It Just Can't Get Any Worse!

Arjun Rao

9/25/17

Stephan

Narrative Writing

It Just Can’t Get Any Worse!

For me, waking up in the morning is always a pleasure. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, and … oh. My sister. What a way to ruin such a pleasant view. I stretch lazily and yawn hugely. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” I ask her in my best “I’m better than you” voice. She giggles softly, and says, “Well, y’know how mom is always saying you need a special haircut for picture day?” I nod slowly, never taking my eyes off of her like she’s a wild beast. “Well, I did it for you! Surprise!” she says. She shows me a picture of the back of my head. My jaw drops in horror. She has cut my hair, and I’m looking like a reject to play Medusa in a play. The sides of my head are gelled up like Astro Boy, and I have about a centimeter of hair in the middle! I feel like I’ve just been hit by a tank. Snapping me out of my misery, my sister says excitedly, “I posted the pics on the internet! I can’t wait for the job offers to roll in. By the way, is it okay if I use you as a test subject for my new hairstyles.” Without waiting for my answer, she saunters out of my room with a smug grin plastered on her face, yelling, “Thanks!” Thinking degrading thoughts to myself, I dragged myself over to the shower, hoping that the water would wash away the misery of my day. “Well, John, old boy, at least it can’t get any worse from here,” I say as the water pours on my head.

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I always brush my teeth in front of the mirror. It’s just one of the things I do. But today, I was in for a special surprise. As I walked over to the sink and started to brush, I had a sudden urge to look in the mirror. And when I did, it wasn’t the haircut that got my attention, but it was what looked like a colony of pimples, zits, and whiteheads covering my face. I screamed in terror, and toothpaste went flying everywhere. My mom came flying bird-like upstairs, with my dad in hot pursuit. “What’s wrong Johnny?” my mom asked, before looking at my face and letting out a small “Oh.” My dad had a similar, more explicit reaction. They started clamoring around me.”Could we give you some anti-acne cream? Maybe a ball cap would help the haircut?” But I could not hear them. I was thinking of how I would be mocked at school, how my face would be ridiculed for years. Nothing could cover up such a quantity of acne. “Well, John, old boy,” I thought to myself “At least your day can’t get any worse than this.”

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To make matters worse, breakfast that day was oatmeal. Yech. After choking down the soggy, lumpy raisins and oats, I put the dishes away and got a peck on my cheek from my mom. I went outside, and shockingly I saw the bus driving away after I walked five blocks to get to the stop. I picked up the pace and started speed-walking to school. Unfortunately, going fast can attract the attention of dogs. , and soon I had I had three on my tail. I broke into a run, and so did the dogs behind me. They were barking like mad now, so much that I thought they were going to lose their voice. I was just in front of the school now, when I slipped on a banana peel, which was a total Three Stooges moment. ZZWIP! With arms flailing, like a scarecrow in a wind tunnel, I fell face first into a mud puddle. Laughter rings in my ears. My woes were not over yet, though, as the dogs I had been avoiding jumped onto me, and used my jeans as a pinata. After they lost interest and went off to bug someone else, I thought to myself, “Well, John, old boy, at least it can’t get any worse from here.”

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After getting a tardy pass from the office, I walked back to my class, where we were getting ready for P.E. Kind of stupid if you ask me, having P.E. before picture day, so kids can get all messy before having their picture taken. But I digress. Anyway, as I entered the classroom, an eruption of snickers and giggles greeted me.My legacy had preceded me, except I wasn’t too happy about it. “Settle down, class!” Miss Shroom said while banging a meter stick on the desk, making a hush fall over the room. I handed her my pass, then went to sit with my good friend Golich. Golich gave me a once-over, then said,”You look like a garbage truck dumped its load on you.” Yup, that’s Golich. What a pal. Mrs. Shroom said in a scratchy voice, “Go to P.E. with Mr. Sturgis. If you need me, I’ll be playing Pokemon Go… I mean, monitoring the kids outside!” Hearing those heartwarming words, I suddenly appreciated how much Mrs. Shroom cared for our school. I trudged over to the field, where the coach was waiting. He told us,”Take a lap, and then meet here to choose teams for baseball.” I groaned inwardly. I hated baseball! After jogging around the track once, I came back to the field, where we were picking teams. After a minute, Harry and I were the lasts kids there. “I guess I’ll take John,” said Dylan. “Then I’ll take Harry,” said Jim, aka public enemy no. 1. He had yellow teeth, muscular arms, and a ruthless streak of injuries trailing behind his name. He flashed me an evil grin, then went out to start pitching. We were playing inning-each ball, where each team got an inning to bat, and outs didn’t matter. Pretty self-explanatory. Our team got off to a good start, banging away line drives that ended up in three singles, but then Jim got five strikeouts in a row. As always, I was the ninth and final batter. It looked like the runners were getting ready to take the field already. I came out and Joe pitched me a fastball. I missed. Rinse and repeat. Then, while Jim was pitching, somebody yelled “Swing!” in the outfield. I did just that, and cleared the mini-fence! Sadly, Mr. Sturgis called it foul, but my teammates now had hope. They started cheering, and a flicker of doubt came over Jim’s face. The evil smile returned, though, and a cold shower of dread washed over me. He pitched one straight at my face and BANG! My face now looked like a red waterfall of blood. Mr. Sturgis came running over. “Go over to Mrs. Boxer’s office,” he said, handing me a tissue. Great. A visit to Mrs. Boxer’s office. Just what the doctor ordered. She was one of those people who never forgot a face and always wanted to know exactly what was going on with you. I went down the hall and knocked on her door. Suddenly, wood came out of nowhere, and for the second time that day a BANG! Greeted my ears. “Oh, my goodness!” yelped Mrs. Boxer, “Goodness, I’m so sorry.” Blah Blah Blah. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I would be asleep. After she had calmed down, she tried cracking a joke. “Well, you’re in the right place to get that black eye and nose fixed up! After ten minutes fussing over me, Mrs. Boxer stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Good as new.” is what she called it, but in my humble opinion it was, “Like you fell off a roof into a rose bush.” I actually had an eye patch and a band-aid over my nose. The eye patch looked like a party favor from a five-year-old’s birthday party. “Now, you go to the Multi-Purpose Room for picture day!” she said brightly.”WHAT!?!?!?!?!” I screamed. In all the confusion, I had forgotten that it was picture day today! Walking with my shoulders slumped and my head down, I thought to myself, “Well, John, old boy, at least it can’t get any worse from here.” As it turned out, I was wrong.

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         When I reached the MPR, there was my class, and guess who got to be at the end of the line. Sorry, I don’t mean to sound whiny or anything, but it’s just that I’m really triggered off at my day right now. When I got to the picture booth, my friend Akoden was next to me. I made a dorky face at him, and CLICK! Went the camera. I fell off my chair and the cameraman said “NEXT!” I survived through the rest of the day, but just barely. With ten minutes left, we got our yearbooks. I flipped to our class page, just to see how bad my picture turned out. I saw… that my name was spelled “Dorkius Maximus.” and I had the title of Most Likely to Be a Gangster or Win An Ugly Contest. I came back home with a perpetual frown on my face. When I reached home, my mom asked, “Why so glum?” I told her all my woes and terrors, and kept on moaning about how unlucky I was. My mom said to me, “Instead of saying how you’re day can’t get worse, how about focusing on how your day can get better.” I was hit by a sudden realization. It was just a bad day. I am a very lucky person. I have food, water, clothes, and a roof above my head. I can’t ask for any more. You know what, my mom was right. At least my day, can still get better from here!