Posted by: Jeremiah Graves | October 25, 2008

My Friday Morning

I’m not exactly a morning person.

I’m not saying that I can’t be quite energetic and very personable in the A.M. What I am saying is that I have a tendency to be a little slow in the “waking up” and “being productive” departments.

So I was quite shocked when I jumped out of bed Friday morning full of piss and vinegar. Okay…really it was just one of them…and after I peed, none of them. However, I was all kinds of amped to start my day. I was ready to barrel out of the apartment full throttle and be a real rockstar at work.

Instead I got hit by a car.

Well, not hit so much as bumped, but either way it was very unpleasant. Let me paint the scene for all ya’ll.

I’ve left the apartment by roughly 8:30; I’m totally going to be on time and productive. I’m walking down the street on a gorgeous morning with the sounds of Miley Cyrus Motley Crue blasting in my iPod. I see a little old lady sitting with the front of her car nudged into traffic waiting to pull out and a car behind her in the driveway. I start to saunter on by in between the two cars when the little old hits the gas and rams into my right leg with her bumper. She then hits the breaks—thankfully—and proceeds to spin her torso around and scream at me, flailing her tiny arms like some sort of coked-out T-Rex. Then without warning, she gives me the finger, spins around and hauls ass out into traffic and disappears.

It’s at this moment that I think to myself “whatthefuck?!”

It’s not everyday that I nearly get run over by a geriatric and then promptly get chewed out for it. I look over my shoulder at the dude who was walking behind me and he has the same befuddled “whatthefuck?!” look that I do. He checks to see if I’m alright and I assure him that I am. The driver of the car that was waiting for the psychotic Masshole to pull into traffic gets out and asks if I’m okay…also whilst sporting the suddenly very en vogue “whatthefuck?!” look. I again assure that I am fine and everyone carries on with their morning.

I get no more than another block into my journey when I see a man pointing at me from across the street and carrying what appears to be a map. I know that no good can come from this, but I keep walking. He again points at me and then begins waving his arms, so I pause whatever assuredly manly hard rock song is playing and pluck out my earbuds. He then asks me—in a very thick, hard to understand Russian accent—“how do I get to the mall?!”

Apparently he has printed off a small map from Google and is pointing to where he needs to go. Logic would say—follow the map. I, however, spend ten full minutes explaining to him where he needs to go to catch the shuttle bus. Finally after repeating it roughly sixteen times, he is able to repeat it back to me and I assume I can leave.

“What…do….about….my…truck?!” he stammers as I’m preparing to leave.

He then informs me that he is driving the gigantic delivery truck that is poorly parked about a half-block away. So then I spend another seven minutes trying to give him driving instructions and showing him which streets he should take on the map…again I feel we’ve reached a point where I’m a free man, albeit a free man who is now going to be late for work.

I attempt to leave and he then asks me where the loading docks are located and I just tell him that I don’t know and he’ll have to check with someone when he gets there. He nods as though he totally understands and is prepared to finish his sojourn and carry on to the mall. Except that he doesn’t. No, instead he flags down the next guy who walks by and starts asking him about the mall. Apparently my instructions were not significant and he’d like an opinion from someone else.

Roughly five minutes later I finally made my way into the library. At this point, however, my productivity mojo was completely depleted and I was more in the mood to spend my morning sucking down energy drinks and using my technological savvy to create propaganda for the yet-to-be written Ghostbusters III.

The morale of this story is simple, my friends. If you’re not a morning person—but you suddenly get the urge to be one—fight it! Fight it at all costs. There is a reason you’re not a morning person. For some it’s simply that they function better later in the day. For others it’s because they don’t get enough sleep. For me it’s because old ladies and crazy Russians are out to make sure that I won’t get to work on time and when I finally do get there I’ll be so off my game that I struggle to properly check out books.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Categories

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 167 other followers

%d bloggers like this: