For him, Monday was never a good day.
There had always been something about it, beyond the fact that it was the beginning of the working week. Something else; something sinister.
When he looked in the bathroom mirror, he scowled when he saw that his acne was coming back. Then, he took a cup of tea to his wife, in bed. He forgot her usual serving of three sugars. She spat it out, all over her brand new bedspread; a present from her mother. On the way in to work his car broke down. He had to leave it at the garage and go in by bus. The only bright spot would have been his usual coffee, at his usual café, served by the lovely waitress that always made his day, but she was off.
He got to work late. During the morning his paper jammed in the printer, burst into flames and all the smoke alarms went off.
The building was cleared and they all stood out in the street waiting for the fire brigade. It started to rain, heavily. When they all finally got back inside, his boss called him into his office. He handed him a week’s notice.
On his lunch break he rang his wife with the news.
She hung up.
He lost his wallet somewhere on the bus getting home. When he got home he found her packing her bags. She was leaving for good. When she backed out of the driveway like a maniac, shouting that he would never see her again, she ran over the neighbour’s dog.
All in all, he didn’t sleep well.
On the following morning, it was Tuesday. Tuesday is a different day. It is not a Monday. Never was. Now he can move on with his life and create a whole new future. He will go into the café as usual, albeit by public transport. With no wallet, he would have to pay for his drink with loose change. It didn’t matter. He will sit there and think about what it all means. He will be served by that sweet angel that has somehow taken on human form.
He entered and found his usual spot. A good sign that, he thought. He just needs to let all this other stuff go. Reinvent himself. Boldly go where no man… whatever; he would forge forward towards a greater, brighter destiny. Besides, the lovely waitress always made him feel better about things.
After a minute or two, the Arcadian nymph that only looks like a pretty waitress, glides over to his table.
She smiles her lovely smile and says, “Can I get you your usual today?”
He freezes. Her words strike home. In that moment he is thrown into a whirlpool of mental agony. He is swallowed up by a great, dark cloud. He finally looks up as she comes slowly back into focus.
“My usual today… today… usual,” he mutters. “I wish you could get me my usual today.”
She waits patiently.
He frowns at her. “I lost that yesterday!”