“I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there’s gum in my hair and when I got out of bed this morning I tripped on the skateboard and by mistake I dropped my sweater in the sink while the water was running and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day….” —“Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” by Judith Viorst
I read this story to my daughter a very long time ago, and it stayed with me over the years. We always had a good laugh about poor Alexander! Every time I’d have a less than stellar 24 hours, I would think about the long-suffering Alexander and his terrible day. How some days are just like that. How, now I’m older and know better, when a morning starts out like that, my experience is that you should just stay in bed for the remainder of the day, knowing what I know about the catalogue of chaos that can and will ensue.
I sleep through my alarm — or forget to set it — neither is good, because I am inclined to sleep deeply and for a long time, if there are no disturbances. I missed my morning aerobic class, which is never a good way to step forward into the hours of possibilities ahead. A bit huffy already, I realized that my brand-new knee was looking a bit puffy and feeling clonky (not a medical term!). What on earth was going on there then? Could it be that this non-athlete had pushed her new knee to the precipice of healing so that it was demanding a few days off? “Oh, looks like a swollen tendon,” says Miss Know-It-All. “Those can take a while to heal.” Well, paff to that! I strapped up the knee and carried on about my day, resolved to make up for my indolence the following morning.
I would be practical and dynamic and complete oodles of adulting tasks on this Monday that didn’t start out so well. First step is to wade through too many emails from the weekend when I didn’t check a single one. I discover a notification from Credit Karma that I have a pending “hard inquiry” on my credit report for a credit card with Capital One. Wait, what is that and why is it there? Several minutes later and I find out that someone has applied for the card in my name. A few minutes of adulting phone calls down the road and a fraud alert has been placed on my account. “You may still see a ding on your credit,” the lady tells me, not helpfully. “What do you mean? How can my credit get dinged for an inquiry that did not come from me?” “You can appeal it though?” Oh great, more time spent on hold and more minutes wasted on this day that was already not very good at all. And then she asked me if there was anything else she could do for me.
I decide that it’s time for some more caffeine, as if I wasn’t already riled up enough, and discover that the milk is sour and no one had thought to buy another gallon. How rude, I thought, even though that someone was likely supposed to be me. I was feeling pretty sour myself and I don’t care for black coffee.
I know what I would do, while I was still huffing and puffing about my stolen identity and how crafty and criminal people were these days. I would go and return my old phone to the phone shop. That would be an item I could check off my always-hefty to-do list. Husband had tried before, but then something had to be turned off on the phone at the house and that didn’t happen. I would go and deal with those folks immediately. I only have a week to drop the phone off or I would be charged a handsome $1,100 for keeping a phone I no longer wanted.
I wait in line at the phone shop. “I’m trying to drop off my old phone,” I start out meekly. He fiddles with something and then advises, “It will be an hour until that’s done, can you come back or go to another shop when it’s finished?” Like what? I had understood nothing of that. Maybe it was time to go for a drive, let my hair blow in the wind, as it were, listen to some great music. Set myself on a restart for the remainder of the day! I could drop the phone off in Salinas and buy some great bagels while I was there. That would certainly cheer things up.
I hit traffic going northbound and chug along at a snail’s pace, stopping and starting, wishing I had put gas in the car when I had the opportunity. My dash now registered the less than 50 miles remaining in the tank and we were going nowhere in a hurry. I had already endured nearly six hours of one annoyance after another. If I ran out of fuel on the freeway, I was just going to sit in my car and cry for the rest of the day.
Fortunately, that did not happen, but I was so very grateful when I reached the edge of town and could fill up my thirsty vehicle, boy that was a relief! (Sort of like finding a bathroom when you have been busting to go!) I would head on over to the phone shop in the mall and get this one thing dealt with, if I managed nothing else. Google-mapping my way to the designated shop, noting that parking karma did not seem to be onboard that day, I finally find a place to park and head over to my destination, clapping myself on the back that it wasn’t too far from the bagel shop. I could reward myself with a nice fresh bagel and all would be well in the world.
There was a large “CLOSED” sign up at the phone shop. How very annoying is that! I google-map another location across the way and, undefeated, drive over there. There is a large line out the door. I had better patiently wait, since I came all this way. I am, finally, informed that, since the hour had already passed and I had not taken the necessary steps, I would not be able to turn the phone in. I’d have to take it home again and do the thing and then take it immediately down to my local phone shop. What kind of ludicrous, mangle-fangled process was this? Oh well, I would go and get some bagels. The bagel shop closed at 3 p.m., it was 3:05 p.m. I was about ready to jump up and down with frustration. Today had been such a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Could it get any worse?
“Where have YOU been?” husband enquired, as I returned home to the house with only a dud phone still about my person and absolutely no bagels. “I thought you just went downtown to drop off the old phone? You’ve been gone for ages….”
Oh, oh, oh. I jumped on my broomstick and flew to the south-40 about ready to slap someone, likely him. I told my animals all about the day I had endured and they licked the sweat and pain off my salty skin. They felt my pain, they really did. After all, they had been without me for several hours and they had really missed me. And then I started laughing and I laughed really hard.
What a great book that is, about poor old Alexander and his rotten, lousy, stinking day — just like the one that was now in my rearview mirror. I thought it might even be good fodder for a newspaper column, so others feel less alone when they are dealing with their own terrible, horrible days. And here we are.
