Bad Day? Hidden Good
Today, I’m writing about what it means to have “a bad day.” Now, I’m not talking about those times when tragedy or trauma thrust you into an alternate reality. Such seasons of life are worthy of much more than a simple “bad day” encapsulation.
Today, I’m going shallow. For example, “a bad day” might mean waking up to a rainstorm on your wedding day. Either you can pine over how the rain will ruin your hair, or you can reconcile the fact that the rain might become a character in your wedding day story. One of my favorite photos from my wedding day all those years ago is the picture of my husband and I almost blown away by the pre-storm gusts just before the heavens released its pouring shower of congratulations. Or you might think a bad day is defined by the electricity going out in the middle of hosting a dinner party. Hopefully you have flashlights on hand and candles ready to light. In that case, the cheese and crackers entrée might become a most memorable meal for your guests.
In my experiences, usually the detour into “a bad day” is followed by a turn into an unexpected amusement. For example, I was having car trouble (the worst) and brought my car into the car dealership service department. Normally the drop off consists of providing my phone number, signing a pre-estimate-estimate form, and hoping the cost of repairs won’t derail my entire Christmas budget.
When I drove into to the service department with my noise-clattering car, the young man managing the service counter greeted me with friendliness. I gave him the necessary information as I checked my watch. I had about 10 other places I needed to be and felt quite pressed by this unscheduled diversion to fix my car. Then he asked me, “So, what do you do for a living?” I was a bit taken aback at the question. I mean, who cares what I do for a living?
It was also a bit unsure how to answer. Should I say I’m a retired nurse? No, that makes me sound old. As I noticed the soccer shin guards, balled up socks and water bottle in the back seat of my car, I considered going down the grandmother path, but I decided to answer the question in a different way. “I’m a writer,” I said.
“That’s interesting,” he said. “What do you write about?” Now he really had me out of sorts. Wasn’t I just there to drop off my car? “I write about whatever I want,” I said, not meaning to sound snarky. I was thinking of the multitude of directions words pass through my mind and onto my computer keyboard. “I’m sure I could write about this morning,” I continued, “dropping my car off and having a pleasant conversation with the service manager.” He chuckled and straightened his shirt color a bit, just in case he needed to continue his good impression. We laughed.
I left the service department and went on with my day. Sure, the inconvenience of not having my car was a pain. However, without such a bother, I certainly would not have had such a delightful conversation and learned about the curious young service manager who once sold his beloved vintage GTO to buy his wife a better car. Suddenly my “bad day” juggled my creative juices. I mean, who doesn’t love to read a good story about a quick friendship between a retired grandmother who writes and a car dealership service manager who really loves his wife? There was nothing bad about this day after all.
Photo by Eugene Chystiakov on Unsplash