When it Rains, it Pours

A sudden loud clap of thunder woke Charlie Murphy from his REM sleep, and within just a few seconds, the dawn's gray sky outside his window darkened again with a heavy downpour. He strained his neck to look at the red digital display on his bedside alarm clock... 5:33 A.M. It was set for 6 o'clock anyway, so he decided to get up and get a head start on another Monday morning. Charlie wasn't fond of Mondays, but especially this particular Monday; he was scheduled for his Annual Review by his boss and needed to make a good impression since there had been hints of a possible promotion in his near future.

The small man wiggled his way out from under the covers of his large bed, and then wiggled his way to the bathroom down the hall of his tiny apartment. He wiped the sleep from his eyes with one hand and scratched his butt with the other, and then stared at himself in the mirror. Ten minutes later, Charlie realized that he should have waited until he was more awake before attempting to trim his mustache; it ended up looking like half of it was centered over his lip instead of the Tom Selleck look that it had been. He stared at himself a couple of minutes more, scratched his head, and decided that it really didn't look so bad. He could live with it, and besides, his mustache always grew fast. Next chore... shaving.

The can of Barbasol felt light, but Charlie figured he had at least one more shave left in it. He made a mental note to pick up some more on his way home from work that day. After shaking the can several times, the tussled-haired scruffy little man wearing baggy pajamas was ready to give up on it and just use soap, but with one last hard shake, the remains of the foamy cream sprayed him mercilessly... on his forehead, in his hair, and around his eyes... no where near where it needed to be to get a shave. Charlie wiped his face clean with the wet wash cloth, and got as much lather out of the bar of Ivory soap as he could. After a painful shave, he added another item to his mental store list: Gillette Good News... Pivot Plus with Lubrastrip.

After putting the last tiny swatch of toilet paper on the last bleeding cut on his neck, Charlie decided that as long as he was still there, he'd take care of that morning constitutional. He sat down and just as he reached for the latest copy of TIME in his wall mounted magazine rack, he felt a drop on his bare thigh. He looked up just in time to see the bulging ceiling tile break, releasing the contents of his upstairs neighbor's drain pipe all over him. It was not a "water only" drain pipe.

The apartment building's maintenance man was quick to respond though, and while the man was fixing the broken pipe in the bathroom, Charlie was fixing breakfast in the kitchenette. Even with the early wake up, he had lost time with the bathroom disaster, so breaking his routine, he had gotten dressed first. When the bell on the toaster oven sounded signaling that his Eggo waffles were done, it dawned on the diminutive man wearing the over-sized black suit that there was no coffee yet. (Charlie Murphy was a fanatic about that particular part of his morning routine; he even had one of those Mr. Coffee units with the 'pause and serve' feature.) He could hear it brewing, but nothing was dripping into the carafe. He scratched his head in wonderment. Finally, he sent caution to the wind and leaned in for a closer look. Just as his face was close enough to smell his much anticipated morning drink, a sudden explosion of hot water and coffee grounds sprayed him, and then dripped down onto his new white shirt. His immediate reaction was to wipe his face with his hands (instead of the dish towel nearby) and then wipe his hands across the front of his suit jacket.

The local weather report was just finishing on the television when Charlie emerged from his bedroom wearing clean clothes. He glanced at the screen and saw from the radar imagery that the early morning storm had passed through, and in fact, looking out the window he could indeed see that the rain had stopped and it was a sunny 7:30 in the morning. He checked on the maintenance man one more time, reminding the older guy to be sure to lock the door on his way out. With renewed vim and vigor, Charlie Murphy set out to face what had started out being a challenging day, confident that it might well turn into a good day for him after all. Opening his door, he looked up and not being too sure of the weather guesser's prediction, he opted to take his umbrella just in case he'd need it later. Despite his extraordinary run of bad luck so far, Charlie arrived at the bus stop with time to spare. He was feeling pleased with himself for the calm way in which he had handled the little emergencies that had occurred, and was even more glad that he had been woken earlier than the alarm. Charlie Murphy was feeling good... not a care in the world.

While stooping to pick up the gum wrapper he'd accidentally dropped, he noticed a pair of pigeons on the sidewalk not far from him. He watched them strut around, pecking at morsels of debris on the ground, then spitting them out when they discovered the morsels weren't food. Suddenly, the two birds took flight. Charlie watched them climb higher and higher, and just as they looked like they were about to become too high to see, they suddenly turned around and started flying back to where they had been. Faster and lower they came until they were right overhead. Charlie wasn't able to get out of the way in time before two bird bombs hit; one smack dab in the middle of his tie, and the other on his hack-job mustache. He finished wiping his mouth with his sleeve just in time to see his bus moving away from the bus stop, and as quick as he thought he was, he wasn't quick enough to get out of the way when a car zipped down the street and through a curbside leftover puddle from the morning rain.

He reached for his cell phone to call his office; that's when he remembered it was in his first suit... the one Mr. Coffee helped him mess up. He finally found a pay phone that wasn't either smashed or covered with graffiti or "out of order" and alerted his boss's secretary that he would be late, and then calmly wiggled his way back up the street to his apartment building, twirling his umbrella by the handle.

After changing into his last clean suit, shirt and tie, Charlie Murphy made his way back to the bus stop. Since the morning rush hour was officially over by then, he would have to wait another hour for the next bus. He happened to notice across the street from where he waited a mangy mutt sniffing around the flower beds surrounding the entry way to one of the city's historical landmark sites. Being the conscientious citizen of the city that he was and not wanting to see the beautiful plants desecrated, he waited for the 'Walk' signal then jogged across to where the dog was getting ready to do some vile act. Charlie got to the mutt in time to foil the dog's intentions, but alas, the dog must have been confused; not its fault considering that from a beagle's eye view Charlie's leg could have looked like the fire hydrant.

Living downtown has its advantages; Charlie Murphy knew he wouldn't have time to go home again to change his pants, but since the downtown shops were opened by then, he decided to walk the couple of blocks to Macy's and pick up a pair of new khakis to go with the Navy blazer he was wearing. He removed all the tags in the fitting room, and kept the pants on; it was easy enough for the cashier to scan the bar code from the price tag, and she was even kind enough to give him a bag for his soiled pants. He made it back to the bus stop in the knick of time, and after a 20 minute ride, Charlie Murphy was finally sitting behind his desk inside his cubicle. But not for long.

The whiny voice of his boss's secretary on his phone informed him it was his turn in the boss's office. He told her he'd be right there, but needed to make a stop in the men's room first. He wasn't in there long, but long enough to realize why his Dad had taught him at young age to shake it good before he put it back in his pants. He looked at the dribble evidence on his new pants and decided it didn't look too bad... maybe his Navy blazer would hide it sufficiently. After stopping back at his cubicle for his jacket, he headed to the corner office for his appointment. He probably knew better, but for some reason he just had to stop at the water fountain on his way. He made another mental note to report a faulty water fountain to the maintenance department.

The rest of Charlie Murphy's day went downhill from there. The cup of coffee his boss offered him at the beginning of their meeting ended up in his lap, the Mama Rosa's meal he paid $3.25 from the vending machine burst when he took it out of the microwave oven (the paramedics didn't see a need to transport him to the hospital; just a minor burn on his hand was all there was to it), and on the bus ride home, the brat who sat beside him decided his shoulder would be a good place to throw up.

And if all that wasn't enough, the sky opened up with another downpour just as Charlie Murphy made it to his front door. It was then that he suddenly remembered two very important things he had left at home when he had gone back to change clothes... his keys and his umbrella.

Ah, yup... when it rains, it pours.