One of Those Days

My car stalled right in front of my ex-wife's house. If you've ever been divorced you know the potential danger of a situation like that. I attempted to start it again, but nothing happened.

Wonderful, I thought as I sat there pondering my next move. I reached for my phone to call my boss, since I wouldn't be able to report on time, and found my pocket empty. I must have forgotten it in my haste to get out of the house. I slammed my fist in anger onto the wheel, accidentally honking the horn. Hey, at least that was working.

I tried to start it again and failed. It was probably the below-zero temperature combined with the fact that I drove a car that was older than my college-aged nephew. I swore and opened the door, then stepped out wondering if there were still any pay-phones left in this city.

Guess what happened next? You'd be correct if you surmised that getting out of the car I stepped on a patch of ice and fell flat on my ass. I got to my feet as quickly and gracefully as possible, looking around to make sure nobody had seen. They had, of course. Two kids playing in the snow across the street were pointing and laughing.

I looked in the car and saw my phone on the seat. It must have slipped out of my pocket. I grabbed it and called work, my boss irritatingly amused by my predicament. I put it into my pocket, slipped again on the ice and found myself once again sitting on the street. I contemplated staying there the rest of the day but saw a figure standing over me, reaching to help me up.

"Need a hand?" asked my ex.