Recently - well, Friday the 13th actually - I had blocked out the day to play bridge but my partner couldn't make it. With no one to play with I reluctantly left the Bridge Center, almost walking under a ladder leaning haphazardly against the side of the building. Successfully avoiding that imperilment, I drove off thinking of ways to contructively fill my day.
An unexpectedly free day is like a gift, I thought postively, to do with whatever I want. I felt like a newborn babe, a blank slate. It was the first day of the rest of my life, and so on.
There was an important sale at the mall with 50% savings, so that would be worthwhile checking out. A black cat crossed in front of me as I approached the mall entrance and, momentarily stunned at the potential consequence of that, I didn't see the woman hurrying past when she bumped me and her double frappuccino popped opened spilling all over me. Luckily I was wearing brown.
After sopping that up I was no longer in the mood for shopping. I got back in my car and looked at the rumpled brown bag that contained my pathetic lunch and decided I would eat at my favorite place, one I don't get to that often.
Humming a merry song, I drove to the Mexican restaurant and grabbed a table in a quiet corner looking forward to a spicy burrito. Before sitting, I ran into the ladies' room to wash off the remaining frappuccino. The light in the rest room was off and when I turned it on, I saw it. The mirror had a huge crack across it. I am not kidding. But I put that out of my mind, washed my hands thoroughly (singing "Happy Birthday" twice) and returned to my little table.
While I was waiting for the server, an unkempt man with a very loud and gravely voice walked into the restaurant shouting something about his bike tire being slashed. He ranted but no one paid any attention. I was a little startled but figured someone would surely escort him out. No. He came over to my quiet corner and sat at a table right next to me.
"I swear someone has a vendetta out against me," he said, apparently to me. "Do you believe this? Oh my god, I don't understand why they would do this..." and he kept on raving, his wild eyes staring at me the whole time.
When the server came to take my order, I said I had changed my mind about having lunch and got up from the table, knocking the salt shaker to the floor. I stared at the spilt salt and thought about how safe I would be if only I was at the Bridge Center. No one would be shouting at me and I would not have dried frappuccino on my shirt. Plus none of their mirrors are cracked, as far as I know.
I went home and spent the rest of the my unexpected gift hiding under the covers waiting for the dawning of Saturday the 14th.
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