The Worst Thing

I decided that I really didn't want to spend any more time on this, so forgive me if the ending is a bit deux es machina. I still like it. Thank you for reading

The day began almost as bad as it ended. We were out of corn flakes. And it was raining. I stared through the oversized kitchen windows at the soggy drive before me and poked noncommittally at the Cheerios floating hopefully in my bowl. Arrogant pricks. I left them half finished by the sink and considered the shirt and tie hanging smugly beside the door. Not today. I reached for the phone and began to dial. 7…1…0… My name is Joshua, by the way. And then I remembered. Shit. No more sick days. Even taking my cereal misfortune into account, I knew this wouldn’t fly as an emergency. My boss really is an uncompromising bastard.

Twenty-five minutes, two pointless phone calls, and one crappy cup of coffee later, and I pulled into work. By the time I made it inside my good umbrella was completely soaked through – parking in a reserved spot and it’s still a mad dash to avoid being flooded – and my boss, Mr. Shaleen, was waiting for me. Great.

“Don’t get started just yet there Joshua, my boy. Got a special job for you this morning,” he beamed stupidly.

“Honest Mr. Shaleen, thanks for thinking of me but I’m really not feeling well, I think I got food poisoning and my head is all over – “

“Nonsense my boy, you’re going to love this. My stepson is coming in from New York today and I’ve got a meeting with the guys over at Ballantine until six, so I need you Joshua-my-boy to take him to the ballpark until I’m through. My private box, you two’ll have the time of your life.”

“But sir I don’t even like baseball.” He laughed sadistically.

“His plane gets here in fifteen minutes. You’ll take the company chopper,” he said, laying his hand menacingly on my shoulder and still laughing cruelly to himself.

I let him lead me to the elevator like a prisoner lets his cell door shut. Reaching the brass doors he pushed the button labeled “Up”, my image staring curiously back at me as we waited for the numbers to flash slowly down to “1”. A dull “dong” noise chimed wearily, and the doors eased open.

What happened next is still unclear to me. What I do remember is scrambled and incomplete, and possibly made up – a flash of teeth, a box of Kleenex, pitching wedge, and cheese wedge. I don’t even like cheese. But somehow I woke up four hours later to a splitting headache and 80s hair metal. I’d tell you what happened next, but you wouldn’t believe it. It’s so cliché and utterly terrible I actually don’t think its true. And you don’t even want to ask about my corn flakes.