Mr. Pym's Bad Day

He had not been expecting a letter. Perhaps he should have been. It wasn't that he was unaware that the day's events were moving inexorably and inevitably towards some horrifying conclusion. Mr. Pym was a night auditor at a local motel, which meant that he slept during the day awakening in the late afternoon to get ready for his shift. Today, Mr. Pym had awoken with a start and a glimpse at his blinking alarm clock told him there had been a power outage. His alarm had not gone off, he was late. Glancing at his wristwatch on the bedside dresser told him he had thirty minutes to get to work. Hopping up from his bed, Mr. Pym rushed to his bathroom to take a hasty shower and was assailed by a foul odor that permeated the air in the cramped little room. He pulled back the shower curtain to find that the sewage line had backed up into tub. Mr. Pym's jaw fell open in a silent gasp, his mouth forming a perfect "O". His expression might have been comical to an outside observer.

Backing out of the room his hands covering his nose and mouth, and slamming the bathroom door shut, he wheeled around to his closet to grab his clothes for work. Twisting and tugging on the doorknob Mr. Pym couldn't get the door open. Dismayed, he examined the closet door and saw that the wood had swelled to the point where the door wouldn't open. Bewildered, Mr. Pym gazed about his bedroom realizing that the only clothes available to him were the ones he had thrown on the floor after his shift the night before. He blinked once, slowly, shook out the wrinkled, slightly odorous clothing and dressed quickly. He ran his fingers through his thinning, brown hair and grabbed his wristwatch. He still had to catch the bus three blocks from his apartment.

Grabbing his keys from the counter, Mr. Pym locked the door behind him and raced to the elevator at the end of the hall on the fifth floor. The out-of-order sign taped to the doors was almost anti-climactic. With a deep sigh, Mr. Pym hurried to the stairway and collided with a messenger from a local courier service. Making hurried apologies, he went to step around the courier when the young man asked, "Hey, do you know where a Mister Pym lives?" Hanging his head in defeat, Mr. Pym slowly turned around and sighing, signed for the letter, examining the envelope. It seemed inoffensive enough.

He really should have known better.

Mr. Pym got a paper cut opening the letter. Sighing heavily, wiping his thumb across his pants, (his clothing no longer mattered since there was no way he was getting to work on time) and handling the envelope more gingerly, he opened the letter. It was brief.

After the salutation there were only two lines printed on the paper followed by a polite closing. Mr. Pym placed the letter back in the envelope and trudged back to his apartment. He placed his keys back on the counter, called in sick to work, and left a message for his super about the shower. He got undressed, dropping his clothes in the spot they occupied before on his floor. He got back into bed and didn't bother resetting his clock.

Mr. Pym was having a bad day.