Just Another Day

April 6, 2011
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The man in the car was not angry. Flying around the speed-limit abiding vehicles on the interstate, blasting the radio to an unfamiliar station, he was absolutely and positively fuming.
His troubles had all started the previous morning, when the old Toyota pickup he always drove to work had refused to start. After much swearing and failed attempts to resuscitate the engine, he eventually had to call the auto shop and take the bus to work.
Work didn’t fare much better than the Toyota. The man arrived at the flashcube building a half hour late only to find that his highly incompetent coworker accidentally wiped his computer’s hard drive using only a donut and a cup of decaf. Consequently, the important presentation he was supposed to deliver to the business execs was thoroughly botched.
At lunchtime the man took the bus again to eat at Arby’s. Ordering food was harmless enough, and he walked out of the restaurant content, bag in hand, a positive paradigm brainwashing his mind. This quickly shifted when a particularly grubby hobo made off with his uneaten lunch. He had only enough money to use the bus, so he went hungry for that meal.
The rest of the afternoon was uneventful enough until he arrived back at the house, where his wife was not waiting at home for him with a steaming and not stolen dinner ready. Her cell was turned off, and the only explanation was a sticky note stuck on the front door conveying that she would not be home for a while and that he should fix his own d*mn dinner.
The man did not possess a knack for cooking. A singed mustache and a garbage can full of burnt macaroni later, he decided to have some cold cereal, an apple, and a beer and go to bed.
The next morning his wife showed up as he was departing for work. She had had to spend to night at the office because a work friend had some domestic emergency pop up and needed to get blood out of her clothes and off her shoes. The man was not so understanding, so after much bickering and calling of names, he drove to work in his replacement car: a baby pink BMW beetle.
Following getting fired from his job because the presentation he ‘lost’ cost his company a number of grants and tax credits, he received a phone call from his wife stating that she would be leaving him because he took advantage of her and didn’t love her anymore. And that she had been having an affair with the paperboy for the last six months and would be living with him and having his child who would either be named Percival or Moonshine. This was evidently the reason he had gotten a free subscription to the local newspaper.
So here he was, a road raged individual driving like a homicidal maniac.
Later that day, the pink car was found parked in the driveway, its fenders scratched and bent at awkward angles. The man was seen dozing on the couch and everything seemed to be in perfect order, but a pile of dirt sat in the front lawn, and the mailbox was nowhere to be found.





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