Crap on a Coffee

As I was finishing up Shattered, by Dick Francis, on the bus this morning, I thought to myself, "Hmmm, my thermos feels pretty warm. I'm sure glad it's not leaking." Two minutes later when I finished the book I realized that my pants were wet. And not from pee. Though I would have rather pissed my pants than what did happen.

I removed my thermos on the crowded bus to see where the leak was. A tremendously helpful old man said to me, "Your thermos is leaking." I replied, "Oh really? Thanks. I didn't know that. I was taking it out to pour boiling coffee directly into my mouth." Well actually I just made that reply up, what I actually said was "Yes, thanks."

Then get this: as it seemed to me that there was no leak in the construction of the thermos, it must be that the cap is not secured, so I unscrewed the cup to check. What do you think happened? About a cupful of hot coffee poured all over my hand, sweater sleeve, and coat sleeve. Why the hell did I do that?! I suppose if I was holding a bomb in my hand, and wondering if it might blow up, I'd press the red button to find out.

I smiled at everyone who groaned at me, because what else could I do, cry?

When I got to work I had to spend a jolly morning inserting toilet paper between each of 838 pages of my Bedford Handbook, which is such a useful book that I keep it always in my brief case. Now it lies on my desk, five times its normal thickness, waiting for osmosis to run its course.

p.s. Shattered is not a very good book. It's okay, but predictable and I couldn't relate to any of the characters.