I don't know if I really like this whole Labor Day thing. It basically sets every worker bee up for a giant bitch slap because although you start the week off with Tuesday, it feels like more of a Monday than any day ever has. I don't know why I was misfortuned with a hearty bowl of peed-in cornflakes this morning, but I guess Karma decided to lose its knickers and go.
I woke up like any other work day... by pressing snooze at least 4 times before realizing I had a life to tend to. I opted against a shower because A. I had taken one post-sauna last night and, B. it seemed like too much work. So instead I spun a braid in my hair, threw on a dress and headed out the door on my way to take my car to the mechanic. Mind you, this was all done prior to 7 AM. What a day already. I secretly kept hoping that the Boulder wildfires would create enough smoke to cancel any/all morning commutes, but let's be honest, I'm not stupid enough to actually believe that could ever be true.
Next on my list I dropped Lois off at the mechanic, crossed my fingers hoping they wouldn't call back and offer a 10-foot rod to shove up my... bank account, and hopped on the light rail, which was actually pretty fun. Nothing like some awesome people watching opps first thing in the morning. Sure, 26ish girl-woman, Of course it's appropriate to wear a corset, jeans, Vans and your ex-boyfriend's oversized hoodie to work. There were a few nerds in grey suits and vagabonds who I considered befriending, but my senses got the best of me and I kept my distance. I don't know what it is about me that wants to ask every single homeless person why it is they wound up homeless. It's a legitimate question, right? If Diane Sawyer can ask Chaz Bono why she-he is a she-he, I can damn well ask a homeless guy where he ate his last meal.
Anyway.
I wasn't so lucky with the proverbial rod. The garage called me shortly after I got to my ball n' desk and quoted me at what I could only distinguish as my arm, both legs, liver, 1.5 kidneys, left lung and right middle finger. I excused myself into a vacant office, called my dad and cried. To add insult to injury, I ran into one of the Accounts guys who blatantly called me out on saying it was Monday... and I thought we were friends. That's when I realized I didn't like Labor Day. Nothing good comes from a Tuesday posing as a Monday.
At 6:00 I finally rolled my beer-filled-from-weekend-shenanigans ass down to the gym for a little workout + you know it... Wheel of Fortune. This may have been where my night peaked (thankfully it wasn't the only peak of the day). After Wheel (only true Wheel Watchers such as myself have the audacity to refer to our beloved show as Wheel instead of using the full name... trust me, you'll catch on in due time) I strolled through a gusty 35-mph wind toward the light rail station, then walked another 2 miles home in the dark. Every white van and '87 Chevy I passed I stopped and jabbed the air, Billy Blanks style, just in case there was someone in there thinking they could take me. Believe me they'd have another thing coming if they got one of my Billy Blanks left hooks or military kicks. No one needs to see that shit.
Now that I've been lying in bed for the better part of the night and I'm beginning to waste precious sleeping hours, I have to ask myself once again what's so great about effing Labor Day. Because if you ask me, after my first official celebration for being a grown-up with a big-girl job, all I got was a broken car, a 3-mile trek across the city, some awkward tearful moments and a dirty kitchen. Please, Hump Day, don't do me wrong.
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