On my ride to work, I encountered not one, but two traffic jams. I don't live in that big a town. I should never encounter two traffic jams on the same day.
One of them was because everybody was rubbernecking as they drove past a guy getting arrested on the side of the road. I was having a bad day so far, but that guy's day looked a little worse.
When I got to work, an older lady who delivers auto parts to the body shop I work at walked in with a bill that needed paying. As I was writing her a check, I noticed she was wearing the exact same perfume my high school girlfriend used to wear. I was completely distracted by the smell as my mind kept drifting back to fond high school memories.
It was all kind of nice and pleasant until I snapped back to reality and realized the woman wearing the inspirational perfume was old enough to be my grandmother. Did my high school girlfriend wear old lady perfume, or does this parts lady just have younger taste in fragrances? Either way, that memory is now tainted. Thanks a lot, parts lady.
Next, a lady selling telephone book ads came into my office trying to hock some ad space. No big deal, except that I talked to this lady on the phone last week and told her we don't do in-office calls. I told her she could mail me some info if she wanted to, but not to stop by the office. I hate that kind of thing.
I'm sure sales is a tough business, and in my weaker moments I don't blame salespeople for being kind of sneaky. Today, though, it really rubbed me the wrong way. I didn't even respond when she batted her eye lashes and wiggled at me a little.
I got Subway for lunch. I don't know why I go to Subway for lunch. There's always a line. It generally takes me about 15 minutes to make it up to the counter. Today, I got to listen to a guy tell me all about how every time he comes to Subway, he's the last guy in line. Nobody ever comes in behind him, according to him. He told me this story in spite of there being about six people behind him.
Once I finally made it to the counter, I ordered a meatball sub and took it back to the office to eat it. I should have known better than to get a hot sub. During my lunch break, no less than three people came in for estimates. By the time I was finished with them, my meatball sub was roughly the same temperature as a penguin's butt. Nothing worse than eating a cold meatball sub.
After lunch, I was writing an estimate for another lady. Her hood was damaged, and she was scared that it might fly up into her windshield while driving, so she had it tied down with a bungee cord. I had to raise the hood to write a proper estimate, so I unfastened the bungee cord and tried to raise the hood.
As I raised the hood, the bottom of the bungee cord caught on the bumper. Unaware that the chord was caught, I continued to try and raise the hood. The cord came loose and struck me in the crotch like a bullwhip - a bullwhip with a curved hook on the end.
I tried not to cry. I really did.
Right about time to leave, two customers came in at the same time for estimates. I know this sounds petty and stupid, but I hate having to stay past 5. Feel free to call me a slacker, and lazy, and unwilling to do what is necessary to be a good worker, but I'm sorry. At 5, I want to go home. Writing the two estimates made me about 15 minutes late leaving.
On the way home, Sean Hannity was on the radio saying a bunch of stuff that really made me mad. I won't go into it, because this isn't a political column and I don't want to subject you to my opinions on politics when that isn't what you came here looking for, most likely. Suffice it to say that he equated questioning the president with being unpatriotic. I think that kind of thinking tends to squelch political discourse.
Don't ask me why I turned on talk radio when I was having a bad day anyway. I guess I'm a glutton for punishment.
When I finally made it home, my girlfriend had let herself into my house and was cooking me dinner. She was making chicken enchiladas. The house smelled great.
The second I walked in the door, she hugged me. She has this fruit-scented spray she wears. I think it smells like cotton candy, but it's supposed to be some kind of fruit. It smells awesome. When she hugged me, the smell of the spray filled my nostrils.
She served me dinner, and we talked about our days. After dinner, we decided to leave the dishes for later. We sat on my loveseat, watched TV and joked around with each other. I might have kissed her a couple of times between commercials.
Around 10, she went home, and I headed up to bed. I fell asleep with a smile on my face because I could still smell that cotton candy spray from where we'd been holding onto each other.
What an awesome day.
Patrick Drury can be contacted by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org. Patrick recently published his first book, “PatchWorks Volume One,” a collection of his columns. To purchase the book, visit http://www.cafepress.com/patchworks.54813581