Wet

Ever had one of those days where you wonder why you bothered leaving the house? While Monday wasn’t totally unproductive, it was a bit of a wasted day. A wet, wasted day.

It began at 7am with Triple J blaring menacingly from my clock radio, followed by the cosy sound of pouring rain pattering outside my window. Such a calming sound, the pitter-patter of rain I mean, at least until you realise that you have to go out into the world of umbrellas, mud splashes, and raging torrents of water careening down gutters towards unsuspecting feet.

By 10am I was at uni, a little damp by that point, but I was ready to face the day head on. I had a small list of things to do: collect my disabilities services card, hire a mail box, sell old text books to the second hand bookshop, buy some of this semester’s texts from same bookshop, go to a meeting about a discussion panel they want to take part in, lodge some forms with Centrelink (for the non-Aussie punters, Centrelink is a little like the US’ Social Security, only less helpful and probably meaner). So simple really: just do each item in turn, cross them off, then go home unscathed.

I arrived at disabilities services and after a short wait got my new green card, no dramas. I arrived at the place where the mail boxes are let out and filled in the form. The guy at the desk then informed me that the woman who organises them was away sick and he couldn’t log into the computer to allocate one for me. He tried calling various IT “help lines” (I use this term very loosely), ultimately to no avail. The bookshop only took two of my books on consignment so I had no cash in the hand. The day was not shaping up well.

On the way to the meeting, I paused briefly under an awning to light a cigarette and noticed my backpack was open. The Centrelink forms were fast becoming sodden and as I stood at the lights on City Road the deluge intensified and I noticed myself becoming very wet. I looked up at the underside of my umbrella just in time for a giant drop of water to hit me square in the eye. The lights went green and I crossed the road, leaking umbrella in one hand and walking stick in the other. Just as I put my foot to the bitumen, a tidal wave rounded the corner and drowned my unsuspecting feet which were (admittedly foolishly) clad only in canvass-top shoes.

I arrived at my meeting and inspected the damage. My shoes were totally sodden through; the white business shirt I wore over the top of a green t-shirt was also soaked. I removed the soaked shoes and peeled the formerly-white-and-now-lime shirt away from my body. The centrelink papers were salvable so I laid them out in front of the air conditioner to dry. My novel was half damp, its pages rippled with moisture. I put the shirt into one plastic bag and the papers and novel into another.

By the time I was on the bus I removed the shoes too because they were making my toes cold. I arrived at Centrelink shoeless and soaking wet. Luckily I wasn’t the only one. When I got home I took stock of my day: got mail box, uncheck, sold old texts, uncheck, bought new texts, check, disabilities card, check, meeting, check, Centrelink, check.

Maybe it’s my new lime shirt, but despite more checks than unchecks I still feel like it was a wasted day.