convert over to his beliefs, so much so that he truly thinks I'm going to give him money for his... uhm, cause?
How will donating my money grant sinners a ticket in to heaven?
At any rate, he begins handing me these pamphlets, these business cards, a floppy plastic ruler for good luck, and a friggin piece of paper for me to sign my name on. A pledge of some sort?
I decline. For all I know he was asking me to sign over my soul. I think I'll keep it, thanks but no thanks.
He's livid now. He goes off on a rampage about how this is my fate, that his non-dented God mobile was proof of this fate, and me being there is all a divine miracle that was supposed to happen. Or some shit like that. It was all relatively creepy.
I began to back away, till finally I was in my office. I shut the door, and he is outside tapping on the door. I ignore him and don't bother to look up. I get he can go off like a loon on the sidewalk, but I didn't want this asshole in my office while I was working preaching his own self taught religious beliefs. I didn't need the distraction, nor the headache.
He opens the door anyway, and is still going off on a preach. Suddenly the lightning cracks, and the thunder booms. There's your sign to get out of my presence Sir.
I tell him to leave, that I'm busy. He then points right in my face with his enlarged pointer finger, and tells me that there is something wrong with me for not speaking with the lord.
I prefer email though, so if you really want me to chat it up with the man upstairs, send me his email address Bud.
He marches out angrily (phew), and I watch as he stops another couple walking down the road to tell them the same fucking story, about the holy protected God mobile, talking with God, and so on. It's likely some sort of staged act to get people to convert over to whatever the hell religion he was preaching. The sinners in good standards with God club I guess? You must have money though, m-kay, that's the rule. Tee-hee.
When he finally left the sun came out, but I got to enjoy it behind a window. Unfortunately for me a large silver car parked in front of my glorious view of the street. An eye burning glare bounced from the cars new shiny coat, right into my face, so seeing the screen on my PC was a task all its own. I thought about knocking the cars side mirror off, because it was the cause of the blinding reflection.
The day then dragged on to years, and finally I got to go home. The same way the morning began, the day ended. I stepped outside of my door, and the dark clouds began to swell up again. I knew at any given moment the rain would pour. I also knew that the half dead 90 year old would likely pull out in front of me again on the way back home as well, that way my usual 15 minute ride home would turn into a nice solid hour of break stomping bullshit.
I made it home alive, stepped in some dog poo, then went back to bed. I should have just stood there.
-I won't even get into the discussion about the tick I found on my Hee-Hoo later that night.