5.30 am: It’s cold. Almost too cold. The alarm rings, just like it’s supposed to at 532am. But I’m already up anyway. I look out the window into the gloom, and suddenly realize why I’m shivering. The rain is beating down in sheets. I turn off the radio alarm (no, I cant take Gwen Stefani that early) and crawl to the bathroom. I turn the shower on, and SHIZER that’s cold. I shrink back in disgust (I’m shrinking) and wait for the puny heater to do its thing.
6.18 am: I’m three minutes behind schedule. This does not bode well for me. I tear out of my room in a blinding hurry, and start scurrying down the stairs. Almost immediately, I am engulfed by darkness. I curse the people who decreed that lights were to go out at 610. After I conquer the darkness, another foe lies ahead. A pack of bloodthirsty hounds from hell (or from the forest behind old kr) stand between me and salvation. It’s still raining. This is the part where I run. Blindly, madly, arms flailing, I run, fear lending me wings.
6.27 am: I’m on my knees at the src bus stop; cold, wet, hungry and out of breath. And I can see the 197 roll away. I yell, a gut wrenching yell that I’m sure can be heard for miles.
6.40 am: My cab arrives; a faint sliver of hope. Just maybe, I think to myself.
6.51 am: Maybe not, I think to myself as I see the shuttle bus pull away, and I’m running behind it, and its not stopping, and I’m yelling, and people are thinking I’m crazy, but all I really want is to get on that bus, am I rambling, maybe so, cos just thinking about missing buses these days sends me into a tizzy.
I stop chasing, and yell; a gut wrenching yell that I’m sure could be heard for miles.
6.55 am. I hop on the train, hoping to intercept my shuttle bus at Bugis, where it stops at 705 am to pick up more people.
7.06 am. Not happening. Dejectedly, I get off the train and decide to take a cab to work. At least I’ll be on time this way, I think to myself.
7.40 am. I’m in the cab, on my way to work, and everything seems to be going fine. Oh what’s this, why are we slowing down, I wonder aloud. The cab sensei then breaks the gut wrenching news to me: traff*ck jam. This is where I break. I slump to the floor of the cab, and let out a tearful whimper; there’s no strength left in me for a gut wrenching yell. Even the cab master feels my agony and resignation.
8.03 am: I tap in with my access card. My worst fears are confirmed. I am late. My life is over. My guts are wrenched.
I look at myself in the mirror later, and see what an empty shell I have become; but a shadow of my former self. NO more, I tell myself. I aint losing to that machine no more. You may have won this round, clock-in machine, but tomorrow, I’m gonna tap in so early you won’t know what hit you.
(this real life post is dedicated to the working man. or well, woman.)
