A case of the Mondays
One: The old guy who hands out the Metro outside Davis Square T said I looked "sheaahhrp" (I need to find the correct phonetic spelling for this word in a Bostonian accent).
Two: I helped an old couple with their suitcases (they were struggling a little and no-one else was volunteering). They were both very grateful, and I felt like I did my good deed for the day.
Three: Massed ranks of CityYear kids (in their khaki pants and red jackets) were doing synchronized jumping-jacks in Copley Square. It looked for all the world like a demonstration of the energy and enthusiasm of communist youth. Stretch, comrades, stretch!
Four: As I walked down Boyleston, I saw two nicely dressed women with what appeared to be pieces of paper hanging from their outfits. As they got closer, I realized each item of clothing had an oversized Marshall's price-tag hanging from it. They were doing the walking-billboard thing; a great promotional idea in theory. In practice, it would have been more effective if both women did not look furious about the arrangement. I'm sure the intended message was "We're so stylish and sophisticated in our reasonably priced outfits!" The actual takeaway was "I told them I'm a model! I'm a professional! Why did I get out of bed for this?"
And that's what made me realize I have it pretty good, workwise.
Oh, footnote: I also got Missed-Connectioned on Craigslist the same day:
"This morning at Davis you helped an eolderly couple with their suitcases and you seemed very sweet. you had a pinstripe suit and glasses and brown hair and i think when you talked you had an English accent, but maybe Irish or Australian?? Anyway i thought you were nice to help them and youlooked cute in your suit. I don't know what your situation is but would love to buy you coffee or maybe a drink???"
A nice compliment, but I don't think so. As I reassured The Boy, Johnnie Cochran-style: "If the fool can't spell, he don't got a chance in hell."