The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Preceded by a weekend where I was unable to travel to Hong Kong due to my own forgetfulness and obtuse-icity, I endured one of the most defeating days I've encountered in my working life. This day is entirely odd because my feeling of complete defeat did not come from loud noises, surprise work obligations or the gremlins that take control of the 'lil stinkers that make up my class. It was a Monday, which is a shame because I like my Mondays so much.

Thing started on the wrong foot when I found my clean underwear had not dried overnight on the line. After a hasty (and I do mean hasty) attempt to dry them with an iron, I was forced to don my moist clothes and embark on a new week. I had taken my saxophone to school, as I usually do on Mondays, and things began to unravel from that point onwards.

Arriving at the school, I usually go to the 3rd floor office (I have an office desk in addition to using a classroom that I share with a Chinese teacher) to grab my plans and any things a secretary/admin will leave me from time to time. The doors to said office are tall and heavy glass doors that swing easily the first 75% of the way, and then prove to be quite stubborn. I reach the office with saxophone in hand, and apply the sufficient amount of force that allows me to slip through before it quickly closes behind me. Only today, I don't slip through quite so easily. My sax catches on the long door handle while I'm halfway through and jerks me to a sudden halt (a distressed 'UMPH' may have come out). Now, I'm mentally committed on getting through this doorway because there is no way that I'm going go out and 'try again'. That would admit defeat, and that cannot be permitted.  I am also physically committed because my entire left side is in the office and I am kind of unable squeeze back through the now much smaller opening. My response to this situation is to power through and force open the door, which at this point is at that 75% marker where it refuses to go any further without warranting a sufficient shove that may endanger coworkers or office materials. As a result, I am now pinned between my saxophone, and the doorway, my arms either committed to holding an instrument or lodged themselves. I can't go back, I can't go forward. I simply can't even.

Grunts and curses are uttered, coworkers turn to look, I'm becoming increasingly disruptive and noisy as I helplessly shake my saxophone to try and dislodge it while trying to push the door open with no free hands. More coworkers are now watching, some distressed, as I twist and shove more vigorously. Teachers are now behind me waiting to enter the office, watching the back side of someone shaking in the doorway with no visual explanation as to why. At this point, I've become aware of the fiasco that is unfolding and decide avert eye contact with anyone and give 'er the full brunt of my feeble morning strength. I finally manage to push (now using my face fore extra force) the door open just enough for the rest of me to stumble through, my freed saxophone case banging on the doorway with a thud as the final, previously oblivious coworkers turn to witness my seemingly endless struggle. 

This was before the kids even arrived...

Period two was computer class. I usually dread computer class because there is always some new surprise lurking in the lesson that will rear its head and derail the entire class. Some days it's that one of the computers won't turn on. Other times it might be that one of the students can't remember their login and needs to get to their files but can't because they forgot like the little turkeys they are. This past Monday, however, was going suspiciously smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that I let my guard down. FIRST MISTAKE OF LIFE STUART.

I go to help one of my students at the computers, and to do this I get down to their level because nobody likes someone three times your size towering over you trying to tell you to learn things the right way. So I'm crouched beside Kiddo #1 who needs help navigating microsoft paint (No, I'm not training a small team of MS Paint animators so my 'FantasticFeenstra Promotions' side business can be outsourced to China-Not-China upon my departure, but that's a very interesting idea...). I send him in the right direction with a polite version of "literally look at the board and read the instructions" and an encouraging pat on the shoulder (see picture below), only to hear another high-pitched "MISTER STEWWURT" coming from across the room. I respond by springing up to try and find the source of the cry for help, only my phone, which is sitting in my breast pocket of my favourite purple shirt (that happens to match my favourite purple tie) catches on the lip of the table I was previously crouched against. 

With a sudden "rrrRRRTTZZ" my chest becomes a little cooler and my spirits sink a little lower when I look down to find a gaping hole. It's 10 am. I now have to continue at school for another 6 hours wearing the evidence that many have suspected from my earlier ordeal in the doorway; I am a dingus.  


The onslaught perpetrated towards my clothing didn't stop there. I even got pen on my tie, luckily it wasn't my favourite purple tie that I had forgot to iron (that is an entirely other planet of 'things I should take care of but simply cannot'), but now I don't know what to do with this tie I paid real money for but only used for a grand total of THREE times (yes I try to keep track of how many times I wear my ties because I like a good variety of ties because it's FUN OKAY).

I was even invited out to dinner with a pair of friends, only to embarrass myself and others with a relentless tide of rude table manners in the form of spilling beer, spitting food and being a butt in a public space. I will save you (and myself) from that story.

Now it's mid-October and I'm running out of money and my OSAP loans are almost due.
Did I mention that I've had a fish bone stuck in my throat for a week and a half now? It doesn't bother me as much as it used to but it's still chilling out, jabbed into my neck-tube esophagus and waiting to be dealt with. "But Stuart you should really have th-" SHHHH. I'll take care of it when I can be bothered, and I am also hoping I can just have a big bite of something and hope it goes away. Perhaps I'll visit the hospital this coming Wednesday when I've got the day off. Thank all things good in the world for days off during the working week. 
Watching the office off-and-on since September, I am slowly coming to the realization that I am very much like Michael Scott. A man who's life is both propelled and hampered by a relentless stream of barely-manageable crises. Much like Michael Scott, a bit of luck, a handy favour, and the rare grain of clever thinking lets me continue to the next day relatively intact. Perhaps if you send a letter my way (or at least your address) I can share some of the other many stories that come along with being the kind of hopeless person that I am. The next batch of letters will be sent in only a short time.