One of Those Days
By: Adam Maillet
Ever had one of those days that you really wish you had just
stayed in bed? The name�s Jack and if you�ve ever had one of
those days, I garante you that I can top it.
The whole ordeal began Graduation Day, when I was fortunate
enough to oversleep until 11:45 a.m. Being as late as I was for
graduation, I bounded out of bed, but nearly fell over because of
some horrible cramping in my stomach. Now, I�m no biologist, but
it was easy to see that I was hungry - or better yet, starving.
Thoroughly regretting passing up lunch and dinner the previous
day, I slapped together a tuna fish sandwich, threw on some
clothes, and ran outside.
Upon entering my car I was delighted to see that my favorite
shirt (the one with flying saucers hovering over the Sahara
Desert and the text �We are not alone�) had a rather huge, and
sticky, splot of orange marmalade on it. I could have driven off
with a stained T-shirt, but no, I decided to go back inside and
find a cleaner garment. Not a smart decision, for upon reentering
the house, I tripped on the threshold and was sent careening
across the living room and broke my fall upon the coffee table,
with my face. My shirt however, wasn�t so lucky; it had snagged
upon the door frame where it now hung, torn in two, flapping in
the breeze like some great flag to my misfortune.
With a great cry of exasperation, I dashed into my room and
scooped up the first shirt I saw. Not taking the time to put it
on, I proceeded back to my car and peeled out of the driveway. I
had not been speeding down the street three minutes when I heard
sirens, when I looked in my rear view mirror I was greeted with
both flashing lights, and a black eye forming where I had soared
into my furniture a few minutes earlier. I pulled to the side of
the road and hastened to put on my shirt, only to discover that
by some glorious twist of fate, it was my little sister�s. Not
only was it incredibly small, it also had a lovely pink unicorn
completely covering the front of the shirt. What I wouldn�t have
given for a regular marmalade stained T-shirt.
The cop knocked on the window, so I rolled it down and proceeded
to be amazed at the number of giant moles flowering on his face.
I had counted six by the time I realized he had been talking to
me and was now rather quite agitated. After several odd looks at
me, and a lengthy dialogue about the importance of speed limits,
he was gracious enough to leave me with a speeding ticket for the
trifle amount of $400.00.
Now this is when most people would have learned their lesson, but
as soon as the officer was out of sight, I had gunned my car back
up to high speed and blasted around a corner. Thanks to a light
rain, my vehicle was then sent into a wonderful spin (the exact
degrees I�m not too sure of) and then through the front window of
the local music shop. Admist the screams and shattering glass it
was also my good fortune to hit a man. I rushed out to see if the
poor fellow was all right. To my amazement it was Rod Von Julian.
Rod Von Julian legendary guitarist, Rod Von Julian the king of
rock music, Rod Von Julian the greatest music guru to ever grace
the planet - and Jack McClellen: the lucky guy to smack him with
a Nissan.
Shortly after, the police arrived, to a very messy store, a lot
of broken CD�s, and one very, very angry Rod Von Julian. The
police were nice enough to give me a ride - to the nearest Las
Vegas county holding cell. If you watched the 6 o�clock news
tonight, between the reports on artificial ski slopes and a new
kind of Africanized Killer Bee, you probably noticed the story
about the genius who is charged with speeding; destroying
fourteen music stands, 100�s of CD�s, and one giant window; and
attempted vehicular homicide on legendary music guru Rod Von
Julian. Yup, that�s me: Jack McClellen.
I never got to go to my graduation this morning, only jail. Now
I�m stuck in a six by ten cell, with a toilet and a bed. At least
the company is good: to my left is a rather large smelly fellow
who seems to have an affinity for dancing, and to my right is a
heavily tattooed gentleman who insists on gracing my with his
special form of �poetry� that involves seeing how many profane
words he can rhyme without stopping.
So next time you have a bad day, just think about mine. I think
you�ll realize that yours seems quite lovely compared to some of
the wonderful situations you could find yourself in. And if you
ever wake up at 11:45, late for an important event: do yourself a
favor and do what I should have done - stay in bed.
-2002
This was an English assingment to write a short story using the following words: flying saucers, tuna fish, the Sahara Desert, orange maramalade, dancing, a guru, poetry, rock music, a speeding ticket, 11:45 A.M., graduation, fourteen music stands, a unicorn, ski slopes, hunger, Las Vegas, the 6 o'clock news, biology, $400, and six warts.
