A BASICALLY BAD DAY I don't remember the last bad day I had, except that I frowned at it and shook my finger, saying "BAD! Bad Day!" That spate of strong language made the day cower in the corner and stay out of my way. That angered me even more, since it had already ruined things. The least it could have done would have been to continue wreaking havoc on my life for the full length of the day. You know, sunrise to sunset. I went along most cheerily for years until today when it came up at me with a vengeful force that made me want to cower in the corner. This time, there was no finger wagging -- I was in a mean enough mood to fight it to the bitter end. Which is where I am now--at a sleazy bar called the "Bitter End."(I'm using the pay phone and my portable terminal. The phone booth stinks of either old beer, sour beer or, perhaps, beer which has comingled with someone's gastric juices.) This place, "Bitter End," is a great place to go after having had a bad day. Everyone is equally sour. The drinks -- even non-alchoholic ones -- are sort of turpid. The bartender and waitress have faces so sulky and grouchful that patrons simply stare blankly at the floor or the bar or a tabletop and mumble slurred phonemes. The jukebox is broken so a tinny radio adds to the torture of everyone's bad day. The floors are filthy; the bathrooms are filthy; the language is filthy; even the cocktail napkins are filthy. Such a place, this is. My bad day started when I was awakened by my clock-radio-telephone. The alarm kicked the radio into an obnoxious news program and the phone buzzed stridently at 5 a.m. I struggled to answer, managing to damage the radio and scare away whoever it was who called. I struggled up to find I had captured a nasty summer cold overnight. The cat was yowling. I yelled at the cat, went to make coffee of which there was enough for one cup. The shower refused to work and my nose started bleeding. I scrambled out of the house to find the interior of the car soaking wet from an overnight rain. I ran out of gas a block from home. (Getting gas only delayed me a few minutes, since I'm lucky enough to live two blocks away from a gas station.) I arrived at work. The phone rang off the hook for a solid hour and none of my help arrived on time -- owing to the fact that this happened on July 5th. Everyone knows what it's like to get employees to work on time the day after a holiday. I was sniveling so freely that I could have just put a bucket under my nose, but I probably would have drowned in it. All of the elements of a bad day had occurred and it wasn't even 9 a.m. yet! I won't bore you with the rest of the details, other than to mention that I lost my set of keys to everything I hold near and dear sometime before lunch, and my awfully bad-tempered cat had sneaked into the car and spent the day bothering me everywhere I went, or tried to go. So... Here I am at the "Bitter End." I'm smart enough not to have a drink. I come here merely to get some perspective on what bad days are, and to look voyeuristically at other poor souls who are also having one--well, two. They are having a bad day AND a drink. There's a drunk guy banging on the door of this phone booth. He's uttering slurred phonemes at me with a look of crisp, acute rage. I think he's threatening me. Wait a sec: Whaddya want, buster? Get offa the phone jerk! No! I'm on long-distance! I'm gonna pullyerbutt outta there fatface! Oh, oh....This is STILL a bad day! <....later.....> I've just gotten home from the E/R where a guy who thought he was Elliott Gould decided to joke with me about the stitches he was lacing across my right set of knuckles -- those very knuckles which saved my life by stopping a hurled beer bottle. I'm feeling a little better now, knowing that the day is clearly almost over with. In a few moments, I will be in bed. Safe. I'll sleep this day away and tomorrow will be---- ;;System crash! DIVE! DIVE! HOW YA' DOING GUYS AN' GALS? THIS IS OL' JOHNNY DAYBREAK, THE BREAKFAST FLAKE COMIN' AT YA' TWICE AS LOUD AS---