Just five more minutes

As dawn breaks on this somber, yet somehow idyllic scenery, a poor fucker – yours truly – is frantically trying to wake up and get to work. After a titanic struggle, he somehow makes it out of bed and, in two minutes’ time, through the front door.

Puffy eyes. Wrinkly shirt. Mismatched socks. Half-asleep frown. Overall, not in a bad condition. You should see me on a Monday.

I’m waiting for the bus and it’s freakin’ COLD. The air is so humid that I wouldn’t blink an eye if I saw a fish swimming through it. I’m flipping through radio stations, trying to find something to listen to. I stumble upon an obnoxiously cheerful radio presenter. He pisses me off even more.

Morning commute is a nightmare. Take a few thousands of cranky folks who woke up two hours earlier than they’d like, cram them into old, stinky buses and get them on their way to a job they most probably hate.

I can’t decide what’s worse – my sorry state, or the fact that I perfectly blend in with the crowd? Everybody looks like somebody took a morning dump in their cornflakes. Nobody talks. Nobody looks at each other. Later, after we’ve put some coffee in our systems, we may turn to normal, fully functioning people again. For now, however, each of us little more than grumpiness with legs.

How can something that kills so many people on the inside be the norm? How have we come to this? Whose fuckin’ idea was it? It’s blasphemy, that’s what it is!

I get crankier by the minute. Some old lady is stepping on my foot. She smells of patchouli and old sweat. I resist the urge to punch her. I’m just two stops away from work.

I get off the bus and check my watch. Luckily, I’m five minutes early. This means I’m getting coffee from the shop around the block. It’s pretty rad stuff, nothing like the watery mess the coffee machine back at the office spews.

The barista knows me. She’s one of us – the morning frown people. She nods, I nod back, she pours strong black coffee in a paper cup and hands it to me. I think she’s hot. Later in the day I may daydream about asking for her number the next time I see her. This early in the day, though, all I would get would be a “fuck off, mate”, and I would fully deserve it.

I’m two minutes late. I’d jog to work, but I don’t want to spill my coffee. Distracted and still very cranky, I almost step in dogshit. I’m getting angrier and angrier. By the time I get to my office, I may well be angry enough to throw caution to the wind and give my boss a piece of my mind about or early work hours.

I stumble upon him the moment I step my foot in the office. He’s already there and in an even worse condition than I am. His suit is unironed and his skin looks ashen. He’s gulping down the coffee maker’s swill, trying to wake up.

I say nothing besides a muffled “G’mornin'”. If he was the guy responsible for this, he wouldn’t be such a mess himself. As I walk away, I hear him grumble something to a coworker. He sounds exhausted.

Instead of being pissed at him, I kind of like him a bit more, now. Maybe I almost pity him a bit, too. He’s not that different than the rest of us, after all. He’s just another sorry fuck that tries to make an honest living, and all he wants each morning is the same as everybody else.

Just five more minutes.