I hate it when you wake up and you know that bad joss will hit you today. That was how I woke up this morning. I tried to shake the feeling off with leftover steak and eggs over rice, but it just didn’t work. The bad feeling refused to go.

As soon as I got to work, I got fired. Bad joss confirmed.

My super said I was simply just a bad employee. Said I was too slow or something like that. I can only guess he must mean the six deadlines that I’ve missed.

It’s not my fault I got dumped by my girl at the same time the entire staff from my division chose to resign. They got mad because I was screwing around — literally on everyone’s desk with the new intern. I really don’t know why they were upset; I took great pains to clean up after I did the deed. I guess I should’ve looked at the valuable company contracts I was using to clean up.

Hey, I’m sorry if they’ve got a problem with my overtime work with the new girl. Just doing my job. The boss’ll screw her later anyway. Might as well be first. Conservative bastards. At least I got that project done way before the deadline.

Of course my girl found out and I lost my office, my workmates, my girl, and the new intern (who’s probably getting nailed — not screwed — by the boss as we speak).

When shitty things like that happen to you after a fantastic run it may be possible to develop a craving for furniture football. Furniture football is played by kicking heavy inanimate objects, like say a sofa, for example, as far as humanly possible. Let’s face it: whenever you get into a bad rut, you only remember the bad rut and forget the delightful sins that earned you the bad karma coming your way. This only adds to the force that one applies to your foot as it pounds the furniture in your flat.

It’s easy to forget the laws of physics when playing furniture football. Let’s take a sofa. The sofa is probably the softest piece of furniture you can think of, yet a sofa – any sofa, by definition, is big and heavy. Its base is probably made of solid hardwood. If you’re unlucky and one of those art deco types, it’s made of steel. A sofa like that weighs a lot. Your foot, on the other hand, is soft, pliable, and made up mostly of muscle, fatty tissue, and circular bones. It also doesn’t weigh a lot.

If you add one and one together, you’re going to come to the quick and logical conclusion that feet and furniture do not mix. However, this is lost to people fighting a bad rut, and being a person fighting a bad rut, I don’t really need to tell you what happened.

Did I tell you I have an ingrown toenail in my big toe? The one I just recently used to play furniture football?

Alas, the poor little, wretched thing did bleed profusely. Unable to walk, I limped my way to the nearest emergency room, where the attendant doctor brusquely told me without minced words that they would have to pull out my entire nail to stop the bleeding and possible infection.

That being said (and painfully done), I’ve never been fond of pulled nails. When I was in kindergarten I had this teacher whose feet were probably the worst I had ever seen. That is, until today.

Whether my preschool teacher had bad feet because of bad shoes, really nasty ingrowns, or by playing a lot of furniture football, I’ll probably never know. I don’t think I remember her name, or what happened to her anymore. All I remember are her toenails, those on her right foot. On that foot, she had three nails almost completely pulled off her feet. I imagine they must have hurt really badly.

If you tap your nails right now, you’ll be aware that there are a LOT of nerve endings just underneath that hard layer of cuticle. I mean, one can only imagine the pain involved in causing pain sensors to fire all over that many nerve endings. However, one must be brave enough to face these fears, or at least that’s what the nurse told me.

Turns out I was right. The pain was way beyond pain, even with eight shots of painkillers. With eight industrial strength, legally administered dope, chances are you’re either as high as a kite or dead. Luckily for me, I wasn’t dead, just really damn close.

What a fucking trip.

If you look at it that way, I guess, then stubbing a big toe on the sofa, losing my girl, or losing my job doesn’t seem so bad. In fact, it doesn’t seem like bad luck at all.


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