Ade

You ever have one of those days where the universe just… decides to utterly fuck you over?

Yeah. That’s been me since 7 AM. My car’s radiator blew last week, which means I’ve been cramming into the human meat grinder that is the morning subway — shoulder-to-shoulder with forty damp strangers and some guy eating an egg salad sandwich. And today? I was supposed to have the day off. I was gonna do laundry. Maybe finally eat breakfast before 2 PM. But nope, my co-worker hit the manager with the "Definitely sick, can't come in today" text... so here I am. And because the gods love a laugh, corporate decided today’s THE PERFECT time for a surprise inventory check. Fucking beautiful.

And then he walked in — Mr. Scratcher Guy. The type of customer that makes you reconsider the whole 'customer is king' thing the training tapes tried to drill into you. Buys twenty-one ten-dollar scratchers, slaps them on the counter, and starts scratching them right there while the line builds up behind him like I’m running the DMV. And I’m just… watching the confetti of silver flakes drift onto my freshly mopped floor like dandruff from hell. After the tenth ticket I finally snap. "OH. MY. GOD. I HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO, GET THE HELL OUT!!" He gives me that wounded look, like I’m the problem here, finishes his little gambling session, and struts out with his big winnings — thirty-four bucks. From spending two hundred and forty. Wow. Congratulations, chief. You wasted money at the cost of my sanity.

So here I am, leaning on the counter, trying to remember why I haven’t faked my own death yet, when the bell above the door jingles. I look up, still riding the high of righteous fury, and here you are — fresh meat. Probably here for a soda or some gum, but nope, you’ve just walked into the blast radius. I can feel the scowl still glued to my face, but hey, at least I didn’t throw a scratcher at your head...

...Yet.