You know one of those days where everything goes so swimmingly, right from the start, that you just know it's just going to be great? Yeah?
This was not one of those days.
First off, catching the bus this morning, I got stuck behind one of those guys who insists on being a gentleman, and letting everyone else go before him in the queue. I was second last on the bus because of said wanker. For two pins I'd've shoved him out of the way, but it was very likely that I'd be spotted by one of the ten thousand people who'd got on before me, and probably I would have been bus-banned for life. And what a crying shame that would have been.
Then the driver couldn't figure out the ticket machine and made me pay when I was getting off the bus. As she was already running late (even more so than the usual insane goblin who masquerades as a licensed driver), I got off at five to nine, with class beginning at nine, and with a fifteen minute walk.
And my hair got wet.
Mary wasn't in because, by her own account, she was 'kidnapped by tiny pink elephants'.
Lisa, the teacher, twice asked me if I was from Kerry, because apparently I have 'that healthy glow about me'. And not only my own class, but all the cute guys from Architecture, with whom we are sharing a room, heard this utter, utter shame. Aside from the mortal insult, the irony is that this weekend I had a cough, a sore throat, a cold and another tongue ulcer (this time thanks to circa twenty packets of Malteasers).
Ray, another teacher (they should all be locked up, really) made us take bundles of paper over to the new art room because of course the three caretakers couldn't be thought of to do anything of the sort. I managed to split and drop my package of paper, only saving it from a puddle of mud with a swift ballet-toe foot-flex. Somebody called Brad helped me take it up the twelve thousand flights of stairs to the new room, which was odd...I didn't realise people were actually called Brad.
On the bus home, then, we got stuck with a bunch of school-tourers, for heavens' sakes. I thought the agony would never end. Our bus is full enough as it is, and the girl behind me, besides having barely enough brains to fill a teaspoon (judging from her incessant and inane chatter), had the temerity to insult both HARRY POTTER and complain about the amount of stops we had. (As if it wasn't her, and her gimpy mates' faults, that the people in Glanmire were stuck waiting for three-quarters of an hour for the next bus to Watergrasshill, because ours was full!) She MUST DIE.
I hate public transport. But on the upside, two pretty boys from my bus officially go to my college, and another two pretty boys stood aside for me to go before them getting on and off the last bus. Which was disconcerting, naturally, and I wish they wouldn't, but at least I got to look at the pretty.
Anyone know a Benjamin Bradley? The name's stuck in my head, and it sounds oddly familiar.