Mourning my morning

Missing the train by seconds gives me time to curse, swear, and stomp my feet, then thoroughly critique my morning. Forgetting 20 minutes of alarms, I place the blame on three moments:

  • The neighbors’ phone drove me on a frantic search for my own, only to find it in my hand.
  • I gave my facial hair 3-minute pep talks both before and after my shower. I fear the hairs will only further rebel.
  • I was feeling too-cool-for-school to run for the train, even though everyone else did. They made it.

People need conclusions and scapegoats. I’m glad I found mine.



They put me in a corner, by the freight elevator, and told me to answer the phone. Soon it rang, so I picked up.

It didn’t go well. There was a voice on the other end, but I couldn’t hear it over the elevator.

Soon I had a steady paycheck, so I kept going, listening to the little voices, never quite hearing them.

Then one day I missed the call. It rang twice, then stopped.

They didn’t fire me. I quit.

Now I’m making calls to a freight company. No matter how loud I yell, they can never hear me.