There are, of course, no seats on the bus as you board, and you’re pretty resentful of the Umbrella People, not only for causing such a commotion when the bus arrived, but also for not stopping the guy who took your wallet. One of them shakes his umbrella out in the aisle of the bus, splattering you even further. “Watch it… asshole,” you say under your breath, realizing it’s pretty stupid since you’re very wet already, but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being able to treat a city bus like his own personal foyer.
After finally lunging and lurching your way to Manhattan, you are able to get on the subway that takes you toward work with relative ease. You occupy your time by thinking of all the things you’d like to do if you ever caught the wallet thief. This segues into thoughts of what you’d like to do to each Umbrella Person with his/her own umbrella if given half the chance. When you finally arrive at work, you are more than an hour late.
Before your jacket is even off, you can hear your boss yelling for you. This is one of those guys who will say things like, “This is unacceptable” with pretty much everything you do for him, but will write you a glowing review just often enough to make you wonder if his last spat of verbal abuse was something you daydreamed. You slosh your way to his office.
“You think you can just roll in here late, all a mess and get water all over my floor and think I wasn’t going to notice?” he snarled. You have a wiseass answer at the tip of your tongue, but instead just settle for a smooth move that involves hanging and shaking your head at the same time. He continues, “You’d better have a very good reason for being so late - and why you didn’t pick up my latte on you way in. I had to have an intern fetch it for me! And do you know what they did? They gave me a cappuccino instead! Can you believe it?” I told him that no, in fact, I could not believe how an intern would get a drink composed of espresso, steamed milk, steamed milk foam and sugar confused with a drink that contains espresso, steamed milk, a little less steamed milk foam and sugar. Rather than explain to him how your morning had been, you then apologize and go clock in for the day.
Your morning does not go well. The wallet thief had racked up $7,000 in charges on your various credit and debit cards, and was showing no signs of stopping. You called the bank to cancel, but you couldn’t remember the password you’d set up with them when you first activated the card, and since they couldn’t prove you were who you said you were, they couldn’t authorize a card cancellation. Meanwhile, your clothes continue to hang heavy on your body, as there is no way to dry them at work, so you’re pretty much just uncomfortably damp and cold all day. Around closing time, you decide to call Sean on his cellphone to tell him there is absolutely no way, after the day you’ve had, that you can come visit him at the hospital.
“Don’t be a shit. You’re coming. The food here is terrible, and the guy in my room farts all the time. Seriously. All. The. Time.” Then he whispers into the phone, “I think that’s why they have him here.” You smile, and reluctantly agree to come visit him for a little while, and that you’ll be there shortly. “Just in time for ‘The Simpsons,’” he reminds you.
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