Numbers one and two happened to me. I have no comment on numbers three and four.
The premise of these next couple posts is pretty straightforward. There are things that happen to you on a Monday, and only on a Monday. While the stories remain untouched, I have changed the names of others to protect them from scrutiny (save my own).
1. Bring a change of clothes after a morning gym session. Pack two left-foot shoes.
I went to the gym before work on a Monday once. For some mysterious reason it totally fucked shit up in my karmic balance…
I get off the bike machine feeling more refreshed, proud and wide awake than I had on a Monday morning in… well, ever. After taking a
shower I strut to my locker, ready to put on my fresh clothes and seize the day.
I take one shoe out of my gym bag and casually toss it on the floor as punishment. Stupid shoe. You go on last. Don’t try to get cute and sneak your way to the top of the bag. KNOW YOUR ROLE.
I continue to get dressed, leaving the obedient shoe as the sole (pun not intended; I need to use that word here) remnant in my bag. I gently place it next to its counterpar…
That’s when I realize my grave mistake, and the realization paralyzes me in fear. On the floor in front of me, taunting me like Death’s scepter, are TWO LEFT-FOOT SHOES.
What have I done?? Blood of panic rushes to my head. They don’t even look alike! One’s all shiny brown leather, reflecting light like a brilliant star in the sky. The other is this dull, beat-up suede shoe that just kind of sinks in on itself, looking like a scarecrow’s hat in late November, which also happens to be filled with old smelly mud for some reason. It should have been in the trash years ago. I keep it for the same reasons psychotic old ladies keep their dead cats.
This was the level my brain was operating at a couple hours earlier, when I was packing my bag after getting out of bed. Not only did I pack two left-foot shoes. I packed two that have absolutely no resemblance to each other.
What do I do? I can’t even contort one of the left-foot shoes into a makeshift right-footer, because A) That would be really uncomfortable; B) People would look at me funny in the office as I limp by, and I would probably crash into everything in the attempt to save my balance, giving some smart-ass the opportunity to make the joke of the day by saying “This guy LITERALLY has two left feet!!” YUK YUK YUK; and C) The two shoes still look NOTHING ALIKE.
Do I wear no shoes, and tell people I’ve recently developed a love for patchouli? Do I just wear my socks? I am wearing an excellent pair of socks. Steve Jobs only wore socks in the office, right? Right?? I would have that going for me. Do I just go home and call it a day?
All the while, I know that the unfortunate answer to my problem is right behind me, stashed stinkily in my locker. The dreaded gym shoes.
It’s the only resolution, and I turn the knob on my gym lock like Sean Penn with a goatee.
I put on the beastly grey-green Asics, still damp, and walk out of the gym in disgust. My best Monday ever taking a horrible, grisly turn.
(There’s a nice epilogue to my tale. After leaving the gym I ran over a nail, popping my tire. As I was putting on the spare the skies opened up and began to downpour on me and my stink-ass gym shoes. It took me about 45 minutes to change the tire because I had never done it with this car before. So I got to work late, smelling, and covered in rain and grease; a look I normally reserve for Casual Fridays.)
2. Knock over the box of Munchkins the nice lady in Web Design bought for her team.
Kharmi Deswali is a wonderful lady. Every Monday morning she gets up a half hour early, and after having made sure her kids get on the bus safely and her husband has his lunch all packed and ready to go, she drives to Dunkin’ Donuts. While at Dunks’ she buys a box of Munchkins for the entire 12-person Web Design team. She knows every team member’s favorite flavors, and doubles down on the chocolate glaze for Randy, whose stomach is beginning to resemble a Munchkin. It is her own special way of making sure everybody’s week gets off to a great start . All those for whom she cares know her as an angel of the highest order.
Little did Kharmi know that, on this particular Monday morning, her selfless deeds would be destroyed by the groggy Godzilla-King Kong combo known as me.
Just so you know- my spatial awareness is horrible. I bump into walls at such an alarming rate that I would opt to wear a protective helmet in a second if the world would truly accept me for the flawed beauty I am. This “problem” is compounded by a factor of eight on Monday mornings.
With this in mind, you can probably imagine my worry when I saw the box of Munchkins sitting precariously on the top of the side of Kharmi’s cube, straddling the edges like a daring hiwire act.
(For what it’s worth- this is probably the most ill-advised placement of Munchkins in the history of Munchkins. Nay, of all donuts in general. The
ancient Medieval Monks, with little to no knowledge of the laws of physics, would have never placed baked goods in a spot which they could so easily tumble. It was an accident waiting to happen. Not making excuses, but Kharmi’s own decision making process has to be SERIOUSLY questioned as well.)
Avoiding her desk like the plague, I thought I was in the clear. It was only after passing that I heard the crash of the cardboard box atop the carpeted ground, and the rumble of the munchkins as they ejected out.
I turned around and saw dozens of munchkins, little sugary droplets of shame, sprawled out on the carpet. Alas, there would be no five-second rule in play here.
A girl walking by, who saw the entire tragedy unfold, laughed out loud, causing three random IT guys to pop their head over their cubes to see what I had done. Randy slowly rose from his seat, looked down at the Munchkin massacre, and froze in frustration. I could see the smoke coming out of his ears.
And then there was Kharmi. Poor Kharmi. She did not say a word to me; she barely even glanced in my direction. But for the moment that she and I locked eyes, I knew the full extent of what I had done. And it was a sin for which I will never repent.
Web Design would not have their Munchkins that morning. Their week would not receive the familiar boost upon which they had grown to rely. Randy would endure the entire morning hungry and depressed, swearing vengeance as he chomped disappointingly on some pop-tarts from the vending machine. But, as I offered countless apologies to everyone within my vicinity while rushing to usher in each stray munchkin covered in shoedirt and residue back into their box, some cruel folks still chuckling at my misfortune, it was to a higher power (Mother Teresa and/or Kharmi) that I looked for forgiveness.
The Munchkin Massacre, A.K.A the day I made an angel cry.
Part two to be continued next week, maybe even sooner, YOU’LL HAVE TO FIND OUT…