T.G.I.F. (That guy is fucked)

I have made it an art really, my ability to be tardy. What is amazing though is that regardless of how late I am running I can always manage to find time to stop for donuts and a vitamin water. This morning after exiting the train, (immediately after running up an escalator, running over a small Asian woman, catching my foot in the turnstile and then falling up the stairs leading to open air) I stumbled by the Jewel-Osco and could smell the fresh Krispy Cremes. It was clear to me:

Being fired is worth a chocolate-frosted, cream-filled donut.

At the little Krispy Cream cubicle, I opted for two donuts, after all…It was Friday. I ran out of the store, wallet, keys and phone still in my hand, deciding to eat my donuts on the way. As I crossed Rush, almost to work (and the donuts long since eaten), I ran to the trash-can to dispose of my evidence. If I was going to be late, then the higher-ups need not know the little details.

Sometimes, especially early in the morning, my brain has this habit of ceasing to function. Motor skills lessen and I usually go from five sense down to two (sight and hearing always leaving me first). I wouldn’t call it a condition, just stupidity. As I went to throw away my donut bag I switched it into my already full hand and exchanged it with my phone. Phone in left hand along with discman, keys and wallet and donut bag in right. I was planning on a walk-by dumping. One of those smooth vignettes that another passerby would see and say, “What a smooth and cool individual.”

Walk walk walk. Throw the bag and go. I made it across Rush street when I realized that my right hand was completely empty. My stomach clenched and dropped to the pavement. My right hand shot into my right pocket looking for my wallet and keys. Nothing…gone. Without thinking I dropped my discman and phone to the ground, a lousy move on my part as my phone is already temperamental after having had a bath in a class of Jack and Coke, and shoved my left hand into my pocket. No keys, no wallet. I stopped, turned and saw the black steel trash can across the street.

Oh my god. No no no no no no no no. Shit no shit no shit no. Why? Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

I began to dart across Rush again right as a blaring fire-truck screamed by. (Again, my sense of hearing was gone and tunnel vision was in full effect.) After the truck had passed I bounded across. Right at the top of the trash can was my Krispy Cream bag. I picked it up and dropped it to the ground, thinking…It’s not littering if I pick it up when I am done. Thankfully, right underneath the bag was my wallet. I grabbed it, perused it for slime or gunk and shoved it in my pocket.

Curious, my phone pocket is empty. Maybe its in-

I bounded back across Rush street, looking for a firetruck this time. The coast was clear. My phone and discman, thankfully, were still sitting on the ground where I had dropped them.

Bounding back across Rush, hopefully this time to find my keys. I peered into the trash can and saw nothing.

Panic. Dread. And slight nausea.

In the time it had taken me to run across the street for my phone someone had thrown away a half eaten pizza.

Who eats pizza at nine o clock in the morning? Where can I get this pizza? I should have gotten pizza. Although I couldn't quite sneak that into work.

I picked up my donut bag from the ground and slipped it over my hand like a glove. Carefully, gingerly I slid the half eaten pizza to the side. And I saw them. My keys. Or at least the top of my Jewel Savers Card that is attached to my keys.

Remember when I said my brain doesn't function in the morning? I reached for keys with my hand, my donut-bag-gloved hand. Essentially a mitten. Minus the thumb. A hand muzzle. Havging no opposable anything I only managed to hit the Jewel saver card and knock the keys even further down into the trash can.

This is not happening. This is not my life. I need to be drunk right now.

I knew what needed to happen.

The donut mitten needs to come off...










Who thinks that? I am the only person in the world who has probably ever thought that phrase.

I don't want to disgust people with the gory details, but I did manage to get the keys out of the trash can. Just picture an olympic swimmer doing the butterfly on his way to gold, and then picture the utter opposite of that. The latter is what I looked like at that moment. Afterwards I needed to wash my hand, severely. I threw my keys in my bookbag, because they needed to be washed and tied my button down shirt around my waist. Oh, in order to reach my keys I had to push into the trash can elbow deep. Rather than rolling up my sleeves, I just took off my shirt. I turned around ready to cross Rush again, when I noticed...

What the fuck are those people staring at? Haven't they ever seen a slightly maniacal, slightly hung-over twenty-four year dig through a garbage can in downtown Chicago?

Then I saw. Strewn all around the trash can was refuse. Refuse that I had knocked out of the garbage can. Food, gunk, litter, cups, and someones sunglasses. On top of this pile was my donut bag. I picked it up between two fingers, with my dirty hand, and dropped it into the trash can.

There, at least I didn't litter.