If hearing Brett Scallions of Fuel singing Bad Day on the radio while driving along the freeway on a Sunday was a portent of things to come this week, I wouldn’t have cranked up the volume to sing my lungs out and instead would’ve just pulled over the shoulder and prayed for a reversal of karma.

No, I didn’t have a bad day. I had a bad week.

Monday, I got a $35 parking violation ticket.

Tuesday, I checked in late (bundy clock read: 8.26AM) for work because I searched hard for a good parking spot because I did not wish to get another ticket.

Wednesday, I ran out of peanut butter which meant no smoothie for breakfast, which meant a pit stop at the corner deli, which meant smaller chances of finding a parking spot, and which meant checking in late (again) for work.

Thursday, the alarm didn’t go off, there was no peanut butter still, and the parking spot I found was two blocks away from the office. And yes, I checked in late.

Friday, I got up from the alarm, opened a fresh bottle of peanut butter, and got to leave early. Surprisingly, the entire office block was wide open for parking. On a high, I parked and checked in early for work; bundy read 7.54AM.

At 8.20, an officemate checked in. He had a hard time finding a spot, I surely told myself. Then he spoke in sheer amusement:

Some jerk parked his car in front. Must be blind not to see the Street Sweepers’ Day sign. Car’s gonna be towed, for sure!”

I made a lousy excuse to go to the john then hurriedly went to my car. It was still there and seeing it from afar still intact and untowed let my anxious self slip a heavy sigh of relief.

But then again, there it was: the dreaded green envelope clipped under the wiper. Another $35 ticket!

As I moved my car to park elsewhere (blocks and blocks away), I held the envelope in contempt while maneuvering the steering wheel thinking I had a really bad, bad, bad week…