Another Day

Oct 12

The bus was late.  Why does this happen when the rain is vertical and the umbrella is inside out?  The water encircled my ankles as I climbed aboard.   A lady gasps as my umbrella shakes loose and drenches her.  Dripping, I get myself arranged for the ride to the office.  What will happen on the other end?  It’s  3 short blocks to the office, a pleasure on a fine day.  Injury is added when I connect to my work email.  I don’t do this ordinarily, why today?  A “request”,  with terms like “ASAP” and “not later than end of business, today” glares at me.  Startled, I move my wet belongings for another luckless passenger.  It’s too foggy to see outside, but everyone feels the bump.  There’s a stop several blocks before the first stop in the city.  The driver suits up and departs, circling wide, looking afraid of what she might discover.  We learn from someone in the back of the bus that a car has stopped behind the bus.  We’re told that the accident must be reported, which will require us to wait for the next bus.  The rain continues.

Sliding through the turnstiles at the office, I dread the reaction of those already beginning the meeting.  I’m embarrassed in hoping that others had commuting troubles, particularly that one person.  That person was the first I saw after I dropped my bag and headed for the conference room.  What challenges would he offer me today?

Meetings, so beloved in business, very seldom have published agendas, usually guaranteeing grandstanding, sidebars and general inattention to everything but one’s own thoughts.  Mine were centered on the explosive email I read on the bus.  Would I be able to respond in a reasonable time in accordance with the client’s wishes?  As my phone buzzed in its holster, I knew that there would be follow ups, not to mention additional issues emerging as the meeting dragged.  I was voted the note-taker to circulate the meeting minutes which had dragged to hours.  It was late in the afternoon when I returned to my cubicle.

“Tank” was our driver on the bus home.  The name was a derogatory nickname delivered by the passengers who were oddly critical of his safe and slow driving.   Even on brilliant days, he never ran red lights or cut off smaller vehicles, traditions in New York City driving. His courtesy did not extend to the passengers which he glared at like parasites.  The rain was still falling, so our trip was extremely long.

At home, the internet was out, everyone was on edge for some reason or another.  There had been no time to make a grocery run and food deliveries were foolish in a rain storm.  Yesterday’s meal was gone, but the dishes remained.  Homework was delayed by the computer issues as the evening raced by.  Bills, already late, lagged even more with no online banking capability.  Flu was making its second pass through the family, perfect for a confined apartment on a stormy night.  The cat, for reasons of his own, took a swing at me and connected, drawing blood.

I dozed off with a smile on my face, convinced that tomorrow would be as full as today.


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One comment

  1. Ah those crazy days, thanks for such a personal and funny insight into your day, it made mine feel normal

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