The Impatient Man and His Suit

A Slow Day

I awoke unhappily the next morning to find my bed sheets damp with sweat and my alarm screaming to wake me up. Drowsily slamming my hand onto the snooze button, I pulled my legs out of bed and placed my feet on the cold floor. As my vision cleared, the events of the other night flooded my once neatly organized town of thought.

"A most unpleasant person..." I mumbled to myself.

As soon as I balanced my weight onto my feet, my head became fuzzy with pain. I had been so worked up over the confusion from the other night that it evidently made me ill. Head reeling, I trudged over to the light switch in order to better awaken my senses. But the light didn't help the process very much at all, in fact, it caused the pain in my head to pulse to such an extent, that I concluded I would be bedridden for the remainder of the day. I irritably switched the light off and walked over to my bedside where I fumbled with the phone. Dialing the number to the diner, I waited for what seemed like several minutes until a loud voice rang in my ear.

"Fish 'N Chips. Michael speaking. Our truck driver Randy 'asn't been here since last Sunday, so we haven't got any—"

Migraine pulsating, I hastily interrupted "Michael, it's only me. I've got a bug or something. I can't come in this morning... But I'll come lat—"

"A fever? Darla is gonna drive you out like a rodent if you come back later. 'Kuh, got stuck in the rain did you?" he laughed at the other end.

"You don't have to remind me," I replied, keeping the phone a good distance away from my ear.

"Anyway, better prepare ye'self for a visit from Darla," Michael yelled into the phone.

"My goodness, you needn't yell," I raised my voice a trifle, "Tell her to not trouble herself, I'll be perfectly fine here...alone in the dark." Before Michael could yell goodbye, I set the phone on its base.

Exhausted, I shuffled my way into the kitchen where the crystal ball greeted me from the table. I walked passed it, only allowing a moment's acknowledgment, and then moved on to the stove. I had trouble deciding whether I was well enough to prepare a cup for myself without spoiling it in some way.

The window over the sink displayed a sky being painted grey by the morning light;  a deep melancholy stretch of ink. As the sun struggled to make itself present behind the grey bodies of clouds, pedestrians walked glumly to work and cars outside drove through sad little puddles on the road. I quickly pulled the kettle off of the stove before it could begin whistling and turned off the gas.

My nose began to run and I realized I must have brought this illness upon myself. During the whole day prior, I secretly kept wishing that something would disrupt my monotonous life, thus producing the complete mess that I was now. Upset that I was painfully ordinary, I manifested the blonde, the rain, and consequently a fever. Completely convinced of this notion, I scorned myself.

The majority of the day was spent groaning in bed and just as my headache was beginning to let up, I forced myself to go grocery shopping. Wrapped head to toe in sweaters, jackets, and scarves, I made my way out the door and into the cold morning. The icy wind painfully filled my lungs with each breath.

I took a short walk to the little market near my apartment and sneezed on my way in. The shop was dodgy and run by the usual grumpy old cheapskate, but despite its unwelcoming appearance, it had an excellent produce selection nonetheless. Trying to make my visit fairly short, I quickly grabbed the items I needed and headed to the register. Setting them on the counter and catching a rebel milk bottle attempting to unalive itself by rolling off the edge, I was greeted by the owner. The old man looked to be in his late sixties and wore a plaid polo with a faded name tag pinned to the fabric.