The worst day in your life
My worst day.
It’s some years back, during summer-vacation, when I was forced to take a job at the main post-office here in Copenhagen. I lived together with four other people in a flat down-town, with the tiniest yard in the history of architecture, with the smallest gate, to get your bike out on the street.
This particular day I over-slept. I hurt my hand badly struggling to get my bike out, into a grey overcast day. My boss was this toad-looking woman, whose idea of being in charge was yelling at everyone in sight, her second-in-command this tiny little old man, who always wore a grey coat and smelled like old cheese.
I worked in the cantina, and this day almost everyone else seemed to have decided to stay home sick, so those who were there spend the day vertical.
I happened to drop some dressing on the floor, but since I both had to fill the milk, and manage the cash-register, I didn’t have time to clean it, so most of the day I had the cheese-smelling grey-coat chasing me around, asking me when I’d clean it (it would’ve been faster if he did it of course).
On my way home my bike got a flat tire, so I had to leave it and get the bus. It got stuck in massive traffic-jam, due to an accident, and I of course got to sit opposite one of those weird cases, who thinks it’s the epitome of life to stare, constantly, un-blinking at hapless young women hoping they’ll get scared.
Getting home I broke the key in the front-door. My room-mates cat had decided to use my bed as it’s toilet. I packed my bag to go to archery, which had been cancelled.
I got back home in a terrible mood, and decided to write the day down. Which is why I remember it.