The worst Saturday ever

Want to know who had one of the shittiest weekends ever? The fact that I’m writing this on Tuesday night should give you an idea how shitty it was (and how much I needed to cool down from that). 

It all started on Friday …. My boss was on vacation, so we all knew we wouldn’t be getting paid until Saturday morning.  No biggie. The last time I spoke with my boss on Friday, he said “I’ll be in tomorrow morning to sign checks”. I postponed my social life until Saturday night.

I planned to sleep in on Saturday, but couldn’t because I desperately needed to do laundry. This was the beginning of the shitfest. While doing laundry, I broke a nail. Not like a sissy “I chipped the edge of my nail” type breaking. It bent and got detached from my finger and bled all over my clean clothes. I had to do the chore I hate most TWICE. Strike 1, Saturday.  I had McDonald’s for breakfast just to cheer me up, which it really didn’t.

I finally got my nail to stop bleeding and decided to go pick up my check. It was about 1 pm when I left the house. During the week, it takes me about 40 minutes to get to the office. On Saturday, it took me an hour and a half (I won’t give Saturday a strike for this because I knew it was going to take extra time). 

I got to the office at about 2:30 and BAM! CHECKS ARE NOT SIGNED. I waited about an hour for my boss to show up so I could get my check, and he never showed up. Granted, I only waited an hour.

However, during the hour, I had one of the best fights ever. Because you kind of need money to do anything fun, I decided I’d just go back home since I didn’t have a check. Ivan pulled out this gem “I want you to come over, but I don’t have enough gas to take you home and I don’t want you to take the bus home”, maybe because I was already mad, or maybe because that’s something along the lines of what my dad would say, I decided to say “okay, I’ll just go home because you don’t want me to come”.  Strike 2.5, Saturday.

I was already in a horrible mood going home, I just wanted to get home and sleep. But of course it was Lolla weekend so all the trains were packed. I missed my stop because apparently hipsters don’t know what “excuse me means”. On my way back, some evacuated Lolla goers were talking pretty loudly about how they got ticketed because they were attempting to buy tickets from a cop. It was pretty hilarious and had my Saturday ended there, it would have been perfect. 

I was almost home when the sky turned super black and would light up when there was lightning. I was hoping that I would make it home before it started pouring. But since I have horrible luck, the rain didn’t wait.  It was pouring and pouring, and every other second there the most horrible sounding thunder. I was four ‘L’ stops away from home and was just hoping that I could make it home before it got crappier outside. And my stupid train got stuck! In between 2 stations! During a storm! The train just kept rocking side to side. For a while I thought it was going to derail. Strike 3, Saturday.

The train finally started again, and I made it to my stop. As soon as the train doors opened, the rain came in and soaked me. YAY. I exited on the wrong side of the street, so I had to wait until there were no speeding cars to cross and took shelter in the vestibule on the other side of the street. My bus tracker app estimated the next bus would arrive in 30 minutes. So I waited with at least 10 other people. 

Well, I should have known better. 1) the app was extremely wrong, the bus came like in 10 minutes! And 2) no one in the vestibule was waiting for the bus, and also didn’t understand what “excuse me” meant. I decided to walk home. 

Well, it was still raining pretty hard. My book bag got a little wet, but everything inside survived (my laptop, a notepad and my little mobile internet thing). I thought finally, the day is looking up… yup, no, spoke too soon. On the last block of my walk was the straw the broke the camel’s back. The entire block was flooded! The worst thing about it was it looked like it was shallow. It wasn’t until I tried to run past the entire block that I realized it was about 4 inches deep. My running shoes got all wet and my Nike+ thing-a-ma-gig died. Strike 1,000,000, Saturday. 

I called my mom to have the door open for me. I walked in took off my soaking wet shoes and socks, dried my feet while crying and changed into my pajamas. I went to sleep, mad and hungry having not had eaten anything all day since my unsatisfying McDonald’s breakfast.