The Morning Everything Went Wrong

I knew the day was going to be a disaster when I put my shirt on backwards. I did not realize this immediately. I walked around the house for twenty minutes wondering why my collar felt like it was trying to strangle me before finally looking in the mirror.

Fine. Easy fix.

I changed my shirt, grabbed my coffee and headed for the door. This is where things began to deteriorate. I was carrying my coffee, my phone, my keys, my bag and the confidence of someone who had learned absolutely nothing from previous experiences.

Halfway down the front steps, my shoe caught on absolutely nothing. There wasn’t a crack. There wasn’t a stick. There wasn’t even a suspicious pebble. Apparently, I had simply tripped over the concept of stairs.

My body lurched forward and my coffee went up. For one beautiful second, the cup hovered in the air like something from a slow-motion action movie. Then gravity remembered its job.

Coffee came down directly onto me. Not a splash. Not a drizzle. The entire thing.

I stood frozen on the sidewalk, dripping coffee, while my neighbor quietly scraped ice from his windshield. He looked at me. I looked at him.

“Morning,” he said.

“Don’t.”

He returned to scraping.

I went back inside, changed my shirt for the second time and made another coffee. This should have been the moment I accepted defeat. Instead, I thought, “Well, at least the worst is over.”

The universe heard me.

Never say that.

I got into the car and placed my coffee carefully in the cup holder. Then I dropped my keys between the seat and the centre console. You know that little gap? The portal to another dimension where coins, French fries and hope go to die?

I reached down. Couldn’t find them. I reached farther. My hair caught on the gearshift. Now I was bent sideways across the driver’s seat with my head trapped near the console.

Someone walking their dog passed my car. We made eye contact through the window. I smiled. There was no way to explain this.

Eventually, I retrieved my keys and drove to work. When I arrived, I stepped out of the car and immediately caught my bag strap on the emergency brake.

The bag stayed in the car.

I did not.

I was violently yanked backward, and my coffee launched from my hand.

Again.

This time it hit the pavement. The lid popped off. Coffee exploded everywhere.

I stared at it.

“That was your warning,” I whispered to myself.

I walked toward the building. There were three steps. I made it up two. On the third, I tripped. Again.

I stumbled forward, windmilled my arms and somehow managed not to fall. A coworker standing by the door witnessed the entire performance.

“You okay?”

“Physically?”

She hesitated.

“Yes.”

“Then technically, yes.”

Inside, I decided I needed breakfast. I bought a muffin. Surely I could handle a muffin.

I peeled back the wrapper, took one bite and dropped it. The muffin hit the floor. Top down.

Of course.

I stared at it. My coworker stared at it. Neither of us spoke.

Finally she said, “Five-second rule?”

“That muffin has seen too much.”

I threw it away.

By 10:00 a.m., I was hungry, under-caffeinated and wearing my third shirt of the day. So I made another coffee.

Coffee Number Three.

I carried it using both hands. No phone. No bag. No distractions. I walked slowly and carefully, like someone transporting a human organ.

I reached my desk.

Success.

I placed the coffee down, sat in my chair and smiled.

Finally.

Then I reached for my computer mouse and knocked the coffee over with my elbow.

It poured across my desk. I jumped up. My chair rolled backward. I stepped on the wheel. My ankle twisted. I grabbed the desk. The desk shook. A stack of papers fell. My pen cup tipped over. Pens rolled everywhere.

I bent down to grab them.

And smacked my head on the desk.

At this point, my coworker appeared in the doorway. She surveyed the scene: coffee dripping from the desk, papers everywhere, pens rolling across the floor and me crouched underneath the desk holding my forehead.

She slowly backed out of the room.

“Good choice,” I called after her.

At lunch, I decided to leave the building. Fresh air. A reset. Perhaps the universe would lose interest in me.

I stepped outside.

My shoelace was untied.

I stepped on it.

I tripped.

My sandwich flew out of my hand and landed perfectly inside a bush.

Not beside the bush.

Inside it.

I stood there staring at the shrubbery. A man walking past stopped.

“Did you just throw a sandwich into that bush?”

“No.”

He looked at the sandwich.

I looked at the sandwich.

“A bird did it.”

He nodded.

“Right.”

By 4:30 p.m., I had one goal: go home.

I packed my things, walked carefully to the car and drove straight home. No coffee. No food. No unnecessary movements.

I pulled into the driveway.

I had made it.

I stepped out, closed the door and immediately realized my bag was still inside. I reached for the handle.

Locked.

My keys were sitting on the driver’s seat.

I stared through the window at them.

My neighbor was still outside. He looked over.

“Everything okay?”

I leaned my forehead against the car window.

“No.”

He nodded.

“Still don’t ask?”

“Especially don’t ask.”

And that is how I learned an important lesson.

Some days you conquer the world.

Other days you spill three coffees, throw your lunch into a bush, trip over oxygen and lock your keys in the car.

Both count as getting out of bed. 😂

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