The Keys to my Diary: Fern

4. Thursday, March 26

Thursday, March 26

Worst. Day. Ever. I certainly don’t want all of my entries in this year’s journal to be negative, but I can’t let this hideous day go by without writing about it. Besides, things can only go up from here, right??

I didn’t have to be at work until noon, which is normally fantastic because I get the whole morning to myself. My twenty-something-year-old roommates don’t get up until mid-morning, so I got up at 7:00 am and enjoyed some quiet, alone time. That is a precious commodity when you have three roomies and their various boyfriends coming and going at all hours of the day and night.

Speaking of the various boyfriends, one of them started my day off wrong. When I went to use the bathroom first thing this morning, I found the toilet seat up and pee sprayed all around the rim. Lovely. (I used my sarcastic penmanship for that last word.) What kind of disgusting pig does that and leaves it for someone else to deal with?

Determined not to let it ruin my day, I decided to take a walk for some fresh air. I tried to enjoy the beauty that surrounds me at the club. TKYC is pretty much like its own little city. It has restaurants, a grocery store, a huge marina, a hotel, tennis courts, golf courses, a small airport, member mansions, etc. All of it is securely guarded and gated to keep middle-class (or heaven forbid, lower-class) people out. Being of the low-to-middle class myself, I am lucky to be here, even if I am ‘just’ an employee.

I ended up walking all the way to the scuba diving shop where Marina works. Normally, I would have taken a golf-cart because that was quite a hike, but I had been enjoying my stroll. Since it was close to 8:00 a.m., I decided to hang out and wait for Marina to arrive at work.

They have a beautiful macaw parrot that lives in a cage just outside the shop, so I went over to check him out. I peeked in at him, admiring his beautiful, brightly colored feathers. When I said, “Hi, pretty bird,” he looked right at me and said, “Hey, Shithead.” That’s right. Clear as could be, the parrot called me a shithead! I stood there in shock. I mean, I’ve never been insulted by a bird before. I tried telling myself that he couldn’t know what it meant, but he said it at the appropriate moment and with such vehemence, all the while glaring right at me with those beady, black eyes. I’m quite certain that he knew he wasn’t being nice.

Rather than wait around with the demon bird, I decided to go check my mailbox at the post office. I only pick up my mail once a week or so. The few bills I receive are delivered electronically, so I usually only ever get junk mail anyway. Today, I was pleasantly surprised to see a card from my mother. I excitedly thought that maybe she hadn’t forgotten my birthday after all. The excitement quickly waned when I ripped open the card. It was a birthday card, but the generic kind that you can buy a box of ten for a dollar. I didn’t care about that, since it’s the thought that counts. The inside was a huge disappointment, though. Below the typed ‘Happy Birthday,’ she had signed it simply, ‘Mother.’ There wasn’t an expression of love, or miss you, or any other kind note. The newspaper clipping that she had painstakingly cut out and inserted in the card was what really got to me, though.

It was the engagement announcement of a girl that I had gone to high school with. We weren’t really friends, even in school, more like acquaintances; and that was many years ago. So, why had my mother felt the need to send this to me? Was it to let me know that I was the last one from my class who hadn’t bagged a husband? Did she want to remind me that my life was not at all what she had wanted for her daughter?

I decided to try to let it go. Maybe she truly does just want to keep me up-to-date on what is happening at home. I don’t really believe that, but I’m trying not to be hurt or annoyed about it. If she sent it for unkind reasons, that is exactly the reaction she was hoping for, and I refuse to give her the satisfaction.

After looking at the time on my phone, I realized that Marina was probably at the dive shop, so I headed back down there. I didn’t see her inside the shop, so I wandered out the back door towards the boats. People in various forms of water wear were milling about, waiting to board the dive boats. It smelled like neoprene and sunscreen out there, and everyone seemed relaxed and happy.

I was basking in the glory of it. After all, I could be stuck in a stuffy, boring office somewhere. That’s when it happened.

Captain Petey has lived in the Keys, driving dive boats, for as long as anyone can remember. You never see him without a beer in hand, and for some reason, no one questions why he is allowed to drive a boat full of divers and snorkelers out to the reef while under the influence. I have found that the rules are sometimes bent a little (or flat-out ignored) in the Keys. He rides his bike everywhere, presumably because he lost his driver’s license. His wrinkled skin is permanently tanned, and his body type would best be described as wiry. My guess is that he drinks his breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Anyway, Captain Petey was out on the dock getting his boat ready for departure when he suddenly yelled back at the crowd waiting to board, “Hey, y’all!” Then he doubled over on himself and dropped his tiny, red shorts down to his ankles, mooning the entire group. His white, bare a*s wouldn’t have been so bad, except his feet were in a wide stance, and he bent over so far that his giant, saggy balls could be seen dangling almost down to his knees.

If I never see old, droopy testicles again, it will be too soon. I don’t want to be mean, but the sight was truly horrifying. It’s one of those things that you wish you could un-see, but no matter how hard you try to oust the mental image, it just won’t go away. I was so traumatized that I gave up on seeing Marina and came back home to relax for a while before work.

My work shift went okay until the heat really started setting in. Normally, it doesn’t bother me, but for some reason, I was especially hot and sweaty today. It was so bad, in fact, that I offered to trade posts with Cyndi, who was working the stand. She gladly agreed, so I spent the rest of the day working in the shade of the stand’s thatched roof with the ceiling fan slowly swirling a hot breeze down on me.

When we were getting ready to close the water area, a family led by a large man approached the stand. I looked away for a second to glance at the time on my phone. The man chose that moment to throw a giant wad of his family’s sweaty, wet, sandy towels at me. Since I wasn’t looking and able to protect myself, the damp ball of towels nailed me directly in the face! Asshole-dad and his trailing, meek-looking wife and kids didn’t even give me a second glance as they sauntered off, and I attempted to clean the sticky sand and devastating humiliation off my face.

I came home, showered, and started writing in here. Writing about this wretched day has helped a little, but I think I’m going to sleep now. Tomorrow has to be better.