I had today off work for Martin Luther King remembrance.
I woke up and ambled downstairs from my San Fran crash pad, to find a parking ticket on my car windshield. Parking meters are still enforced on MLK Day.
I look in the envelope, and there's a second ticket. Four months ago, the DMV asked me to do a smog test. I did. Their computer system failed to recognize it, and did not send me new tabs. I have an appointment with them in five days. That did not stop the meter maid from merrily printing me a $50 ticket for expired tabs.
I drive to brunch with seven friends. When the bill comes, I count the change four times, each time bashing into a mental block in computing the sum. Then, I make the error that 175 plus 60 equals 215.
I requested everyone put in another two dollars. A minute later, the fog of idiocy lightened, and I gave everyone their two dollars back.
My dad, being a math professor, often shakes his head in disgust that Americans pull out calculators when computing tip. If he ever hears this story, my cell phone will have a voice mail from him the next day. In it, he will politely request that I change my last name from Wang to Liu or Ma or Jefferson, to avoid further tarnish to the family name.
I run some errands, and drive to the Google gym. I decide to leave my purse in the trunk, as it's safer there. Just as I push the trunk closed, I realize that my car keys are in my purse, and will be locked into the car.
The trunk clunks shut, closing off my hopes with it.
TiVo, DVD, and mp3 players have taught me that if you catch an event within five seconds, you can rewind back to before it happened. I put my hands on the trunk in earnest desire to fix the error before it's permanently recorded.
Security is kind enough to call a locksmith. I huddle on the cement garage floor for 45 minutes, waiting to pay $75 for the 90-second lock service.
I explained to the locksmith that it's been a long day. "Ah, well, it's over now," he said. "Tomorrow is another day."
It damn well better be.