It wasn’t a good idea to turn off the alarm clock for a few more seconds of snooze, Jane chastises herself as she huffs and puffs downhill in a haste to catch the bus. The few seconds of snatched snooze turned into a lost hour of precious time.
Her pencil skirt is not designed for hurried steps and neither are the heeled pumps made for sprinting, but hurry she must.
An attempt to hike the skirt up her thighs for more leg room yields a rip at the slit and it is not a joyful sound to hear.
”This is simply dreadful!” ”Not today of all days.” ”I can’t afford to be late.”
The tail light of the bus leaving as she arrives leaves her gaping unhappily and hoping the next one will keep to it’s fifteen minutes interval schedule.
As the next bus runs late, her plan to arrive for her interview looking composed and capable dwindles by the seconds and to top it all, it starts to sprinkle.
Rummaging in her bag for her pocket umbrella – which she stores for days like this, when the showers come unannounced, she discovers she has the wrong bag in the first place.
Whoever, created this nonsense of carrying different bags in the first place? She sighs in frustration.
Out of habit and in her haste, she had grabbed her usual every day carry on, leaving behind the nice office tote containing her file, purse and umbrella.
With a sinking feeling in her stomach and her sensible bun fast turning to loose tendrils like limp noodles in the rain shower, she trudges back uphill to her tiny apartment but she cannot get in because her door is a jam-lock and the key is inside in her purse.
”What a fine morning and why do these things happen to me?” She mutters in exasperation, forgetting that she stays up late to watch all the reality shows on television.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to The Daily Post prompt Comedy of errors and bonus assignment
Murphy’s Law says, “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.” Write about a time everything did — fiction encouraged here, too!
Bonus assignment: do you keep a notebook next to your bed? Good. Tomorrow morning, jot down the first thought you have upon waking, whether or not it’s coherent.
a cooking pot and twisted tales 