Ever had a day that was so bad it deserved its own twenty-minute rant, Punk’d episode and film script? This day’s infamy will probably only go down in your blog, secret diary or dorm room rants – not history. So what is the purpose of the “worst day of your life,” if not Instafame? A good laugh.
One sunny spring day, I woke up as eager as a kid hopped up on Coca Cola to start my long trek to see an on-campus speaker event. And it wasn’t just any old speaker. Former first lady Rosalyn Carter would be in the house. So, duh, I scheduled the event weeks ahead of time. I even attended a bunch of required classes (like the good Gator girl I am) to ensure my spot at this much sought-after event.
I started my day at Dunkin Donuts because DD is the perfect place to begin any worthwhile journey. Drooling like a German shepherd with a sweet tooth, I ordered only to have the first of many dreams crushed. They were out of my favorite donuts and I was stuck with regular glazed ones. Not letting a pastry ruin my day, I headed to the speech with a heart-shaped doughnut that a worker slipped in for free hidden in my paper sack. After a quick bus ride, I rode up to the venue like a broke queen.
Already a line that could win a Guinness World Record formed outside of the double doors. After receiving my ticket , the woman behind the register said, “Backpacks and other bags aren’t allowed.” No problem, I assured myself, thinking that my backpack would just be inspected by employees, safely tucked away into a corner and then I would be allowed to listen to the speaker in doughnut heaven.
The gruff police officer at the door took one look at me and said, “No food.”
“Ok.” I would throw the bag away– after I ate the heart-shaped doughnut, of course.
“No bags.”
“Ok.”
“I can’t let you in.”
What? WHAT??!!?? What does this mean? Why, god, why? Is This because I slept in late? Is this because I forgot to call my mom?
Instead of saying any of that, I simply left the line and desperately tried not to cry, scream and RAGE in front of everyone. During any other event, I was allowed to leave my belongings in a safe location inside the building. For this one, I wasn’t. What the fudgemonkey? She was only a former first lady, c’mon, people.
I told myself that I was fine. I’d simply go home. Maybe get another doughnut because I deserved it (Screw the stomachache that would come). I ran my barely athletic heart out to catch the bus rolling by only to be told by the driver’s wild hand gestures that it was his last stop. I was denied my ride the way Leo Dicaprio is annually denied his Oscar. While walking back to the bus stop in defeat, I heard a girl laugh. I was sweating and nearly dying, but I’m glad I made your day, GIRL WITH THE OBNOXIOUS LAUGH.
Things spiraled downhill farther than the Red Wedding when I waited for the next bus to come, only to watch my last hope stop across the street and keep on rolling. Either somebody up in heaven was trying to teach me the value of patience, or someone down in hell really, really hated me. By the time I realized no rescue bus was being sent my way, I was ready to strangle somebody with my pink rosary. This day was quickly putting me on the fast track to psychopath.
By the time I stepped one cramped foot on a blue bus, I was sure I was emanating the awesome aura of “fight me” to any and all spectators. Sure, nobody took up my offer, but what better way to end my horrible day than a brawl? I abandoned the unfaithful bus system the second I saw the Ben Hill Griffin Stadium and made the long trek back to my dorm. My mood was stormy with a high chance of punching someone in the face, so when I was stopped by two students, I was ready to tussle.
Instead of a campus smack down, I got an encouraging pep talk from one of the students– something everyone facing an awful day needs. And if that doesn’t work, a long binge of watching cheap chick flicks on Netflix with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s does the trick 10 out of 10 times. I was relieved just to be back in my room and safely away from the disaster that was my day in disguise.
The next day, I headed to class with a minor disappointment hangover. Only serendipity knows why I paused in front of a newsstand and took a quick peek at a headline that caught my attention. Surprise, surprise, former first lady Rosalyn Carter called in sick and her husband went to speak on her behalf. Say it with me: Oh, the irony!
So instead of throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the quad, I giggled. Why not? We literally watch some TV shows just to laugh at people in humiliating situations. Might as well apply the same thought process to my own life.
