Tuesday would have been a normal, uneventful day, but it turned out to be one of those FAIL days where my brain would goof up on me.
It was already past 6 PM. I was skimming my Facebook news feed to while away the time and posting random thoughts like this:
After getting ready to leave the office, and hanging around a bit and having a chat with an office mate, my brain just had an idea: hey, maybe I should get a beer tonight!With that thought in mind, I ended up at Jamba Juice.
Wait, what? Jamba Juice? Beer?
Yeah… Jamba Juice. LOL let me explain further.
My thought process while heading to High Street was: Do I really want a beer? Of course I want beer! But it’s a Tuesday, I have work the next day. It’s just one bottle. Loser beer? Really? Why can’t I just drink something healthier? But I already claimed beer to be a fruit. Oooo… I feel like having orange juice. Or a fruit smoothie. There’s Jamba Juice. Smoothie it is then!
See? Do you see the connection now? 😀
Anyway, I got to the counter of Jamba Juice, looked at the menu, and dug into my bag for my wallet.
Wait. Fudge. What?
My wallet is not here! Mini panic attack!
Ok, it’s a good thing I haven’t ordered anything yet. That’s one less problem. But where’s my wallet? Is it in the office? Yeah, it should be at the office, in my drawer. Or on my desk. On my desk? For everyone to take? Damn, I got to call someone to keep it safe until I get back there.
Called officemate A: number cannot be reached, damn.
Called teammate C: she just left. WAAAH. Asked her if officemate 3 was still at the office when she left. He was so…
Called teammate D: YES! He’s still there!
I asked him if he could check whether my drawer was open or not (it was locked), and check my desk if there’s a wallet lying around (there was none). UGH. I have to go back and check myself. It was most likely in my drawer.
Take note, I was wearing these high heeled wedges that night. I already walked from the office up to High Street Central (and I stopped over Juicy Couture, Diesel and Banana Republic to window shop before I went to Jamba Juice), and now had to go back again.
I was walking briskly on the way back because I was nervous that my wallet might not be where I was hoping it would be. But dear god, I need to check. By the time I got to my work station, I was already out of breath, my injured hand was somewhat throbbing, my legs were starting to complain, I was sweaty and was getting cranky. Thank you so much, stupid wallet!
LOL sure, blame it on the wallet, Joiz.
I should mention, it’s the third week of waiting for my sprained hand to mend. This is also the first time I wore muscle tape instead of an elastic bandage. The difference? I can wash or get my right hand wet without worrying the bandage will get soiled or icky from getting wet too often. Another difference was I was heavily aware of my hand that night. There was still support but it felt loose and lighter. It basically felt different.
So yeah, after I got my wallet which was lounging quietly (mocking me) in my pedestal drawer, and after I got out of the office (for the 2nd time that night), I lost all desires to walk back to High Street and buy that smoothie. Or that beer. I no longer felt well, and my hand was starting to hurt. It felt like I was going to be sick and might have to go on leave the next day.
Which I did. Stupid wallet!