honey, they don't call it a job for nothin'

Hey gang! Let's play a game I call "Who's Day Sucked More!?!" It's a spin-off of the wildly successful party game "Oh, Trust Me, I Am SO Much Sicker Than You!!!" of which I'm the reigning world champion.

(My husband spent the entirety of last winter suffering from pneumonia, became anemic, AND THEN developed pneumonia-induced asthma that he still suffers from today, which is his excuse for not mowing the yard, but oh, I'm on to him there, friends! However, my non-drugged, rapid-fire deliveries of his two heirs and the weakened bladder muscles I'm forever reminded of as a result thanks to a wee bit of, well, wee brought on by every sneeze, jump, or casual run I take means I win. I WIN INFINITY!)(Also? Hahahaha...me? Running? Hahahahaha! Priceless!)

The rules of this game are simple. We all sit back, sigh with as much resignation as we can muster, and then toss the day's horrible experiences back and forth until a winner's declared. I say declared, but bear in mind, there's no way you're going to beat me at this game.

Ready?

OK. We all begin with 120 'This Sucks!' points because it's Monday. These points are a given. Next, I'm going to subtract 100 million points from my score, leaving me with a deficit, because, as I do every day, I went through this one without coffee. Some of you need it to survive, but I don't. Does that make me stronger than you? Debatable. However, you now all have 120 million points.

(Is that right? No, that's not right. Is it? Jeepers, math is hard!)

I know you're probably feeling confidant. You think the massive points spread that separates all of you from me is so vast there's no way I can beat you.

Think again, losers!

(sidebar - I do not now nor have I ever considered any of you to be actual losers)

(You're all going down, though!)

OK, now, go ahead and tell me a few of the horrible things that happened to you today.

• You got stuck in a bear trap and had to chew your own leg off below the knee to escape? Yowza! Thirty points!

• Your boss yelled at you and made you cry? Ouch! That probably seemed like it sucked! Fifteen points!

• Your name's Tommy and you used to work on the docks, but the union's been on strike so you're down on your luck? That's tough. Fifty points.
  

• You forgot to hit 'save' the entire time you were writing what was to be the next great novel (or Twilight saga)(bazinga!) and your kid ran through the room, tripped, and yanked the computer chord from the wall, causing your hard work to disappear? Bummer, dude. Eight points (mostly because I can't believe you never once did a 'save as').
  

Now it's my turn!!

• Ten minutes after arriving at work in the children's department (automatic 100 points) at the bookstore, a mother changed her toddler's diaper right there in the department. What's the big deal? Hasn't that happened before? Yes. But just let me tell you! She spread that kid out ON the Thomas the Tank Engine train table and yanked what was, without a doubt, the rankest, most excrement-laden diaper I've ever been witness to off her child atop a play set revered my millions of children daily at my store. No amount of Lysol I could (did) spray on it after she (tossed the diaper in the waste basket right next to my customer service counter, of course, awesome, thank you) left could kill the issues that presented. Listen, I know the train table is awful. Personally, I never touch it. EVER. If I find a toy train somewhere other than on the table, I use a tissue to pick it up, then go scrub my arms down, Silkwood-style. Every child who plays there sticks a train either in their mouth or nose. Many have eaten off it. Kids have peed on the floor around it. Hair has been pulled and punches thrown. I've witnessed gangland murders go down around it. It may seem like a bathroom, but it ain't no bathroom! Gah! Two million points (Plus previously mentioned 100 points)(You do the math)(I'm serious)(Please?).
  

• As if poop couldn't dampen my day, what say you to puke? "Oh, now you're just pulling our leg, Fadkog! First you have what's possibly a dead, poop-entombed animal festering in your wastebasket, and now you're going to tell us there was puke involved in your day, too?" YES! Just before I was going to take my (much needed) break, a child yakked her lunch up right in the center of the department. Delightful! It appears she'd enjoyed some Chik-fil-A about 45 minutes prior. Who cleans that up? Ahem...ME! As a result, I'm now totally off the bird. And probably waffle fries, too. Ten million points!!

• After poop and puke, I needed one more thing to make this day a triple crown winner. Luckily, I got it. Ready? PENIS! Dear heaven, yes! Penis capped my work day off in fine fashion when I was shelving young reader picture books and rounded a shelf to find an elderly gentlemen tucked in a chair in the corner, thumbing through a book on the Third Reich. No big whoop, I thought. It happens. Then I noticed his shorts were uncomfortably short. So short, in fact, they appeared to be riding way, way, WAY up his leg. So far up his leg, in fact, I was left dumbstruck when I realized his penis had ventured out and was reading along with him. Awesome (in a completely, absolutely not awesome way). Thankfully, no children were around, and I alerted a manager to handle the matter. Then I awarded myself 90 trillion points.

Of course, this clearly makes me a winner in today's game (and I'll willingly submit to a drug test if you pansy out and make claims I'm 'roided up), but because my easy win had my adrenaline pumping, when I left work, I figured why not go for the bonus round! As soon as I punched out, I headed to Kohl's to burn a $10 voucher. I need some new black shoes for work, so I made a beeline for that department to hunt for a comfortable pair. As I approached a young man working in the department to see if he could help me, I realized he was on the phone with a customer, so I stepped back to wait. As he spoke, he was waving a black tennis shoe around in the air, and then he described the shoe to the customer.

"To be honest, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't like this particular tennis shoe. They look exactly like something a really old lady would wear," he said.

I glanced down at my black tennis shoe-clad feet, then back to the one he had in his hand. It was, of course, the same shoe.

Of course.

So when he finally got off the phone, I offered him a Werther's Original, yanked a tissue from the sleeve of my shirt, dabbed at something on his cheek, then shuffled off as fast as my tennis ball-tipped walker and my old lady tennis shoes would carry me.

945 kabillion trillion million points to me! SQUARED!!!