Morning lessons

Here's what you need to do. Don't get carried away thinking too far ahead. You're thinking about an appointment this afternoon and not the snow and ice you're walking on in the driveway. You're reminded when your left foot nearly flies out from under you. Don't bust your ass. That's all you need to remember. Watch where you put that next foot, and don't bust your ass. 

I was tested already today. Had an appointment to get some blood drawn at one of those commercial labs. The lab is about a fifteen minute drive from where I live. I left my house forty minutes before. On the way, I encountered two school zones with all the kiddies arriving at once. I got through the first one without much cursing. Go with the flow, I said to myself. The second one involved a five-way intersection and a level of absurdity that made it feel like a cosmic joke being played on me. This can't be a natural occurrence. My anger rose. I could feel my facial expression changing my chemistry. I tried to smile to counter it, but couldn't pull it off. I was able to at least fake it half way by simulating a smile with my eyes. That kept things from escalating. I've got ten minutes to get there now. It'a about five minutes away. When I cleared the school zone, traffic was still backed up. 

Construction. Excellent logistical planning, Worcester. I'm souring again. Man, I'm good at getting myself into this sullen simmering state. It's your own fucking fault, I say, trying to take some responsibility and feeling even worse. Kicking my own ass is something I do very well too. 

Eventually, I get there. The lobby is packed. There's no receptionist just two computer screens mounted on the wall. I read the instructions and check in. The screen tells me I am more than ten minutes late (13) and that I will have to reschedule. Muttering to myself, I leave.

Next door is a bakery. Coffee and something to eat will help. They have delicious looking croissants and Valentine cookies with cute messages written in icing across them. I ignore the latter. Salami and cheese croissant and a cappuccino, please. I tip the girl. There is a mother and little girl sitting in a booth. The little girl is probably three years old. I try to smile at her. Her face hardens and she looks down at the table.  It's not that easy being a cis gendered white man these days, I'm thinking. Nobody knows. 

I find a seat and a little solace in the first bite of flaky buttery goodness. The little girl peaks around the edge of the wooden bo0th at me. I widen my eyes at her. She smiles delightedly and ducks back in. Then she peaks over the top of the booth and I smile for real this time. She does too.