Comedy of Errors

I went to sleep last night with a small suspicion that I might be cursed. This morning I awoke and was certain of it. The sky, usually bright blue or covered with a thin, soon dispensed cover of clouds, was heavy with several layers of dark, ominous clouds. The branches were being tossed recklessly by a merciless wind, whist rain plunked off the metal roofs of the neighbourhood. It is the worst weather I’ve experienced since arriving.

And I had been planning to go to the zoo.

It’s just a little storm. I can go to the zoo another day. I have to expect that things will not always work out as I expected. I know that. But the sheer number of small things that have not played out in my favour is ridiculous to the point of being funny. Several of these occurred yesterday.

I’ve fallen into the habit of going to the library every morning to use their free WiFi. This helps me to save money on the Internet service I have at home, for which I pay based on the amount of data I use. However, the library’s service is far slower than my own. Often intolerably slow. That was the case yesterday, so I thought Stuff it and went to a café that I knew offered WiFi.

I ordered cinnamon apple toast along with my mocha to meet the minimum purchase amount required to use the Internet. When the dish arrived, I sawed off a piece of toast, speared a chunk of apple and put it in my mouth. The unmelting butter on my slab of toast was a completely misleading indication of the temperature of the food. It was a downright lie. The apple was a pouch of molten cider that scalded the roof of my mouth and any gum line unfortunate enough to be surrounding my upper molars.

I shifted the burning fruit to various parts of my mouth, trying to cool it down. I only succeeded in damaging a larger surface area. Each time I attempted to bite down, boiling juice would squirt out. After a sufficient time period, I finally managed to chew and swallow the ill-tempered and hateful apple. I then finished sending out resumes with a throbbing ache around my teeth.

After lunch, I needed to go retrieve my wayward Responsible Service of Alcohol certificate. I’d had to make some phone calls, search some online records and provide my credit card details again, but it was finally ready. There was no problem with picking it up except for when I was leaving. The elevator stopped, and I got out as someone else got on. I had no idea where I was, and looked so confused that a woman walking by felt the need to offer assistance. It turns out the elevator had stopped on the second floor to let the other woman on and I hadn’t noticed we’d not yet reached the ground floor.

With evidence of my RSA savvy in hand, I submitted resumes at a few more theatres. On the way home I decided to stop at a different branch of the library. I’d been perusing the catalogue earlier, and another Hemingway book I wanted to read was checked in there. I walked in and looked for it without success. Confused, I checked the library catalogue computer again. The Hemingway book actually belongs to the Surry Hills branch. It was a book about gentrification that was at Haymarket. I’d had the two confused.

I still wanted to read about gentrification, so I rode the incredibly dodgy elevator up to the second floor. I found the section of dewy decimal numbers where the book should have been located (this post is getting progressively nerdier all the time). The catalogue had assured me it was on the shelves. But it wasn’t. I checked about 10 times.

I was cranky and without reading material when I arrived home. And my feet hurt. I thought that was due to the fact that I’d been walking around for close to four hours. But when I took off my shoes, I noticed certain concentrated areas were itchy as well. Upon further inspection, I discovered that an aggressive swarm of mosquitoes had perpetrated an assault on my feet when I’d been out on my deck Skyping with Andy the night before.

Books, apples, mosquito bites and raindrops are small things. I can easily deal with them. I have all the tools I need, like patience, close-toed shoes and umbrellas. And now that I’ve reached the point of finding my small hoard of misfortunes funny, I’ll be able to combat them with attitude as well. Bring it on, Sydney!