I Had A Bad Day

Daniel Powter

Yesterday was one of those days that I have about every 10 years. A day when everything small and inconsequential goes wrong.

It all began with a piece of toast with raspberry preserves. I took one bite and one of the little raspberry nuggety things got caught between a bottom tooth and a top tooth and I heard my teeth scrape together like two fenders rear ending. As one side of my head fell to the disgusting rental linoleum I did the Medical Tongue Test. If the softest part of my body can’t feel it, then I must be okay. My tongue burst into flames and started crying for its mommy.

But I had no time to call 911 because I had a doctor’s appointment at 11:00 a.m. in Korea town. I decided that because I only had two dollars on me, I would take my Jar ‘O Change to a Coin Star machine because just buying something and asking to get cash back at the supermarket apparently isn’t enough of a challenge for me. I parked in the underground parking lot of a Ralph’s, hiked the two miles to the machine, read the instructions and pushed the green button. Nothing. I pushed it again and again until I noticed a sign that said it didn’t work. A small eensy sign that only leprechauns could read. I trekked back to my car and drove down to Korea town, constantly looking in the rearview mirror to see if a thief had spied my stash and was following me.

Ten minutes away from the doctor’s I saw another Ralph’s. I went in, exchanged the coins and took my piece of paper to the checkout area. I thought “Watch all the lanes be full of people who have coupons and don’t speak English.” Being a devotée of The Secret I recognized what I was doing. If I continued to think things would get worse, they would. And of course they did because The Secret always works.

There were no Express checkout lanes so I settled upon the shortest queue, four women with two thousand items each. Since I got my Standing In Line degree in New York City I bullied the first two into letting me jump ahead and decided to let the third woman alone. I’m nothing if not fair. And then I noticed that the shopper who was checking out had handed the checkout lady a stack of coupons. And the checkout lady was patiently explaining in English that some of the coupons were not for the right amount of goods while the Spanish speaking customer kept saying, “No comprende.” I left the line and found another one with only three people in it. The woman in front of me saw that I had nothing but a slip of paper in my hand and she generously waved me ahead. I will find her again one day and propose.

One of the two girls ahead of me declared to her friend, “I bought the cutest dress yesterday. It has an umpire waist.” I resisted the urge to say, “Did you buy it off an L.A. Dodger?” because I was afraid she would beat me up and make me even more late for the doctor’s because it was a very, very bad day.

I finally retrieved my money and got back to my car with two minutes to get to the doctor. But I couldn’t leave well enough alone. “What if I can’t find parking? What if I forget how to write and can’t sign in? What if the doctor had a stroke and was rushed to the ER?”

I pulled into the parking lot and there was no parking. I drove down to P3, which is next to Antarctica on a map of the world, and ran for the elevator. It didn’t come because now my head voice was screaming “This day is going to suck for 48 hours and Dr. Rhee is going to have to amputate my foot if he gets out of the ER alive and then he won’t have any morphine and I’m going to die in Korea town. What will happen to all my right shoes? Can I get a refund for all my right shoes? WHO IS GOING TO LOVE ALL MY LONELY RIGHT SHOES?”

I burst into the doctor’s office, signed in and sat down. The first time I went to Dr. Rhee’s I brought magazines to read since I didn’t think I’d find Elle Décor in a Korean doctor’s office and of course I went right in. I did the same thing the second time and I went right in. But this time I brought nothing so of course I had to wait.

“Sujee Sowo?” I stood up and followed a nurse who escorted me to a room I’d never been in. The Amputation Room, obviously. Her English was poor and I decided to fuck with her because my tooth was turning black and I was about to lose a perfectly manicured foot.
“Beautiful necklace.”
“My retard boyfriend the pimp gave it to me.”
“Ahhh, veddy nice.”
“Yeah, he murdered my parents and I was glad.”
“Nice, nice.”
“I’m going to come back here later tonight with El Quaeda and blow this place up.”
“Goooood, veddy good.”

Smiling, she exited. I waited ten minutes for the doctor and I’ve never waited more than two minutes before but this is because this was a very, very bad day. When Dr. Rhee finally examined my foot he said, “Well of course it hurts, you’re walking wrong.”

Walking wrong. What am I, only using one leg? Turning my feet backwards? Wearing shoes made out of Jell-O and lug nuts?

I came home and ate chocolate.

End of whining chat.

Dear Homeland Security, I have no connections to the terrorist group I mentioned. I'm your garden-variety irreverent comedian. And I have a friend who works for you and can vouch for my assholishness. Assholability? Asshology? See? I'm an asshole. Larry David can vouch for me as well.