Copyright 1994(c) 
                            A BAD DAY
                         By Michael Hahn
 
     The alarm clock woke Barry Evans at a quarter past seven. He 
reached out to shut it off, and knocked it off the nightstand. The
clock stopped buzzing; it also stopped working. Barry picked it up,
shook it, smacked it with the palm of his hand a couple of times,
and dropped it in the wastebasket. 
     The pilot light on the water heater had apparently gone out 
again during the night. Barry had a cold shower. Still shivering,
with a mouth full of toothpaste foam, he accidentally dropped his 
toothbrush in the toilet. He fished it out with the toilet brush 
and dropped it in the wastebasket. 
     He cut himself shaving . . . twice. One of the buttons came 
off his last clean shirt. It was the bottom button, so he replaced
it with a safety pin, poking a finger and drawing blood in the 
process. A drop of blood stained the shirt near his breast pocket. 
    As Barry tied his shoes, the string of the right one broke. 
He knotted it together, since he'd used the spare pair of laces 
already and hadn't bothered to replace them. 
     He scraped his hand on the banister as he tripped on the 
bottom step, spilled jam from his toast on his tie, and scuffed
the toe of his left shoe on the doorpost as he left the house. 
     Barry was not having a good day. 
                               ***
     His boss was waiting for him when Barry arrived at the office;
that wasn't surprising, since Barry was over an hour late. He'd
had a flat while waiting in the left-turn lane of a busy
intersection; one of the other drivers had stopped screaming long
enough to help Barry push his Volvo onto the right-hand shoulder,
but didn't stick around to help him change the tire. 
     Barry tore a hole in his slacks on a sharp piece of gravel,
rubbed his jacket against the old tire (leaving a nasty black
stripe on the right sleeve), and somehow managed to dribble oil on
his blood-stained, one-button-short shirt. The tire iron was
missing, and he had to crank the jack with a short wrench. 
     A tired, disheveled, sweat-soaked Barry Evans faced his boss.
His boss set his jaw, shook his head, and said, "That's it, 
Evans--you're fired." 
     Barry's day was getting worse. 
                               ***
     When Barry got back to the parking lot, the spare was flat. 
The tow truck didn't show up for more than an hour, the repair and
the tow cost him $115, and he was late for his lunch date with 
Marcia. It was just as well; she left a "Dear Barry" letter with
the waiter. She left the check for the meal she had while she 
waited, too. 
     There was a ticket on the window of the Volvo when he left the
restaurant. It was joined by another ticket when the patrolman 
pulled Barry over for the broken tail-light the garage apparently
hadn't noticed. 
     Barry pulled into the driveway, knocked over the pot with the
brand-new geranium he'd purchased just yesterday. The plant fell
out of the pot, and the dog ate most of it. Barry walked into the
house, dropped the mail (which included two past-due notices, a 
letter from State Farm cancelling his auto insurance, and an 
advertisement from Greenpeace) on the table by the door, and draped
his ruined sportcoat over the back of the sofa. 
     He trudged up the stairs, hooked his toe in the edge of the
hall runner at the top of the stairs. He caught himself before he
fell, driving an inch-long splinter from the doorframe into the
ball of his right thumb, and tearing a foot-long section of the
runner out of the floor. 
     He stripped off his ruined clothing and slumped on the edge
of the unmade bed. He sat there for a very long time. A tear rolled
slowly down his stained cheek. 
     He reached for the nightstand, opened the drawer, removed a
.38-caliber revolver. He held the gun in his hands for a long time.
He took a deep breath, let out a shuddering sigh, and placed the
barrel of the gun in his mouth. He closed his eyes and pulled the
trigger. 
     The gun wasn't loaded. 
                               END