A Bad Day

How do you know you’re having a bad day?

At 11:00, I went to Steak and Shake. Because I hadn’t yet had breakfast. Because I wanted a fountain Cherry Coke. And, well, because.

Sometimes, because is the only reason that matters.

When the man handed the small bag through the window, I thanked him, having already drank half my Cherry Coke. But then as I started to pull away, he hollered, waving his hands frantically.

Of course, I hit my brakes, looking around me for the reason of his sudden alarm.

He had given me the wrong sack.

And I knew my day was on the upswing.

Because I hadn’t left the restaurant without my food. And I, most likely, by accident, had been given a hamburger. And I don’t like hamburgers, but I like returning to a restaurant even less.

And the guy behind me in line hadn’t plowed into my tailgate when I hit my brakes.

And that’s when you know you’re having a bad day — when nothing happening is the best part of your waking hours.

Maybe tomorrow nothing will happen all day.

If we can all only be so lucky.


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