It just wasn’t Don’s day. When he got up in the morning, he knocked his watch from the nightstand and then stepped down on it with his heel, shattering the bezel and ruining the watch. He also got a chunk of the crystal shoved into his heel and that hurt like nobody’s business. When he made his morning coffee, the top fell off of the carafe and drenched him from sternum to crotch with scalding coffee. As he backed his car from the garage, something in the opener malfunctioned causing the garage door to shut on the car roof, tearing the door loose from the rails. When he got to work the door was locked and a notice explained that the company was out of business and the owners would “try” to arrange at least partial payment of wages owed. Eventually. The good news was that when he returned home and checked his email, a Nigerian lawyer wrote that he would give Don ten million dollars if he would help his client, a deposed king, smuggle 200 million out of the country. All he had to do was provide his bank account number in a return email. He might have given thought to it had the preceding email not been a notice that his bank account was overdrawn.
Don sighed and considered his existence and the meaning of life. It took him no time to conclude that his god had a malicious sense of humor and there was no point to life save making the sociopathic deity laugh. He gave thought to suicide but recalled that the police had confiscated his pistol just last week after an unfortunate accidental discharge in Wal Mart that ricocheted off of a sporting display, dropping a fiberglass kayak on the store’s eighty year old greeter. Fortunately, the old man was only shaken up a little from the experience, which, due to onset of Alzheimer’s was shortly erased from his memory. The store elected not to press charges since the greeter could still say “Welcome to Wal Mart,” but they did request that Don shop elsewhere in the future.
He was standing in front of his house when a pair of clean cut looking young men in matching dark blue suits peddled up to him on bicycles. They asked him if he was satisfied with his life and he again regretted the loss of his pistol. But he confessed to the pair that no, he wasn’t very satisfied with life and asked them if they knew anything about fixing garage doors. They said no, that they weren’t trained in home repair, but they did know the meaning of life. Commenting that he did too, Don asked them to leave and went back to studying his garage door. Moments later, his attention was taken by a loud feline cry and the sound of barking dogs. Seemingly out of nowhere, a gray tiger striped cat leaped onto his leg and made good use of its claws to climb up his body to perch on his shoulder. Four dogs showed up next and kept leaping up and snapping their jaws at the cat and, coincidentally, Don’s face. Fortunately, they were only medium sized dogs and couldn’t actually reach Don’s face, but they could and did rip his shirt off in their attempts to get the cat which was holding on so tightly that its claws punctured Don’s clavicle. He waved his hands at the dogs and yelled at them, or in pain from the damage the cat was inflicting. Whichever it was, the dogs gave up on their attempts to have a cat lunch and ran off to find another victim.
The cat was looking pretty ragged; it was skinny and looked unkempt and sickly. He took it inside to feed it and give it some water, managing to slam his hand in the front door as he tried to stabilize the cat and close the door at the same time. Once inside, the cat hopped off of Don’s shoulder and toured his living room, pausing to spray each piece of furniture it encountered. Unhappy with the turn of events, he tried to catch the cat and put it back outside, but it easily evaded the limping, bleeding and disheveled Samaritan. Exhausted, Don limped into his bedroom and fell on the bed. He rested his forearm over his eyes and tried to relax. Maybe a nap. He didn’t get to decide on the nap or not because at that very moment, an undetected aneurysm popped in his brain, killing him instantly.
The moral of this story is whenever you’re having a really bad day, chances are good someone’s having one that’s worse.