Doom 1, Condon 0

Today was actually going to be a good day. I slept well, had a good shower and shave, even had time to throw an Eggo Waffle into the toaster oven (not literally, I don’t like smushed waffle.) My school bag and gym bags were quickly and efficiently packed, and I took care of bagging up the trash to take down to the dumpster (I am forbidden from throwing that off the balcony, it seems.) In the words of Jasen Andersen, “It’s a beautiful day!” (Well, they’re not Jasen’s words. He’s quoting something. He’s always quoting something. (To which he’d say. “I’ll give you a quote.” – Now that would be a Jasen Original.))

When mornings start off this well, something’s going to bring it back down to earth. Guaranteed.

So when I closed my door, I was on the lookout to see from which direction Doom may strike. The 4th floor landing was quiet – but not too quiet – I’m not exactly mouselike when carrying two bags, the garbage, and my keys. Hell, I’m never mouselike.

Katie has often counted that there are 59 steps between our apartment and ground floor zero. That’s nearly 5 dozen opportunities to get Suckerpunched by Doom. And yet, even with all those things to carry (and let me add, I’ve managed to get my mp3 player headphones in-ear during the descent), I managed to make it to the pavement, still on my good morning high.

Short of getting hit by a car, there’s not a whole lot to be careful for in the walk across the parking lot. I know someone who got by a car. Twice. In the same year. On the same road. Rhymes with Wearin’ Derby. And although she never actually wore derbies (other headwear, perhaps), I’m not her and I didn’t get hit by any vehicles this morning.

Seeing no need to take the trash to work, I deposited in the dumpster and descended the hill to my car. It’s not a hill, really. For some reason, the complex planning commission decided to do echelon parking, leaving me to take three or four precarious steps down to the next level of asphalt. I could walk around and take the gradual decline that normal people are accustomed to using. But I didn’t fall – good day still intact. (And my mp3 player opened with some Carbon Leaf. Rok.)

However, at this point, I am more petrified than ever. If nothing bad had happened up until this point, there’s a 90% chance that something will still occur to throw my day not only back to neutral, but into a tailspin of woe. The longer fate decides to hold you up, the more extravagant his pendulum backswing will be. Of course, there’s a 10% chance I’ll make it to work unscathed, which was precisely what my prayers were focusing on at the time I got to my car.

Percentages don’t lie.

After putting my bags in the car, I opened the door. Right leg in, sat down, reached across the passenger seat for the phone charger. And then, just about the time I was about to cheer in victory over fate, it happened. And the good morning high became that predicted tailspin of woe. After avoiding every land mine, my left foot (still outside the car) stepped down onto the biggest land mine of them all.

An unopened grape Flavor Ice.

Of all the things to accidentally step down on, it had to be an unfrozen tube of purple fruit juicy goo that is prong to cover your pant leg if any external pressure is applied. What’s worse, grape is my LEAST favorite Flavor Ice.

Suckerpunched by Doom? Indeed.