Thursday, January 04, 2007

What Fresh Hell...

It started out so well. I dragged my perfectly formed ass off to the gym at the crack of dawn against my will and wound up, against all expectations, having a really good workout. I headed off to work with the 'pod cranking out some of my favorite songs, stopped at my regular morning coffee place and had my paper cup handed to me before I could get the money out of my wallet. Service with a smile. The commuting gods were smiling on me as I came down the stairs and walked straight onto a train.

It was all a cruel joke. I didn't even make it through the door before I heard someone calling my name. I spent the rest of the day hearing my name. The problem with being the go-to guy at work is that people go to you. And on days like today, they all show up in shifts, all with a bad case of the "I wants"oblivious to the line forming behind them. Some days it can be very rewarding. You feel like you have helped people out, job well done, you're a good man Charlie Brown. On days like today when they gang up on you, you wind up fantasizing about scorpion pits.

5 o'clock finally arrived and I bee lined out the door. The walk home was no improvement as SUV's demonstrated that traffic lights do not apply to them and cyclists on the Mass. Ave. bridge who refuse to ride in the bike lane sped down the sidewalk, impatient with the damned pedestrians who persist in using the pedestrian walkway. Once again safely on the Boston side of the river I am then harried by Mommies with those SUV's of the sidewalk and the store aisle, the stroller the size of a Buick sedan as they perambulate their spawn, forcing everyone out of their path by the shear force of their entitlement. By the time I get home I am cursing anything on wheels.

As I check my mail, there is a mystery envelope from my friend Clint. He has sent me some crack and peel reproductions of some stamps that were a feature of the book "Going Postal" which he Photoshoped into some snazzy stamp sizes, suitable for decorating envelopes (do we ever really get out of 5th grade) and for the first time since I stepped off the train this morning I had a smile on my face. I got in the house and gave him a call to thank him, and the conversation drifted around to other topics, and finally he said "Oh, I checked out your blog, I didn't know you even had one." (I suffer from blog shame) But I had told him that I had been linked by that blogger, and so he checked my blog out. "Yeah, I read the whole thing." I asked what Clint thought with a bit of trepidation. He is cursed with honesty, and is not going to hand out praise if he doesn't like something. "I didn't know you could write", says he "Very slick."

Okay, maybe the day wasn't such a complete waste.