What a day.
First off last night I came home made dinner and promptly passed out for 11 or so hours of sleep. Not only did I not work out like I was planning, I didn't feel overly refreshed when I woke up this morning like I thought I would after normally only getting about 6-7 hours of sleep. So I roll into work half asleep like normal and I am told that I will be going to help at Furman today with the installers. No biggie, I was told the day before that I would probably be headed there, just have to put my other stuff at the office on hold. The other stuff that is on rush because it was due yesterday but probably won't be painted until sometime next week. But I'm covered its cool. I also get my paycheck, and with simple addition in my head calculate that with it and the money in my bank account, I would probably be about $20 short on my rent, which is due today. So I email my dad asking for help. But immediately am whisked away to Furman. I was told that I would only need to be there for part of it so I could bring my car and drive separately so I can return to the office earlier. So we go off to the hospital and fix something quick and then off to Furman to put up some stuff. Of course it doesn't go as smoothly as anyone would expect it to go with bent studs and such (not a sexual reference), but we get it done. As my fellow installer is putting the other part together I head off and do some color matching on a door frame of another building which didn't seem to be right when I measured them the day before. I get done and head back to help the installer finish the job, everything looks great, we get a compliment on the awesomeness from a passing car on the way out, everything is great. I continue walking to my car which I have parked in a random lot beside the stadium and see a piece of paper in my door handle. Two things run through my head. Either the extremely hot chicks that just passed, figured out that this was my car with the Clemson paw on the back and left me their numbers, or I have a parking ticket on yet another university property that as shown above, I really can't pay for right now. So I pick it out and its definitely a female-handwritten note that says:
"Check your back left tire, "Charlie" :)"
I look at the tire and it is super flat and i notice a large screw sticking out of the top of it. Fantastic, pay for a tire. I have the idea that Furman isn't that far away from Greer and that I could probably drive it back there with a flat instead of taking the time to fix it. So I get driving after the van and I get maybe a half a block away when I hear the clickity clacking of the nail on the pavement. So I finally pull over and call the installer and tell him whats up. Like the nice guy he is, he turns around and helps me change my tire. The first time that I've done this on my newish car. The whole time we're cracking jokes about how my car is a chick magnet, with several attractive girls seemingly coming out of nowhere to pass by or overlook the situation from balconies. We finally get it changed out and go to lunch at Stax.
I had been trying to not spend money this week, but it was already 1:30 and my packed lunch was still back at the shop, so restaurant food sounded good. We get through our meal, everything is decent, wouldn't go out of my way to come back, but it was good enough that I might if I was in the area. So we're about to leave and we're paying at the counter when the manager or owner's son starts asking about a graphic designer. Saying he needs one to design a shirt for him. So I say that I'm a designer and I have a couple minutes to discuss it with him. So he goes on and on about how their current shirts are ugly (they are) and how he wants the new ones to look kinda like this stoner picture but not quite as stonerish. He goes on and on for a while and finally I tell him I will put something together for him this weekend and get his business card and head out with a free sweet tea. Cool stuff, get to design something that might get used by a restaurant and sold to people who buy their shirts, and might get some money out of the deal too, awesome.
So we finally get back to the shop and the rest of the day is a blur with trying to apply vinyl to a couple of the finished backlogged signs. 4:30 rolls around and I think about staying late but I remember I need to deal with my tire. So I go to the place that is conveniently across the street from the shop, which everyone in the shop recommends (apparently nails in the tires is a common affliction to the sign business). I tell the guy I need my tire fixed. He says no problem, I sit down and read a magazine. About a half hour later he says they're done, I look out and my car is amazingly good as new and he says "Five bucks". Five dollars to fix my tire, when I thought I was going to have to buy a new one. I speed off, enjoying my returned ability to go over 50 miles an hour. I go to the bank and deposit my check and head home. I stop to get my mail since I got an email saying my two new Netflix should be there. To my surprise is a note from my parents with a check for exactly the amount that I said I needed in the email this morning, which they had sent to cover my gas expenses for next weeks venture to the north. Money problem solved. I turn around and go back to the bank to deposit the money and my bad day turns out to be perfectly fine. Sometimes I don't know why I worry.
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