Fictional Anecdote

Morning gents. So I ride my motorcycle to work everyday and is about an hour or more each way - so I have a lot of time to think, and what do I think about? Destiny much of the time haha. On a particular ride recently I stumbled upon a train of thought that lead to a story; a fictionally narrated anecdote combing daily life and VOG. Just thought I'd share for something silly to read. Cheers mates. My Raid Grimoire The weekend passes and the new week of baneful glory awaits. First, I teeter about what alarm setting I should awake to –5:30am (which is hard enough as is but I hit more traffic) or 4:30am (im-freaking-possible to do but at least the roads’ll be clear). “Aim for the stars” I tell myself, figuring I could always wipe the snooze button anyway until 5:30 rolls around. The alarm goes off and it’s off to the races. I rush into breakfast battle trying to sync all three kids’ plates coming out at once; because if all aren’t satisfied simultaneously the gate won’t open quickly enough to boot them off to school in time. Once this easier task of my day is out of the way, I must dawn my own battle gear; it’s a cold one outside – “damn thy commute.” Thick sturdy boots with four layers of pants, four chest pieces of shirts and jackets, snow gauntlets, and finally my full-faced Helm of Winter’s Breath. As I pat myself down for all the essentials I almost forget my trusty caffeine cannon. A life saver this morning; fully loaded to the brim and ready to consume the siren call of my warm bed and hot wife. Finally, I am ready to hop onto my two-wheeled sparrow adorned by macho-man flames with the heart of Evil Knievel. As I speed along my way I try fervently to avoid the death-glare and gut-wrenching sound of highway patrol units littered throughout the interstate. I have duck at times, waiting for those nearby to move along, or bolt passed others as they’re turned the other way. Blood-boiling frustration when caught off guard by one of these protectors. Time goes so slow in traffic my soul feels lost. But eventually I make it into work only to be greeted by yet another day’s onslaught of protestors - crazy, headless fanatics if you ask me. All morning long they come out of their dens running around, shooting off their mouths, and chasing after the unsuspecting passerby looking to explode right in on their prey in “green” propaganda. All of this in support of some silver-tongued goon who thinks he’s impervious anything – boy am I looking forward to the day when he’s pushed off the side of his mighty high pedestal so I can move on with my day devoid of such annoyance. At last, I’m inside this dark and bewildering place I call work; I suppose that’s the “beauty” of government buildings. Down some winding staircases I can see my warm and cozy office; only a little bit further. “Crap!” I’ve been spotted by the office harpies who are making a B-line right towards me. “Run! Jump! Evade!” Their beady red eyes are coming in too fast and bursting at the seam to share the latest gossip. I die a little inside. Thankfully, my comrade comes and revives me after my defeat with some donuts from the break room – a sweet piece of joy hidden inside that all too recognizable pink chest. Four hours come and go with remedial effort sorting through emails and documents. A dry job this little worker bee has but one has to pay the bills and feed those little Minotaur’s of mine. I drift in and out of sleep thinking about my past; a gloomy vision if I’ve ever seen one. Everything seems discolored, lost, and hopeless. BAM! I awake in fright only to have my boss be blasting me with “F-bomb” this and “F-bomb that” I can’t get a word in edgewise. I apologize, figuring he was mad at me for falling asleep, but who really knows. He ventures on his way after a while and asks the harpies to watch me. Lunch time at last, I’m running on empty. I eat every consumable thing insight until I have to let out my belt a bit for full digestive effect to occur. “I’m almost done with this day. It’s all downhill from here.” Two thirty hits and again I’m out like a log for the afternoon lull, except this time I dream of my future. “This is awesome! It’s raining money!” Everywhere I look is green and colorful and easy. “What a life.” SLAP! across the face by one of the harpies, “Stay awake or the boss will…” And queue the boss, “The boss will what? Find out that my manager is falling asleep again?” And here come the F-bomb bombarding my ear-drums. All I can hear is the pounding of each syllable drilled into my head. I’m pretty sure this cycle continues until five o’clock hits and I bolt out that door with ecstatic glee. “I’m done!” I proclaim, as if I’ve really accomplished something I wanted. I didn’t get a promotion, they didn’t treat me to lunch, they didn’t buy me that new stapler I’ve been asking for. What do I get at the end of the day? A few measly coins and a dozen white coffee mugs with “World Greatest Dad” written on it given to me by my wonderful kids and amazing wife to shower me with encouragement and appreciation. Looking forward to do all over again in the morning.