“Shit. Shit. Shit!” I walk around my apartment, fumbling with my keychain. (There’s entirely too much crap on this chain, it’s no wonder I fumble with it every morning.) Just out of the tips of my fingers, my keys slip out of my hands to the floor with a loud commotion. As does my (closed) lunchbox and my (open) coffee mug. I groan, tossing a used dishrag down on top of the puddle of hot coffee, grateful I didn’t splash too much on my old leather boots. Quickly I picked up what I could and left the rest, running out the door with my keys firmly in hand this time. No coffee for me today.
Once I was finally down the four flights of stairs (because the elevator was still broken after six months of repairs) to the parking garage where I kept my old rust bucket of a car, I unlocked the door and tossed my various bags in (why did I have so much with me every day?) I turn the car on, slam it into reverse, and peel out of the garage, hoping to catch the elusive green light. Of course, I miss it, only seeing a sea of brake lights ahead of me.
Impatiently I tap my left foot while trying to put some music on. As soon as the light is green, I hear a honk from behind me. I snap my eyes away from the radio, glancing at the car behind me. The license plate read “C U L8TR”. I rolled my eyes, giving a small groan and accelerating loudly to prove something to whoever can’t be patient behind me. (goddamn- people- always- in- a- goddamn- hurry- as- soon- as- the- goddamn- light- turns- green). One left, two rights, a burning breakfast burrito I’m trying to devour as soon as I possibly can.
“Fuck!” Molten beans drip down my chin. Eyes on the road and in first-degree pain, I feel around my car for a stray napkin. Tearing my eyes off the road for a second, I search helplessly for any sort of something that would clean off my face. I spot a lone, dirty sock on the passenger side floor. I scrunch my face up in disgust, (that will have to do). I reach for the sock, and suddenly I am not reaching for the sock, but I am up in the top of my windshield, and the sock is just out of my grasp, flying through the air in slow motion. Beans float past my face along with old crumpled receipts and various pieces of trash that have collectively hidden in my car, waiting to be found. And with a horrific screech of metal on metal bending around itself and shattering like glass (or was that glass shattering?) I was thrust back into my seat, painfully held there by my seatbelt, and then the airbag. Crunch. I look down at my arm, the source of the crunch, only to find a limp and bloody mess protruding from the sleeves of my blouse. Smoke slowly rises from the hood of my car.
(Maybe I should call and let them know I’m going to be a little late?)