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liquid they called coffee in all of those old movies wouldn’t have been too bad either. Too bad it didn’t exist anymore. I had to physically force my body out of the bed and into the bathroom. I fumbled around under the hot spray for nearly ten minutes before I noticed that somet hing was off. The light was dim, tinged a greenish shade because of the hunter green shower curtain that was muting it. My shower curtain was not green. It was clear, so that my shower was usually brightly lit, with little yellow duckies on it. Seriously, first my clock and now my shower curtain? I was definitely too tired to deal with this.
    After my shower, I felt about a million times better, although my brain continued to cling to a certain degree of fuzziness. Of course, by this point, I was officially running late, as usual. I grabbed a quick piece of toast and shoved it in my mouth, as I fumbled to lock the front door behind me. In my haste, I would most definitely have overlooked the large manila envelope lying on the porch had it not been right at the top of the stairs and nearly sent me spilling down them. Great spot for it . . . if the mail carrier had been trying to make me break my neck. Who knew, maybe he was. I couldn’t thi nk of anything I ha d done recently to anger him, but who could really tell with postal employees.
    The heft of the envelope surprised me when I snapped it up, planning to toss it closer to the door so that exact thing didn’t happ en on my way back in later. But that was before I noticed the stamp in the corner. U.S. Employment Dept. Well, that couldn’t be good. I slipped my finger under the seam, deciding the muffins and cakes could wait another minute. Inside was an officially sealed sheet of paper. I had to read it three times before I was sure of what I was seeing. I’ d been reassigned . . . to maintenance. Were they kidding me? This had to be some kind of bad joke. I glanced around for Peter, half expecting to see him rolling on the ground in a fit of laughter somewhere, but I was alone. I tried to think back and recall what I possibly could have done to Marcus to make him request a reassignment for me, but my memory was coming up kind of blurry. Well, just great! Now what was I supposed to do? Follow this clearly erroneous letter and report to the maintenance office, or dismiss it as the blunder it was and go to the bakery as usual?
    That was hardly a tough call. Seriously, who wants to spend even one day cleaning up other people’s messes? Not me. I started down the stairs, my mind made up, but my feet seemed to be working against me. I really did need some caffeine . . . or sugar. I’d have to grab something at work. I made it all the way to the end of the walkway before the stomach cramps set in. I took another step out onto the sidewalk and they tightened. What the hell ? Every step made them worse and worse until I felt like I might vomit right there in the hedge. Maybe I wouldn’t be going to work anywhere.
    A few deep breaths and I was able to stand upright again, but the very thought of going to the bakery made me gag. Maybe maintenance wouldn’t be so bad for just one day. I could get everything sorted out after that, and resume my old position punching keys on the register tomorrow morning.
    Naturally, the maintenance office was on the exact opposite side of town, and with a quick stop off at home to change back out of my bakery uniform, I was running insanely late. By the time I arrived, people were already pouring back out of the building to report to their daily assignments. An older man with scruffy facial hair pulled me inside and immediate chewed me out. There’s a way to start the day. I could thank my tardiness for my crap assignment, and he meant that literally. My job for the day was to scrub the public toilets in the park and the town hall building.
    Before ten a.m ., I was up to my elbows in my third toilet of the day. The smell alone was enough to knock me out. I grabbed