Hap-Hazard Advice

The Wise Man in me (Inner Wise Man?) wants to say that you should not let things get to you. That life is surely too short to dwell on things that could possibly be considered annoying in any way, shape, or form. That letting something get to you is the worst form of allowing things get the best of you. (No doubt you will read that last sentence and question its redundancy.)

Most times, I find I'm pretty good at following my own advice. I say 'most times' because that's not always the case. For instance, one thing I always try to keep in mind is that, if I'm late, I'm late. At least I made it to wherever or whatever I was going to. No sense in taking risks by driving recklessly, too fast, etc. In other words, don't flip out when things aren't going perfectly smoothly.

One would think, then, that I'm pretty well adjusted, and that I have a very healthy outlook on life in this respect. I would agree, that most times I'm all right. But the other day, I was having a rough morning. Not one thing seemed to be going in my favor.

That is, until I was heading to the shuttle (a regular old bus that takes you to the parking lot). At last! The shuttle was waiting there for me, and I was nearly there. Indeed, it was perfect timing, seeing as I had to hurry off to work. I really should have known better to get my hopes up. I watched, the smile on my face washed away by the closing of the doors and the gunning of the engine.

I stood there and stared as it took off, resigned to the fact that I'd have to wait until the next shuttle came around. As luck would have it (why is luck always so darn consistent, especially when it's of the less than favorable kind?), I had to wait nearly ten minutes for the next shuttle to show up.

Finally! I knew then that that was it. My lousy morning would finally be redeemed for a better afternoon. But, no! As I was climbing aboard the bus, I heard the sound of a voice that makes me shudder. Not because of the voice quality, but because of the pretentious shit that spews forth from said voice's mouth.

"Oooh, nice longboard, man. What kind of bearings do you use?"
"Wow, cool shirt. I thought about designing one like that, but it looks like someone else beat me to it."
"Gee, pig tails are still in, huh?"

Fantastic. It had to be the creepy bus driver whose glasses were too big and horn-rimmed for his face, and who despite his wavy hair tried to grow a mullet. As if that's not enough, he makes some kind of crack (for which he undoubtedly thinks he's wildly clever) to each and every person that climbs onto his shuttle.

It's way too much to handle on an ordinary day, and given that this was no ordinary day, that surely tested my limits. I was very tempted to run screaming, but I really had to get to work. So I climbed aboard, glaring at the man in what I hoped would be a statement that I was in no mood for his commentary.

Apparently, it worked (were one to judge by his silence; of course, the possibility remains that he just had nothing to say (if only that were true!); for my own sake, I consider it a victory on my part, and will not be convinced otherwise), and I went along my not-so-merry way.