Thursday morning is typically when I write this column, but it’s always convenient if when I begin I have a topic. I didn’t this Thursday, which any regular reader understands is not an infrequent occurrence.
I began thinking about my yesterday, which was Wednesday, also known as Hump Day. Now I am not sure if retirees have Hump Days or if in my case it was just another Wednesday, but whatever I label it, it sucked. So I will share The Suck to see if I feel better.
The day began poorly when I got up at 5:30 a.m. Nothing bad happened at 5:30 a.m. except that I had to get out of bed to prepare for work. I know retirees are supposed to delight in getting up at the first hint of light, but I remain a night owl, often not turning in until midnight or shortly afterward. For 22 years as editor of this paper I got up at 6 a.m. to get out The Robesonian when it was delivered in the early afternoon, and I hated it as much the last time as I did the first and all the times in between. I did it for you.
Among my first tasks at work is to get out the carts for the golfers. In getting out the first of what should have been 32 carts, I apparently stirred up a hornet’s nest — and I use the phrase literally, not figuratively. The evidence of the sting is still visible on my left wrist as I write this, but for the most part, I am OK.
There were about 10 of them, swarming around the barn door, creating what was essentially a gauntlet. I thought about using a can of Raid that was handy, but instead opted for a nonviolent approach with the hope that the hornets would be reasonable and détente could be achieved. It’s useful to know that a hornet, unlike our friend the honey bee, does not die following his sting, so in theory at least, 10 of them possessed an infinite number of stings. They were not going to run out of ammo.
So I continued getting the carts out, making sure I had sufficient momentum to barrel at high speed through the gauntlet. I didn’t get stung again, but there were close calls. I made sure the golfers were aware of my heroism. A couple even feigned concern.
The workday itself was uneventful, except that The Suck continued with a Bad Back Day, which had a new ally in making me miserable, a sore left Achilles tendon. I dragged the foot around while semi-stooped with the bad back. If I were a millennial, I would have asked for a couple of weeks of R&R but I come from a different generation, not The Greatest, but Not The Worst Either. I would have also been late to work.
Adding to The Suck was that I was preoccupied all day — and even now — worrying about a best buddy who is battling a horrific disease, and my thoughts on how I could provide him a measure of comfort. If you know me at all, you probably know of whom I speak, so a prayer would be appreciated. My Day of Suck, I assure you, would not amount to a fraction of what he endures each day and has for 13 years, doing so bravely and without complaint. He provides me healthy doses of inspiration and perspective.
The workday complete at 1 p.m., I grabbed a nap, for without it, I morph into a Grumpy Old Man. Then the errands were checked off, and I even decided to hit some golf balls, seeing what I could do in my decrepit state. It wasn’t great, but a bit of golf, even bad golf, makes better any day.
After plucking a few weeds from the garden, feeding three cats, including the feral prick, I settled into the recliner, cold beer nearby, dinner cooking, and took a swing at my last hope at turning the Day of Suck into A Day of Slightly Better Than Suck.
The Atlanta Braves were playing at the Philadelphia Phillies, and I was watching as they sought their fourth straight win, which would put them on the plus side of .500 for the first time this year, and tried to narrow the NL East Division lead of the New York Mets.
The Braves entered the bottom of the ninth leading 1-0 with their closer, Will Smith, who was 11 for 11 on save attempts, bringing the heat.
With two down and a runner on first, I texted a group of fellow Braves fans that Atlanta was trying to go “25 and oh” when leading going into the ninth inning. I was admonished for potentially jinxing the Braves, but argued I was using reverse mojo.
Then Luke Williams, a Philly who is a Philadelphia native and entered the game with zero hits on the year, got his third hit of the game, a 377-foot walk-off home run, making him the hometown hero and me the guy who jinxed the Braves. My cell phone shows my text was at 10:01 p.m., and my investment of two hours, 31 minutes — at my age, every second counts — had not been rewarded.
It was a storybook ending to my Day of Suck. And although I don’t feel any better about my Day of Suck, I do have Thursday off to a good start as this column is done.