One of Those Days

ONE OF THOSE DAYS

I couldn’t believe it! I’d slept in! Today of all days! They—the writing gurus—always say don’t start a story with waking up, but this time, it’s important. In fact, it was the linchpin to my dias horribilis—my horrible day.

I was laying in bed, feeling particularly well-rested—not my usual state of mind when I had an important presentation that day at work. Which it certainly was! A VIP client wanted to expand their company’s legal representation—tax law, international law, patent law, contract law, securities law—all the laws! The whole shebang! And they wanted our firm to represent them! This was a make-or-break meeting, and very important to the people making the presentation. It could potentially lead to our firm making beaucoup dollars in fees and billable hours. We were ripe for expansion, and they were ripe for more lawyers.

I snuggled down under my duvet, all cozy and warm, the sun shining in through the window, warming my face, thinking about today’s meeting …

WHAT! Oh no, not the sun! The only days of the week I enjoy the sun shining in on me are Saturday and Sunday, because I’m usually up waaaay before the sun hits my face.

My eyes flew open, and I groped for my phone.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. Seven-fourteen—an hour and a half later than I usually get up.

SO LATE!

I flipped the covers off, and literally ran into the bathroom. I jumped into the shower. Bracing—no time to wait for the water to warm up! Two minutes under the spray, and I was done.

Floss, brush, moisturize, throw on a mostly clean suit, and I was out the door.

Running, I caught the bus, but I didn’t actually look at which bus it was—I ended up taking a tour of our neighbourhood because it was the collector bus, not the express bus. Oy!

I texted my work partner, Max: Slept in. On the way. ETA about 25 minutes.

He texted back: No worries. We’re all ready. Meeting’s not til 10. Plenty of time.

Sure, I thought, if I didn’t have to proofread and do the final edit, set up the conference room, check the equipment, order the snacks and coffee, photocopy the slide deck, send all the participants an electronic copy of the full presentation, have a final run-through with Max, and you know, finish getting myself ready. My wet, straggly hair was not going to cut it, nor would my racoon eyes from leftover residual mascara.

Okay, okay, okay. I know. Yes, I have a partner, and yes he was more than capable of performing all those same tasks, but I need to do all the final checks. I really, really need to do them. If I don’t, then it stresses me out. Max insists that I have a touch of OCD.

HA! A touch! If he only knew!

Me: Can you order the coffee and snacks? Enough for ten. Make sure you include water and tea. Gluten-free options as well. Maybe some fruit?

Max: Not my first rodeo. Consider it done.

I put my phone back in my bag and looked around the bus, my foot tapping the floor nervously, garnering the annoyed attention of those around me. I didn’t care. I was late, unorganized, and stressed. I looked around again, daring anyone to say something. No one did.

One bus ride and one subway ride later—after what felt like about six hours—I was hustling up to my office. Of course there’d been a delay on the subway, and of course there had been hordes of people waiting on the platform. But I didn’t let that slow me down. I weinered my way into a car so completely jam-packed that the doors actually caught the back of my suit jacket, effectively pinning me in place until the next stop. I’m sure there’s some magic cleaner out there that will remove subway schmutz from a bespoke jacket. At least I hope there is.

When the elevator stopped on eleven, I stepped out, my heel slipping into the teeny-tiny space between the elevator car and the floor. I stumbled forward, yanking the heel off of my shoe, which caused me to stumble and drop my bag, emptying the contents onto the floor, and sending me to my knees. Luckily, said bespoke suit was a pant suit, and my fall only resulted in a small tear on the right knee, right on the crease, of course, causing the pant leg to hang awkwardly. Nothing a very skilled tailor couldn’t correct. Maybe. And because they were pants, no one could see the bruise I felt forming on my knee.

I heard Wendy, our receptionist gasp. It was certainly an inauspicious beginning to a very important day.

“Whoa, Zoe! You okay?” I heard her say.

I nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Need a hand?” a male voice said.

And there was Max, calmly standing in the wreckage of my bag’s contents, a tampon slowly rolling towards his feet. I was impressed. He looked calm, even if there was a small knot of concern on his face.

“Here, let me help.” He helped me to my feet, then bent over to gather up all my belongings—makeup, feminine hygiene products, papers, files, phone, charger, laptop, and the assorted detritus that collects over time. I opened my bag and he gently deposited it all inside.

He smiled. “You look like you could use a tea. Tell you what—you get organized, and I’ll meet you in your office with caffeinated beverages, and we can go over the presentation notes.”

I nodded, and limped into my office.

I gathered up my presentation notes and took out my laptop. I turned it on—or tried to turn it on. Nothing. Dead as my hope of becoming a prima ballarina. Because nothing says crazy more than repeating the same action and expecting the outcome to change, I pressed the power button a dozen more times, with the same outcome—zero response.

It was dead. I wished I was dead. Something must have happened when I fell. Of course it did.

I stuck my head out of my office. “Max! We need your laptop. Mine’s dead.”

He calmly walked in, a cup of tea for me, a coffee for himself. Calmly would be the operative word. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and Max was behaving like he didn’t have a care in the world. You wouldn’t know that the future of our firm hung in the balance. To Max, everything was hunky-dory. He gently placed the mugs on my desk and disappeared, only to return seconds later. He fired up his laptop, retrieved the presentation from the cloud. Thank heavens for the cloud, even though I did have a copy saved on my USB stick. Redundant I know, but you can never be too prepared.

“We need to set up the conference room,” I said when we’d finished the final edit and proof.

“Done.”

“Electronic copies of the presentation need to be sent to all the attendees.”

He looked at me, smiled, hit a couple of keys on his laptop, pressed a button, and said “Done.”

“Photocopies of the slide deck for everyone?”

A bit more typing, and he pushed another button. “Done.”

I smiled. “You’re amazing!”

He smiled back. “I know, but you did all the work last night,” he said looking up. ”How late were you here last night?”

“About midnight,” I said, shrugging.

Catherine, our admin stuck her head in. “What do you want me to do with these?” She held up a stack of photocopies.

“Put one at each seat in the conference room. Thanks.” She disappeared.

Max stopped and looked at me. “Soooo, what about this?” He waved his hand in front of me.

“Oh God! I know!” I kicked off my broken shoes, and headed for my closet, and pulled out another pair of low heels. I looked at my suit. No way it would work.

“Be right back.” I ran out of the office and took the elevator down to the main floor. Around the corner was a dry cleaners where I happened to have a clean suit and blouse waiting for pickup.

Jimmy brought me my clothes. “That’ll be twenty-nine dollars for the suit, nine-fifty for the blouse, plus five dollars and thirteen cents tax, for a grand total of forty-three dollars and sixty-three cents.” He smiled up at me, taking in my suit. “You know, we do repairs. And spot cleaning. We do a good job.”

I nodded and took my wallet out of my bag. Well, I would have if I’d remembered my bag. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. This was not the day I had been hoping to have.

“I forgot my purse. I’ll be right back.” I turned and ran out of the store, returning less than ten minutes later, sweaty and out of breath.

Jimmy smiled again. “You’re a good customer, Ms. Quinn. We woulda spotted ya until you came back.”

“Thanks, Jimmy. Good to know.” I did truly appreciate the gesture, but I wished he’d have mentioned it before I’d gone back for my wallet.

I rushed back to the office, again, going over the agenda for the meeting in my mind. Everything was ready—except me.

I shut and locked my office door and changed suits. I put my dirty clothes in a bag, shoved it to the back my coat closet, and started to put my make-up on. I got as far as the mascara, when I realized I didn’t actually have my mascara. I searched my bag. Not there. Sigh. I looked like I’d plucked out all my eyelashes. This would never do! I needed lash definition. I grabbed my purse and headed for the elevator. Again. There was a drug store not too far from the office. I was back in about twelve minutes a tube of over-priced, under-performing mascara clutched in my hand.

“I think you dropped this when you spilled your bag.”

I looked at Wendy. She was holding my Lancôme mascara.

I sighed. Timing was everything. “Ah, yes it is. Thanks, Wendy.”

Back in my office I finished getting ready, and met Max in the conference room, ready to do our dry run. Everything went smoothly. Well, as smoothly as is can when every possible thing that can go wrong has gone wrong, and you’re sweating through your clean blouse because you’ve been running around outside. Despite all that, the presentation was solid.

“We’re ready,” I said fanning myself. I looked at my watch. Nine forty-six. We still had fourteen minutes before the clients were due to arrive.

The conference room phone buzzed. I picked it up.

“Zoe Quinn. … Uh huh. …. Uh huh. … Okay. One p.m. Is perfect. See you then.”

I looked at Max. “Apparently one of their team had a bit of a family emergency and they want to postpone the meeting until this afternoon.”

He looked back at me, and burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it I started to laugh with him.

My hand went to my throat, to grab my Saint Thomas More medal I wore on a fine silver chain. I’ve worn it everyday since the first day of undergrad law classes. I always have it on. Except today.

Max must have noticed the look on my face. “What’s the matter?”

“My Saint Thomas More medal. It’s gone.” I looked at him. He looked confused. “He’s the patron saint of lawyers. It’s my good luck charm—it makes me a good lawyer. I always wear it. It never leaves my neck.”

Except, apparently, today. I thought for a moment and mentally slapped my forehead. I’d taken it off last night to clean it, so that it would be all shiny for the presentation today. Instead of hanging around my neck where it belonged, it was currently laid out neatly on my kitchen counter beside the silver polish.

If I don’t wear my medal, bad things will happen. That’s why today had been such a shit show—I wasn’t wearing my medallion. He was my good luck charm—like a four-leaf clover in saint form.

“It’s at home. I’ve got to go get it. I can’t do the presentation without it.”

Max looked at me, I’m sure thinking about rituals, obsessive-compulsive disorders, and the power of a talisman. But, he’d also seen what a hellacious day I’d had because I wasn’t wearing it. “I’ll drive you,” he said. We headed for the elevator.

Yeah, it was one of those days.