Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Definition of a Bad Day

I didn’t know what else to do.  When I called up work to tell them the alarm clock didn’t go off, I was told “Don’t bother comin in, you’re fired.” 

Contacting my parents was too humiliating.  I had burned that bridge, long ago.
I was out of smokes, too.

I had no girlfriend, anymore, if ever.  Ha!  I don’t even have ANY friends!

I didn’t have enough money to pay the rent.  Bill collectors were on my back.

I just didn’t know what else to do.   I needed a job.  I needed money. I needed a life.

And the only thing I could think of was stealing.
I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t see any other way.  How else could I get rent money, or food? 

I thought just this once.  Just once!  All I need is enough money for rent and food, until I find job and get paid.  Was that asking too much?

I’m not robbing a bank.  That’s too dangerous, with cameras and all, maybe security guards, besides I don’t need much.  I figured just a thousand. 

Grocery stores have cameras, too.

“Hey,” I could beg.  I wonder how much busking would bring in.  I’ll try it for an hour.

So there I was, standing in the middle of the street, between two rows of cars stopped at a red light.  Most people gave me their change, some gave me a buck.  Then I started to get nervous that someone might call the cops.  Maybe it’s illegal to busk.  Maybe I need a license.  I stayed anyway, until a dog snapped at my hand, when I put it in the window.  And he made the driver spill his hot coffee on my legs, too.

I added up all the change and in an hour I had $ 13.66.  That’s better than minimum wage!

But it’s no way enough.

I considered prostituting myself, but I figured then I’d really starve to death.


The only thing I could think of was stealing.  I could break into some houses and look for money, and then I’d take jewelry and stuff to pawn.    I have no choice.  Life sucks.  But life is making me do it.  I just need rent and food for a month, and by then I’ll have a job.  Any job: washing cars, bagging groceries, anything is better than nothing.

I figured I’d take the bus out of town and hit some quiet suburban houses.  It seemed like a good plan. 
And that’s what I did.  I picked a neighborhood that wasn’t too shabby, nor so prosperous that people would have alarms.  I walked down a cul-de-sac.  The last house was surrounded by woods.  There were no cars in the driveway.


I walked around the back.  The bulkhead was locked.  I went up the stairs to the deck and found the sliding glass door, unlocked.  I went in and looked around.  I opened a cookie jar hoping to find money.  There wasn’t even a cookie! 

I was looking around for something to pawn but then I thought the bus driver would notice and remember me, if I were carrying a toaster or TV.

 I could steal jewelry.  So I headed to the bedroom.  Oh-oh!  There in the middle of the bed I saw two eyes staring at me.  It was a black cat.  He was kinda, sorta big. 

He was also growling. 

Cats don’t growl.

This one did.

"Yikes", he jumped at me screaming.

I ran out of there, with that cat swiping and clawing and screeching, at me.

Whew!  That was close.  He got me good.  My leg was all scratched up.  My whole body was shaking.  I can’t do this.  I’m not cut out for it.  I decided to take the bus back.

As I waited downtown for the bus, I noticed a sign in an ice cream shop, “Help Wanted.”
Why not?  I went in and was put to work immediately. 

Soon I was in a cow costume (udders hanging down and all) standing outside, on the sidewalk, beckoning people to come in to Bessie’s Dairy. 

I didn’t mind too much.  It was a job.  I’d have cash in my hand, by the end of the day, and a promise of a job in the dairy.  It could be worse.  I could be wearing a donkey costume.  Then I’d really feel like an ass.

*picture Milker from Creative Commons


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