A Bad Day

A Bad Day

By

Tom Mollica

“If only I had remembered to wait until the microwave stopped before I made the Pop Tarts,” Arnie Merkle said to himself as he looked at himself in the mirror.

Arnie’s bad day started twelve hours ago when he stood drinking a cold bottle of Pepsi in his hot, steamy apartment above the Lucky Perch Tavern. The heat wave was not ending and today was too hot for coffee.

A news show, AM Milwaukee, played on the flat screen television on his kitchen counter. Wink Walters, the show’s weatherman, whose dream was to be a stand-up comedian in Las Vegas talked about the current stretch of hot weather

“Today will be the hottest day in five years,” Wink voiced. He looked at the attractive news anchor with the perfectly coiffed hair seated at the news desk. “It’s so hot out, Katie that chickens are laying hard boiled eggs.”

Katie laughed and waved a hand at him. “Oh, Wink. Where do you come up with these.”

Arnie stood in front of the small, five-year-old, window air conditioner to try and cool off. Even on high, it couldn’t keep up with today’s heat and was having a hard time cooling off the room. He bent and put his face in front of the semi-chilled air blowing out. His nose cooled.

Making breakfast he put a frozen breakfast burrito in the microwave, then placed two Pop Tarts in the toaster, and pushed down the lever. All the power went out.

“Darn it!” Arnie shouted.

Last night he washed his work clothes in the downstairs laundry room and forgot to put them in the dryer, so he did it in morning. In the apartment, when the dryer and air-conditioner both were on, there could be only one appliance in use, or a fuse would be blown. He realized the microwave and toaster were on. Tapping the palm of his hand on his forehead, he said, “Stupid,” grabbed a flashlight, and hiked down to the basement to reset the circuit breaker.

The lights came on and he headed back upstairs to eat and shower. When done, he returned to the basement to get his clothes out of the dryer. Again, he tapped the palm of his hand to his forehead. He had forgotten to restart the dryer after flipping the circuit breaker and his clothes were still wet. To make matters worse, he didn’t have any other clean shirts.

Arnie was the assistant manager at the Stop and Shop convenience store and needed his pale blue monogrammed uniform shirt with two top pockets. He also was the deli counter’s head sandwich maker. Luck would have it that Mister Winklebaum, the storeowner was in New York City at a miniature Hungarian Schnauzer dog breeding convention and would not be there to scold Arnie for not wearing his shirt.

If he waited for the clothes to dry, he would be late to open the store. Conrad Wiedmeyer was waiting every morning at eight AM to get a coffee and donut. He would tell Mister Winklebaum about this for sure.

His roommate Ted had left early for his UPS job, so Arnie looked in Ted’s closet for an emergency shirt. All that was left were brown UPS shirts. Ted was proud of his job and wore his uniform at all times, even when going out. On a few special occasions, say he had a date or went to a wedding, he put on a white shirt, but still wore the brown UPS pants. The white shirts were nowhere to be found. Arnie remembered that Ted had two dates last week with his new girlfriend Nellie Klegerman. He looked in the dirty clothes hamper and found the white shirts. Taking a sniff from one, he knew he couldn’t wear it. The hot weather probably made Ted sweat even more than usual.

He grabbed a brown UPS shirt and said to himself, “This will have to do.” As Ted was about twenty pounds lighter than him, the shirt would be snug.

On the drive in, Arnie noticed his gas gauge was on empty. Being early, he stopped to fill up his Honda Civic. As soon as he got out of the air-conditioned car, the heat hit him. Being on the asphalt probably didn’t help. It was like he was baking an apple strudel and opened the oven door to check it. He checked himself out in the rearview mirror while watching the pump numbers spin like a slot machine. Perspiration already was beading up on his forehead. No one likes to see a fat guy sweat, he thought.

A woman coming back to her car after paying saw Arnie and blurted out. “Oh great. A UPS man. Just what I need.”

Remembering he had Ted’s shirt on, Arnie began to correct her as she reached into her mini-van and pulled out a package.

“I don’t have time to find a drop box,” she continued. “Take this with you to work and put it in a box. It’s already paid for.” She placed the package into the Civic’s open window.

“Lady,” Arnie said while stepping to the car and grabbing the package. “I can’t take this.”

“Thank you so much,” she replied as if he had not said anything, quickly got into her mini-van and sped off.

Arnie stood holding the package and watched the woman merge into traffic without looking, causing other cars to slam on their brakes and blow horns. Looking at the address, he noticed it was a local delivery, Bubbler City Beer Keg Company, and on his way. He shrugged, and said to no one, “I guess I have time to drop it off.”

*****

Seven minutes later Arnie opened a heavy wood door and walked into the Bubbler City Beer Keg Company office. An older, heavyset receptionist sat behind a desk eating a donut and reading “Beer Keg Illustrated” magazine. A nameplate identified her as Irma.

“Hello, Irma,” he said in a pleasant deliveryman voice. “I have a package for you.”

“What’s with the tight shirt?” she questioned. “You think you’re some kind of muscleman?”

No one had ever called Arnie a muscleman before. His physique could be described as more like short and dumpy.

Not wanting to take the time and explain wearing his roommate’s shirt, Arnie continued, and read from the address label, “This package goes to Myron Peralta, accounting department.”

“All deliveries go to the back loading dock,” Irma barked.

“I don’t have time to go to the loading dock.”

She sighed, made a pointing motion using her thumb in an exaggerated pose, and repeated, “Take it to the back, bub.”

Bub? Arnie thought. He set the box on her desk. “Look I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to take it to the back. I have to get to work. Mister Winklebaum is off, and I have to open the store. I can’t be late.”

Irma’s face contorted into rage as she slammed the magazine down on the desk. “That’s it. Enough is enough.” Standing up quickly, she stepped around the desk, and got into an old-time boxer’s pose. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“Let’s go?” Arnie answered, and held my hands up, showing he wanted no part in a fight. “Okay, lady. I’ll bring the package to the back.” Taking a step towards the desk to retrieve it, he was hit with a solid left jab to the eye. It rocked his head back and stunned him. “Jesus, lady,” he blurted out.

Irma danced a little then stepped forward and followed with a roundhouse punch to his belly.

“Oooffff,” Arnie cried out as the wind was knocked out of him. Doubled over, he made a quick about-face, and was about to run out of the building when Irma pushed him from behind. His head rammed the door.

Irma opened the door, lifted Arnie from behind by the collar and belt and threw him out on the street.

“Deliveries go to the back loading dock!” she shouted and slammed the door shut.

Arnie lay on his back on a patch of grass between the street and a sidewalk. A Dachshund on a leash walked over and sniffed his face.

“It’s pretty hot out, mister. You shouldn’t be sleeping on the grass,” said a man holding the leash. “Today is the hottest day of the year. Heard that on AM Milwaukee this morning.”

The Dachshund bit Arnie’s nose.

*****

That night, back in his apartment, Arnie looked at the black eye in the mirror that Irma had given him and the swelled nose from the Dachshund bite, and said to his reflection, “If only I had remembered to wait until the microwave ended before I made my Pop Tarts.”

The End