Last week I had the worst day ever.
It started off badly — I accidentally set my alarm five minutes later than I meant to, so I didn’t have time to push snooze before I had to get up — and as the day went on, it became a living nightmare.
After the alarm clock debacle, I sat up, noticing that my left arm was asleep.
“Could this day get any worse?” I thought.
I made my way to the bathroom and flipped on the light. One of the light bulbs was out, so my face was unevenly lit when I looked in the mirror. It was not flattering. I made a mental note (that I forgot about, of course) to call the maintenance guy.
It wasn’t until I sat down on the toilet that I noticed that the toilet paper roll had been improperly installed — the end of the paper was hanging under the roll! I sighed, thinking, “I guess it can get worse.”
As if that wasn’t egregious enough, the “hot” water was only mildly scalding when I got in the shower. I don’t usually try to boil myself alive in the shower, but I want to have the option. This is America, is it not?
I brushed my teeth (although it was difficult to get the last of the toothpaste out of the tube), fixed my hair (even though I couldn’t see myself because of the darn steam clouding the mirror) and got dressed (after a taxing process of choosing clothes). Already a day full of trouble and I hadn’t even left the apartment.
As soon as I stepped out onto my front step, I knew the day would only get worse. It was a hot and sunny morning, and I had put on jeans. “Ugh,” I thought.
I started toward class, thinking about the test I was about to take. I was pretty confident that I was prepared for it. “Maybe today will get better,” I muttered. A cute girl I was walking past laughed. She wasn’t actually laughing at the fact that I was talking to myself, but I felt like she was. What a horrible day.
The classroom was almost full when I arrived, so I was stuck with a desk in the front row. There wasn’t even a desk in front of me for me to rest my feet on. Sighing, I took out my mechanical pencil and clicked it. The lead came out just a little. Not enough to write with. I clicked it again, and the lead came out so far that I wouldn’t be able to write without breaking it off. What did I do to deserve this punishment?
I was the first one to finish the test — I think I nailed it — but I finished it so quickly that I had too much time left before my next class. It wasn’t enough time to do anything useful, but it was too much time to just walk there.
There was nothing for me to do but clench my jaw and try to look upset, so that’s what I did. Then I noticed something that almost sent me over the edge: I’d received a text message on my way to class, but I didn’t feel the phone vibrate because I was walking.
I took a deep breath and read the almost-an-hour-old and therefore totally useless (but very important to the story) text message.
“TEXT ‘FLOOD’ TO 55555 TO DONATE TO FLOOD VICTIMS IN AFGHANISTAN,” it shouted.
“Can’t you see I have my own problems right now?” I shouted back.
I deleted the message and brooded for the rest of the day.
Joe Fox is a junior studying online journalism and a columnist for The Post. Tell him about your rough day at jf250409@ohiou.edu.
