Friday, September 26, 2008

My Honourary Full Moon Day

 id=Strictly (or even loosely) speaking, there was no full moon yesterday; in fact, the moon, which is in its waning crescent phase, is anything but a full moon. But in my world, there are full moons and Full Moon Days, so having said that, yesterday was - if not a Full Moon Day - at the very least it was an Honourary Full Moon Day. And just to be clear, in my personal lexicon, a Full - or Honourary Full - Moon Day is nothing more than a less salty variant of "My Shitty Day" which I had intended to call this post, but ultimately decided against in deference to those of more delicate breeding than I.

So with no further ado, I present:

My Shitty Day Honourary Full Moon Day

1) I woke up and found that it was Thursday. Although Thursdays have the unique advantage of being one day closer to Friday, they are an onerous work day for me which begins at 7:30 with a 3-hour stint with my most hated least favourite client at the far edge of the city.

2) I stumbled into the bathroom and found that, not only was it still Thursday, but I had pink bumps on my right eyelid. I still don't know what those bumps might be but I doubt that they can be a good thing. I would add that Pán Kocúr's suggestion that they were insect bites did little to lessen my concern.
 id=
3) It began to rain shortly after I left the house. I was sin paraguas.

4)
I didn't get a seat on the tram - whose interior did offer me a headier-than-usual cocktail of stale alcohol, sinus-blasting urine and fresh body odour - but I was afforded an excellent view of the torrential downpour which was now pummelling the outside world.

5) This being
my most hated least favourite client at the far edge of the city, I had to negotiate the 15-minute walk from the tram station to their office through a sidewalk-less industrial park during rush hour in the torrential down id=pour which I was now a part of, sin paraguas. I was not a pretty sight.

6) While negotiating my way, I was enveloped in a wall of projectile mud, thanks to the unhappy union of a swollen rain puddle and a particularly speedy truck - one of a host of half-ton, three-quarter-ton, and one-ton trucks - whose actual tonnage I could not swear to as I had just been enveloped in the aforesaid wall of mud.

7)
Muttering various imprecations to God, his son, his mother, and all the saints and apostles, I continued on my way. At the one & only crosswalk along this id= road to hell route, I had to stand in the torrential downpour, sin paraguas for 8 minutes (yes, I timed it) waiting for a break in the traffic before I could cross. Bratislavan drivers have yet to come to terms with the concept of the crosswalk: not only will cars not yield to you, should you be audacious enough to begin venturing out into traffic, drivers will blast their horns at you for encumbering their progress from Point A to Point B as they whiz by you.

8) I arrived at
my most hated least favourite client soaked to the skin and caked with mud. I had also arrived equipped with the wrong books for my classes.

9) Later that day and well after a mind-numbingly underwhelming
3-hour stint with my most hated least favourite client at the far edge of the city, I left my apartment, umbrella in hand - although it was no longer raining - to catch a tram to the other side of town for a 1:00 class. My tram, which I could see at the other end of the street, seemed to be making no great effort to continue on its way. A quick glance toward the opposite end of the street solved the riddle: a tram had broken down on the track. I had 40 minutes to cross the Grey Blue Danube and get to work.

10) Deducing from the smell of burnt engine which pervaded the street that resurrecting the dead tram might take some time, I ran across the street to grab a bus which might take me to work in a slightly more circuitous fashion - but to work nonetheless. The bus passed me by as I waited in vain to cross at the crosswalk. Little had changed since 7:15 that morning:
Bratislavan drivers had still not come to terms with the concept of the crosswalk.

11) Muttering various imprecations to God, his son, his mother, and all the saints and apostles, I trotted back to where I started, with the intention of walking the 25 minutes or so to the
Grey Blue Danube where I could catch a bus which would take me to work. But Huzzah! the dead tram had been piggybacked to another tram and the backlog of traffic was beginning to move. I waited for my tram and boarded it with a light heart.

12) About 100 metres up the road, our progress was impeded by yet another tram -
Dead Tram #2 - not doing much of anything except being dead on the tracks. Along with my other passengers, I alighted the tram, muttering various imprecations to God, his son, his mother, and all the saints and apostles, with the resolution to walk the remaining distance to the Grey Blue Danube and catch a bus there.

13) Three minutes into this trek, I saw that Dead Tram #2 had
been piggybacked to another tram and the backlog of traffic was beginning to move. I waited for my tram at the next stop and boarded it with a light heart.

14) A block away from the
Grey Blue Danube, my tram inexplicably took a right-hand turn rather than continuing on toward the river, and lumbered down a street I had never ventured on before but which I knew was taking me away from the Grey Blue Danube. It would seem that, with all the confusion over dead and living trams, I had hopped on the wrong tram.

15) A
lighting the tram and muttering various imprecations to God, his son, his mother, and all the saints and apostles, I ran like the veritable cheetah that I am not to the Grey Blue Danube to catch my bus. I arrived at work at 12:59.

16) To the best of my knowledge I probably smelled badly.

To be fair, the day improved. Or if not improved, it didn't get any worse. Thursday, September the 25th was capped off with the receipt of an email at 6:45 p.m. indicating that my employer wished to see me at 6:00 p.m. the same day to discuss a "labour dispute" in which we are entangled. Given that he knows my work schedule, a phone call might have been a more effective way of making contact with me - but then I reminded myself that his incredible lack of foresight only adds to his overall incompetency charm.

But today is another day. The sun has reluctantly made an appearance for the time being, and the temperature has successfully aspired to (the low) double digits. It is a full week until I have to begin my day with the certain knowledge that I'll have to
negotiate the 15-minute walk from the tram station to the office of my most hated least favourite client at the far edge of the city. Those pink bumps are still there but they're itchy now so that must mean they're healing, right? And I must say that it's already 11:00 and I have yet to mutter any imprecations to God, his son, his mother, or any of the saints and apostles. This bodes well! ... although the day is still young.

6 comments:

Stoner said...

Haaalllooooooooooo

Stoner said...

Haaallloooooooooooooooo
with my picture

Mačka in Slovak said...

Stoner! You look so - stoned! How's BK?

Cath said...

The man in the moon looks like Harry Truman. Spooky.

Mačka in Slovak said...

America needs you Harry Truman ...

Cath said...

Ahhh... Chicago!