Five in the morning. The alarm rings. The puzzle music from Professor Layton let’s me know it’s time to start my day. I disagree, hit snooze and sleep for sixteen minutes. I don’t know when I switched my timer to sixteen minutes or what the significance of sixteen is, but I snoozed for it.
Professor Layton’s music to think by wakes me up once more. I want to disagree but I know that Professor Layton is smarter than I am, and therefore probably right.
I turn off the alarm and realize I’m in cloud of delirium. Nothing makes sense, I’m under two blankets but I swear I peeled off seven. Was I supposed to wear a suit? Do I own a suit? Why a suit? Maybe a hat. These are some of my first thoughts.
Instead, I grab some clothes. An old Happy Noodle Boy t-shirt and a pair of beaten up jeans and I shuffle quietly into the bathroom as to not wake up my wife and child who are passed out in the living room, both taking turns snoring a duet for my amusement.
Once in the bathroom, I look at my hair. “I need a haircut.” I thought, as I looked at the crazy hooks coming off the back of my head. “I really need to stop putting off getting a haircut just because it’s cold and I don’t want to go out.” I continued thinking. “My supervisor is working this weekend, what if I’m scolded for unkempt hair.” I worried. “What if dragons are there?” I added. “Fuck, I’m still delirious,” I realized.
I run a comb through my hair. Or as I dubbed it, “Operation: Futility.” Once I got it down enough to where I looked like a planned it, I finished getting ready and got dressed.
I sneak my way to the kitchen, still being careful not to wake anyone. I’ve played a heavy amount of Metal Gear Solid and Assassin’s Creed in my life so I know the difference between making noise and making ambient noise and I do just that. I become a silent predator. I’m a wolf stalking it’s prey in the grass. A hawk swooping for a kill. A pervert on a Japanese train.
Success, I made it to the kitchen. I go to make my coffee, everything’s in it’s rightful place until I see the coffee lid. Flecks of old dried coffee from the last day I used it were still on there. Et tu, coffee lid. There’s no way I could clean it off without waking everyone.
Sans coffee, I make my way outside into the ten degree weather. Immediately my joints sing the praises of Ohio as a cold dagger cuts through my left leg, buckling my knee and almost forcing me into a lover’s embrace with the frozen driveway. I fight the urge and continue to my car.
Once in, I realize that there’s a thick line of snow, vertically on my windshield. Perfectly blocking my vision. I turn on the windshield wipers, frozen. I think about my snow brush. It’s in the back…under the stroller…with the door against the garage. No dice there. Wait! I’m delirious. I lean over about two feet so my head’s in the middle of the car and drive.
One third of the way to work, the Ta of the universe decided it needs to intervene before I kill myself, and, almost like four arm strokes, the snow wipes from my windshield, allowing me to sit and see all. Not that there’s a lot to see. There’s one car per block. There’s deer grazing everywhere. And, occasionally, you get the occasional person who doesn’t realize that their headlights are off and will flick me off when I strobe my brights at them.
On my way, I stop at a fast food place to get breakfast. Mostly because I’m a genius. For want of my standard coffee I go with a large soda. Again, genius. So, that and my normal breakfast of an English muffin with a thing not unlike sausage inside it and something I’m supposed to believe is potatoes that have been ground up and shaped into a large suppository.
I pull up to the counter, pay, and have my normal lovely exchange with the clerk where she says, “have a g” as the window closes and she turns midsentence away from both me and any dignity I was going to allot her.
I continue my drive to work and get to the part I hate the most. The intersection. Now, realize, I’ve driven through 20-30 intersections already on my way to work. But what makes this one special is that this is the point in which the street I’m on the longest is two lanes on the side I’m on and one lane on the other side. This is where idiots whip up from the right hand lane and cut people off in the left as if they don’t understand that this is the same as cutting in a line.
Luckily, my line goes uncut and it’s just me and this tiny little car. A car who must not have ever been down this road as they’re going fifteen miles per hour slower than normal, taking in the scenery.
Every minute that goes by stuck behind this car, I realize is a minute later I will be able to clock out today. This turns the driver into my mortal enemy. Eventually, though, my mortal enemy turns right on whatever stupid road gets him to his dumb destination and I continue onwards, moving from 25MPH to 50 as it states to do so in the Bible of my mind.
I get to work, I clock in nine minutes early. Joy. And set to work. I love this time of day, in a company of over two thousand people, this is one of the few times I’m honestly alone. Almost no one works on the weekends, and no one at all but me works this early. So it’s just me and a sea of empty cubicles.
Then it happens. The clock hit’s seven. This is that magic hour where the devil farts and other employees start rolling in. I hear the gun cocking sound of the doors opening. I look to the window in front of me which, until the sun comes up is, essentially, a mirror. I see one employee come in. Oh-no. I see the hound’s-tooth pattern jacket. I see the trademark scarf always around her neck. The flattened hair. And even more telling, that attitude. Then I realize that my supervisor is not coming in this weekend and, instead, I’m going to be working this weekend myself…under the leadership of the person I reported to HR the week prior.
Anxiety grips me as I look to see her occasionally popping up from her cubicle in the distance, glaring into the back of my head like a prairie dog that may also be an assassin. And I realize…this is just the start to my weekend.
How’s yours going?