On the Road Again

Chapter 4

You know when you have those days and you're certain that they're going to be bad right from the start? Well today was definitely one of those days.

I wake up to my cat's fur basically in my mouth. Sam feels my breathing and wakes up. He climbs on and over my face and jumps onto the floor. I flip onto my stomach and turn on my phone. The screen blares right into my eyeballs causing me to enormously regret the decision of turning up my iPhone brightness fully last night. I squint and see that the time is nine o'clock. NINE O'CLOCK?!?!! I was meant to be at work two hours ago!

I quickly roll out of bed and fall straight onto Sam. This earns me a nice claw mark across the face. I stumble towards my closet whilst trying to rip off my pyjamas. Let's just say my coordination fails me big time and I have to spend at least a minute unbuttoning the front of my shirt before I can move on to opening my closet. I hurriedly pull on my uniform and scurry downstairs.

I snatch my black cap off the banister and fasten it to my head. I raid the fridge and find the remains of a take-away iced coffee and a sandwich. After deciding that this is good enough, I throw it into a plastic container and shove it into my satchel. As I rush over to the door, I blow Sam an air-kiss, but obviously still traumatised from certain previous events, he lets out an ear piercing screech.

I slam my front door shut and begin to run down the hallway. That is before I am stopped by Mrs. Buglestamp, my decrepit next door neighbour.

"WHAT IN THE BLAZES ARE YOU DOING MAKING SUCH A RACKET LIKE THAT?!?!" She screams into my face, flecks of her spit showering all over me.

"I'm so sorry." I reply trying to escape the situation as fast as possible. I try to cut around her but she blocks me.

"YOU BET YOUR SORRY, YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO GET MY LITTLE TIMMY TO GO TO SLEEP!?! HE'S BEEN HAVING DIGESTIVE PROBLEMS!! AND THEN YOU AND THAT CAT OF YOURS JUST THINK YOU CAN THUMP AROUND AND SCREAM!! I WON'T HAVE IT!!" She yells. My mind mentally gags. Digestive problems? I see a little black and white dog appear beside Mrs. Buglestamp's ancient legs.

"LOOK! SEE! HE'S AWAKE NOW!!" She shrieks, pointing down to the dog. My brows furrow.

"I thought Timmy was a human." I mumble, thankful that Mrs. Buglestamp is a user of hearing aids. Timmy's head lunges forward in an action that can only mean he was preparing to give way to some food. After quickly ushering Timmy back inside, Mrs. Buglestamp glares at me.

"I'm expecting you to make it up to him." She says her voice low in a threatening way. I nod in agreement, and behind her I can see an analog clock that notifies me that she has spent five minutes rambling on about Timmy. When Mrs. Buglestamp has her back turned to attend to her dog's "needs", I make a mad rush for the stairs. I hear her faint voice yell something at me once I get to the bottom, but I am already late enough and don't care to listen.

I run over to the rusty bike rack where normally my retro, red bike with a basket secured to the front is chained. But today it isn't. I frantically look around in search of my bicycle. Then it dawns on me. My bike has been stolen. I huff and adjust the strap of my satchel. Why today? Out of all days, my bike gets stolen the day I am late for work! Argh!

"Looks like I'm walking," I sigh, knowing that this dilemma has just added another half hour to my lateness.

I start on my way and of course get stuck by an amazingly slow group of walkers who just happen to be touring around the city at this very moment.

"Tour groups are the worst." I groan, trying to cut through the sea of tourists. I continue my voyage to work when I drop my satchel. This really is just a joyous blessing because as I bend down to grab it, a little girl with blonde piggy tails trips over and spills her orange juice all over the front of my pristine white shirt. And just to top it all off, the bottom of my cup of iced coffee had snapped from the impact of hitting the ground and it is now proceeding to drench my entire satchel. The little girl's mother apologises profusely. I assure her that it's fine, but it really isn't.