This is a tale of misery: more specifically, MY misery. Now, I'm perfectly aware of the fact that most people seem to be more interested in their own misery then that of their fellow human beings - unless, of course, the misery of another human being will bring a smile to their face. So lean back, dear readers (all three of you) and let me share my tale of woe with you and you can all smile and/or laugh at my misery. Pure therapy people, pure therapy...
Today was a really, really slow day at work. Painfully slow, even. My only eventful couple of hours was at the very start of the day, as a pretty big bunch of back-ordered goods (of the heavy, bulky, PA-speaker variety) came in and had to be stowed/unpacked and hooked up.After that it was pretty much six hours of the occasional phone call, a VERY occasional customer and plenty of coffee. So when the clock turned 6, we quickly closed up and were all very eager to get home. Now, as I'm sure you all know by now, Norway has very... unpredictable... weather and today was no exception: this morning was cold and clear, and it even snowed for a couple of minutes before I went to work.
Heading home tonight, however, I was greeted with the mother of all downpours: the skies had literally opened to flush every last drop of rain down on unsuspecting Oslo citizens. Being a semi-healthy geek, I usually walk all the way home (a walk that takes me about 30 minutes) but today I had left my umbrella at home, and also had a lot to do when I got home so I thought to myself "Bah, I'll take the bus. No need to get any wetter than I already am."
Now, this is where - had there been an omnipotent, omnipresent entity controlling the universe - I should have gotten some kind of sign or omen that I had just made a bad decision: a crow should have flown over my head, a lightening flashed across the dark skies, ANYTHING. Of course, none of this happened, and I strolled over to the bus-stop hoping that the bus wouldn't be too late (it seems it's always 10 minutes late the few times I actually choose to go by bus). I should mention at this point that the bus stop is situated pretty close to a heavily trafficked main road. I walked up to the bus stop, glanced at the time-table, glanced at my cell and figured the next bus would be there in a couple of minutes, turned around...
...and was splashed - no, DRENCHED - in water sprayed from a car driving past. Yeah, I'm talking Hollywood-cliché drenched here, as a regular flood wave of mucky water hit me. Following up on the Hollywood-cliché (by instinct or because of seeing too many movies), I just stood there with a priceless expression on my face - just the right combination of surprise, anger and hopelessness. The car was of course a mile away by the time I had figured out what had happened, and I could only curse silently to myself as I wished at least a year of pestilence upon its driver. Dripping, I at least had the presence of mind to step a good few metres back from the curb and quietly (and somewhat broodingly) drip at a safe distance from more potential splashing. In this kind of situation, you can of course choose to be angry, frustrated and simply have your evening ruined - which, granted, I suppose is what most normal people would do anyway - or, you can laugh hysterically about the absurdity of the whole damn thing.
I tell you, life might be a b*tch, but boy does she have a sense of irony: by choosing to take the bus - a safe, warm, dry haven in this incredibly rainy weather - to avoid getting drenched, I had indeed become MORE drenched than if I had actually just walked home in the rain in the first place. Realizing this, I had no choice than to giggle like a madman in the rain. Which is probably why most other people out in the rain seemed to prefer walking on the OTHER side of the road: giggling lunatics seem to have that effect on people. Go figure.
So, this is where my tale of woe should have ended, but alas: the universe had more in store for me. After a couple of minutes of giggling, I felt pretty good about the whole damn thing (all my clothes were washable after all), tilted my head back to let the rain clean my face, and waited for the bus. Sure enough, a few hundred metres down the street the bus was coming, so I fished out my bus- card and walked towards to curb, waving eagerly at the bus - which simply drove straight past me. So, there I was, one more with a slightly puzzled look on my face, before once more breaking into laughter - I mean, the evening was just getting started, what MORE could it have in store for me?
Luckily, a few minutes later (I was already drenched, so standing in the rain getting soaked didn't really matter at this point) the next bus came along, and this time I waved vigorously as it passed, and the driver DID see me - after a while. Yeah, this one almost drove straight past me, too. Happy, I boarded the bus, only to be greeted with a sourly "You know, if you want to be seen, you really shouldn't be standing in those dark clothes at THIS stop - there's better light at the one down the street." Ah, yes. The Oslo bus- drivers: the very essence of politeness, know-how and service. I muttered a "Yeah, whatever." and placed my dripping self in the middle part, away from seats and passengers that seemed slightly alarmed by my - now pretty obvious - blend of elation and brooding anger.
The moral of the story? If you're out in the rain you will get wet, one way or another. You might as well learn to enjoy it.
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