Mondays are bad. We all know that. But this Monday? It was an art form.
I went out to work this morning and was taking in the view. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and suddenly, my coffee decided to stage a full-on rebellion. I had just stepped onto the subway when my to-go cup—purchased from a charmingly overpriced cafe—betrayed me. One wrong tilt, and my entire morning caffeine fix cascaded onto my shirt.
The guy next to me, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my rent, gave me a look of pure pity. "Rough morning?" he asked.
I glanced down at the Rorschach test forming on my chest. "Just a regular Monday."
By the time I got to the office, I had two choices: embrace the stain as a bold fashion statement or hide behind my desk until lunch. I went with the latter, but not before running into Harris, who, of course, noticed immediately.
"Alex," he smirked, pointing at my chest, "is that a new cologne? Eau de Failure?"
"Funny," I replied, brushing past him. "I thought your cologne was Obnoxious Overachiever."
Score one for Alex.
I sat down at my desk, trying to focus on an endless spreadsheet of numbers that meant nothing to me. My boss, Mr. Strickland, appeared like a ghost summoned by corporate misery. He didn't even glance at my stained shirt.
"Harper," he barked, dropping a stack of papers onto my desk, "we need this report finalized by EOD."
"Of course, sir," I replied, channeling all the enthusiasm of a deflated balloon.
As he walked away, I muttered under my breath, "Sure thing, your highness."
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of passive-aggressive emails, stale office coffee, and the occasional sarcastic comment from Harris. By lunch, I decided I deserved a break. That's when I met Melanie.
Melanie works in marketing, which means she's part of the shiny, creative side of the office that everyone secretly resents. She's the kind of person who can walk into a room and instantly make it brighter—or at least, that's how she seemed until she opened her lunch.
"Is that... durian?" I asked, staring at the spiky fruit on her desk.
She grinned. "Yep. Want to try some?"
"Not unless I want to get banned from public spaces," I replied, wrinkling my nose.
She laughed, and for a moment, the chaos of the morning didn't seem so bad.
But, of course, the universe wasn't done with me yet. On my way back to my desk, I managed to trip over the office Roomba, sending a stack of files flying. Harris, naturally, was there to witness it. He leaned casually against a cubicle wall, smirking like a villain in a bad rom-com.
"Smooth move, Harper," he drawled. "Thinking of switching careers to interpretive dance?"
"At least I'm multitasking," I shot back, scrambling to pick up the papers I was holding. "Tripping and filing at the same time—how's that for efficiency?"
He laughed, walking off with a theatrical shrug. I muttered something unprintable under my breath, trying not to think about the fact that the Roomba, now tangled in the wreckage, had more grace than I did.
By 3 PM, I'd managed to salvage some semblance of dignity, or so I thought. That's when Mr. Strickland returned, his face a mixture of frustration and disappointment—the kind that makes you feel like you've ruined Christmas for a child.
"Harper," he said, placing the freshly printed report back on my desk. "This formatting—what is this, amateur hour?"
I opened my mouth to reply but thought better of it. Instead, I nodded solemnly, like a soldier accepting his fate.
"I'll fix it right away," I said, though I had no idea what was actually wrong.
As the clock struck five, I finally submitted the report, grabbed my bag, and bolted for the exit. The subway ride home was uneventful, except for the guy playing an accordion who decided I looked like I needed a personal serenade. Normally, I would have ignored it, but something about the tune made me laugh—maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the day.
When I got back to my apartment, the leaky sink greeted me like an old nemesis. I collapsed onto my couch, the springs groaning in protest, and stared at the ceiling. Another Monday in the books.
But as I sat there, the chaos of the day replaying in my mind, I couldn't help but smile. Sure, I'd spilled coffee, fought a Roomba, and survived Strickland's wrath—but at least I hadn't stepped on a rake.
Small victories, I thought. Small victories.
YOU ARE READING
The Unlikely Rise of Alex Harper
Humor"The Unlikely Rise of Alex Harper" is the story of a man who can't seem to catch a break. He's not crazy-just caught in a universe that seems determined to make everything go wrong. With an eccentric cast of characters, including the perpetually clu...
