I had just fucked up an email sent out to all my bosses, which is why I was in a bad mood. It was fucked because I forgot about the track changes on word because I’m still not used to using a dell. Which is why I sent a word document to a very important Colonel, and others, entirely in crossed-out red text, which is about the sixth thing this week I’ve fucked up, including when I missed a meeting in Cincinnati because I thought it was in Columbus and when I accidentally made someone feel old when I complained about old people typing two spaces after punctuation, which she does, even though she’s not old.
Which is why, when I was driving on 23 (I think?) to meet Blake for lunch at some deli that’s cheaper than Katzinger’s but still good, I started crying when I missed a turn somewhere (I guess?) and ended up north instead of south.
That’s why I was driving up High street at 12:57 p.m, and I didn’t have quarters because I bought a ginger ale at work, so I pulled into a Kroger where parking would be free.
And that’s why I was eating sushi at a Kroger when the world ended.
An older, white woman in a motorized scooter was digging through her change purse at the request of a younger, white man in Kroger Uniform, and I didn’t understand why. The sushi was okay. I didn’t expect the orange colored sauce to taste like mustard.
It was nice that the email no longer mattered and that I wasn’t alone. I hope that wherever you were when the world ended, emails didn’t matter and you weren’t alone, and I hope you were also surrounded by food, because dying while hungry sounds like the least pleasant way to go.
It would have been nice to know the exact time the world ended. I estimate somewhere between 1:10 p.m. and 1:15 p.m, because I had finished my sushi but hadn’t left to go back to work yet, which I was planning to do at 1:15. But I can’t be sure.
Draft Six 