Crazy Days

Crazy Days

People have bad days. People have good days. People have days that can either make them or break them. I had a day that gave a whole new meaning to Murphy’s law, “What can go wrong, will go wrong.” It went a little something like this:

BOOM! A resounding noise woke me from my deep sleep. Sitting up, I looked to where my radio was, left on from the previous night. Disoriented and still half dreaming, I came up with the idea that the radio was about to short circuit and electrocute me from across the room. Fumbling with the remote, I blindly shut it off.
BOOM! What the heck was going on? Coming to my senses, I realized that I was a participant in what would later be known as the worst thunderstorm of the season. I looked at the clock- 2: 15 a.m. Groaning, I tried to lie down and catch some sleep, but all attempts were fruitless. It didn’t help as I heard my dog running around outside, probably terrified.
BOOOOOM! I saw my ceiling fan swing dangerously, and heard the objects on my desk vibrate from the thunder waves. My stomach was filled with the sensation similar to that of some punk kid trying to share his rock music with the city. I felt like I was trying to sleep by a passing steam engine.
The rumbling began to decrease, and I hoped that the storm was moving away. Finally I was overcome with sleep again, falling into restless dreams, disturbed by the storm. Little did I know, thunderstorms were just the beginning.

I woke several hours later to the annoying sound of people moving carelessly around the house. Then I remembered today was the day we were to travel 300 miles north to the city of Albuquerque and watch my brother participate in a marching band competition. I peered out the window to see perfect conditions for marching: pouring rain and dark clouds as far as the eye could see. Absolutely Brilliant.
Getting up, I guessed that I would need a flashlight since we weren’t due back until around two a.m., just about twenty-four hours after my rude awakening. Grabbing one, I turned it on. A pitiful light weakly tried to shine. I unscrewed the top, intending to routinely change the batteries, no big deal. As I turned it over, I was greeted by the lovely liquid that was battery acid, falling all over my hands and pajama bottoms.
Cursing mentally, I threw the entire thing into the trash without thinking that maybe it would destroy my trash can. I quickly ran into the bathroom to wash my infected hands and change clothes. Afterwards, I went back to my room to find the acid had also gotten on my bed and the floor. I looked at the clock again-7:34. It was going to be a long day.

With my parents gone to get some last minute things for the day trip, and my brother with the rest of the band, I was left alone with my now traumatized dog. I decided to take my trumpet out and play a little before leaving. During a rest however, I heard something at the door, or rather, someone. Freezing, I glanced at my dog who was eyeing the door. I quickly went to a side window, where I could see a car parked without them seeing me- nothing.
The safety door began to rattle, and my dog rose to growl. I tried to silently hush her, but couldn’t. Very carefully, I stood by the door at an angle where I couldn’t be seen. I looked out and saw something moving, and again heard the screen rattling. Now, I was thoroughly freaked. I stood for several tense moments, where all noise stopped and you could have heard a pin drop. Trying to stay clam, I went to close all the window blinds. Peeking out again, I didn’t see anything. I sat on the couch, bat by my side for another ten minutes, waiting for my parents to return.

Thankfully, we managed to get on the road without any further problems. But getting on the road was about all we could do. We got just outside the city of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico when our mini-van started to slow. Slower . . . slower . . . stopped. Defeated, I let my head fall onto the seat in front of me.
But not to worry, we had cell phones…with no signals. Emergency lights on, my dad went to climb a hill, where reception might have been better. I heard a faint dripping sound. Looking out, I saw that the clouds had decided to choose this moment to dump all their rain. The now pounding rain was all I needed to laugh like a madman.
I racked my brain, trying to find something I did that angered the gods enough to punish me with this day. Nothing came up, though I doubt that my head was filled entirely with innocence. In the whole ten years that we had had the van, not once had it broken down on us. So why, why did it choose to break down in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service, with threatening clouds surrounding, and when we were on a very tight schedule? The world may never know.
Surprisingly, my dad managed to get service and called a T or C tow truck. A white van came up behind us, and stopped. Great, I found myself thinking, let me guess. There will be a crazy dude that will come out of the vehicle and shoot us all. Squinting through the blurry, rain covered window, I managed to see it was none other than our good family friends. We moved all our valuables into their van, and let ours go with the tow truck. For the remainder of the ride, I pondered how we were going to live with our vehicle a hundred and fifty miles away.

The rain failed to stop and the poor marching band souls still had to march in it (though I was surprised the didn’t cancel it and make my day even worse, having driven all this way for nothing). They gave their heart and soul and it was great, besides the bitter wind and rain. They did however cancel the finals, as everyone was miserable and might have gotten pneumonia, resulting in several nasty lawsuits. So, wet and tired, we dragged ourselves to the nearest Hometown Buffet and shoved down dinner before the building caught on fire.
At long last we made our way back home, a few hours ahead of schedule due to the competition. I dreamily watched out the dark window, following the remaining raindrops as they chased down the window. I caught sight of a road sign, could it be? Only one mile until home? Nope. Once again we began to slow. Slower . . . slower . . . stopped. We were out of gas.
Never, had I run out of gas, ever. What did I do to deserve this? Tell me now! I believed in, “everything happens for a reason,” but this was ridiculous! But wait, our fearless driver, a Boy Scout leader, had a container of gas. There was no way we could have been that lucky. I didn’t feel that he should go out and fuel up, as I was confident that he would be mauled by an escaped lion from Colorado. But he managed to get it done and we were able to make it to a Chevron station.

At long, long last, we made it home, unloaded, and inside (but still van-less). I crawled into bed, thinking of just how crazy my day had been-unbelievable. I closed my eyes, and then realized with a jolt, that there was another band competition the following weekend. I can only pray.