Bad Day

Have you ever had a day when suddenly everything goes wrong, when you were hoping that things could not get any worse and right at the spur of that moment it did. I have, last Saturday.
I woke up quite late that morning, which was bad enough because I was planning to get some tasks done that very particular morning. Never mind, I thought. I could always do it later, probably tomorrow. Early on I planned with a friend to go to Punchbowl, a small suburb in the Northern part of Sydney because both of us were craving for KFC, and that suburb is the only place known by us to be offering halal KFC. Another friend earlier told us that the one in the city is also halal, but both of us really wanted to jalan-jalan that particular day, we decided to opt for the one in Punchbowl, which by distance is considerably farther. So when it was already time, I walked to the bus station and thought to give that friend a call while on the way. As if it was an early sign of a bad day ahead, it happened that I called to listen to the sound of him waking up. Not a big problem I thought, because somehow I had this intuition that said this thing would happen. Because going back home to wait seemed to be futile, I chose to wait for him there, hopping from one shop to another while hoping that the time would run fast. Luckily that friend was quick; he made it to the bus stop in less than half an hour. The bus, also, arrived not long after we were there.

To cut the story short, we later took the train and arrived in Punchbowl about an hour later. The plan was either to have our lunch or to pray first; depend on which one we could locate before the other, KFC or mosque. After about 20 minutes or so of roaming around, unfortunately both were not found. So I asked a purdah-clad lady where the mosque is, and was advised that a good idea was to travel on wheels, otherwise the mosque would be somewhat far from where we were. The good news was that just a couple of hundred meters away was a musolla, according to that lady. So the idea of praying in the mosque was slashed. Anyway just after we arrived at Punchbowl, I received a phone call from Bukh asking me to play basketball that afternoon. Quite easily that excited me, and instantly I planned to go back early so that I can play. Jumping back to the current circumstance, the search for KFC continued after we finished praying. Nonetheless just like in the previous case, we discovered that KFC is also located far from where we were. In that moment of despair, we both decided to go back to the city and have our KFC there.

It was already inches away from 3pm anyway; I promised with Bukh to make it to the basketball court by 3.30pm. Since I really did not want to be late for basketball- albeit by then I knew exactly that I would definitely be- my appetite for KFC was all but disappeared. Nonetheless that friend of mine really wanted to go, so after a little negotiation we both agreed to tapau.

I already had a clear picture of what I was going to do next, timeframe included, once we boarded the bus back to Kingsford at about 3.05pm; the usual bus ride would take roughly 15 minutes at maximum, and once home I would pray, change my clothes into basketball gear and hop on the bus again to go to the court, KFC can wait. If I was not under time pressure cycling would be an option anyway, because you know traveling by bus here is mind-bogglingly costly. Also, I would expect that none of my housemates would be home because from what I heard they were going somewhere that night. No one’s home equals to easier rush afterward, I thought. I reckoned by 3.30pm I would get out of home again.

However, the usual 15-minute bus ride from the city suddenly turned out to be a 45-minute one. The traffic was bizarrely heavy, apparently that was the reason, so basically I had no one to blame. But indeed, I was so pissed off. Plans ruined. I would be late- in fact too late- for basketball. Did I tell you that I was hungry as well? I remained positive that I would make it into the court when I arrived home 45 minutes later, before another bad thing happened. Even before I entered home, I could listen to what was happening in. apparently my housemates are still there, along with a number of his friends. Songs were played out loud, guys at every inch of the corner. I feared that my temper would go off at any time therefore I did exactly what I was supposed to swiftly, and left without even speaking to one of them. Anyway I was also thinking to have a quick taste of that KFC since I was really craving for one, but the thought, because of what had happened, had to be cancelled.

I quickly made it at the bus stop again, and jumped straight into the first bus that came. I never took that bus before, but it read ‘Circular Quay’ which I knew by conscience; the bus would go straight along the Anzac Parade, and would only make its first turn once in the city. The basketball court I was going to, by the way, is just next to the city, apparently before the bus made any turn. A couple of hundred meters away however, that bus made a left turn. Damn. Definitely a wrong bus. I rang the bell, hopped off and had to walk back to Anzac Parade to catch another bus. Some more time wasted. Bus fare wasted. The next bus came shortly, and I knew by then that things would be all over. I would forget all the bad happenings today once I stepped into the basketball court. It was not yet over, though.

That second bus went straight, as expected. I immediately rang the bell when the basketball court already came into sight, but it happened that the bell did not work. I tried with the second onel, same result. Probably there’s a slight problem with every bell in this bus, I made a guess. So I decided to stand up close to the driver, hoping to give him the impression that I wanted to get out. The bus anyhow went straight, past the basketball court straight, straight, and stopped. At the traffic light. I knew it was illegal to get out of the bus at any place except for its stop but still I made it a point to ask the driver. As expected, he refused to let me go. Not a problem, the stop is not that far in front. I could always walk back to the court I guess. But things went from bad to worse; the driver did not stop. On and on and on he drove, until we arrived at the city. Of course I got out at the first stop, not wanting the stupid driver to bring me farther. By then, as many of you might have expected, I already gave up the hope of making it to the court. It is winter here in Sydney anyway, and there I was in the middle of the city wearing mere T-shirt and holding a basketball, while people surrounding me were all covered by jumpers, thick clothes. Now you imagine.

Well as going back home was the last thing I wanted to do at that moment, I decided to saunter around town at least for a while. One thing, I remembered that I had not eaten for quite long, so going for a quick, cheap meal was on mind. After all I could think of any other way to get rid of tension caused by that entire day; I do not smoke, so probably eating is the best idea. Cut it short; I bought some chips and finished it in a split of a second before making my way back home.

Things started to subside from then on; it was so fortunate that nothing else happened when I returned home, until it was time to sleep. In total, I spent a handsome albeit futile cash of almost AU$15 for transport, and wasted a whole day planning and doing things, but eventually brought me nowhere. In reply, I received mere anger, frustration, fatigue, and the list goes on.

As I ponder back, I believe that a bad day is always there written on our fate; probably acting as a reminder from God for the wrongdoings we had done in the past. When we start to think that things happening to us are damn bad, think again, and we will soon realize that it could have easily gone worse than that. Only by doing that we can learn no to grumble, and instead be grateful for the lives we are living today.