I Love My Life
Friday afternoon is without a doubt my favorite time of the week. The promise of the weekend grows exponentially with each passing minute upon returning from lunch. Work is finished up for the week in between phone calls and emails from friends wondering about the weekend’s plans. And there doesn’t even have to be plans – hell, I’m fighting the urge to do cartwheels down the hallway and passed the receptionist on the way to elevators for the prospect of lying on the couch and watching golf all weekend. Every mundane, safe, pointless “office” conversation wondering if I’m “having fun yet” or “working hard or hardly working” which ordinarily makes me want to smash the office windows with a computer monitor and throw a northwest region operations specialist screaming eight stories down to the lightrail tracks below becomes a little easier to deal with on a Friday afternoon.
It’s been a particularly long week at work and I’m a little more fired up than usual for the weekend. The weather has been perfect in Denver lately, mid 70s, sunny. So I navigated my way through the thick Denver traffic, picked up a burger and fries and twelve pack of beer on my way home. I’m treating myself and the girlfriend is away with family obligations so I have the night to myself.
Home is a somewhat rundown apartment near Washington Park, one of the most popular areas of the Denver metro-area with neighborhood bars and restaurants that bring a strange mix of young professional singles and thirty-something families. So I pulled down the alley and parked in my regular space behind the apartment building. Juggling my backpack, food, beer and keys I clumsily struggled to unlock the back door. Right as I got the door open, I heard a fairly loud whistle from a window above. A catcall type of whistle. Not that I’m completely lacking in confidence in my appearance but I’m fairly certain the whistle wasn’t for me. There’s just something about being a thirty year-old bald guy with a goatee that doesn’t elicit much in the way of catcalls from other guys. So I look up to try and see who was whistling and look around to see who he was whistling at.
At this point, I have a bit of a smirk on my face. I’ve always laughed at guys that whistle or honk or yell out “Hey baby!” to random women walking down the street. I’ve always wondered just exactly what goes through a guy’s mind before he does something like that. Does he really think it will work? Does he think the woman will ditch whoever she’s walking with and walk up to a complete stranger and comment about how though there are many men that dare to whistle at her every day there’s nobody that does it quite as well as he does?
At any rate, I find myself holding the door open with my leg, arms full, a smirk on my face and looking down the alley for who the mystery whistler was whistling at. I was just in time to see a very pretty young woman in her mid-twenties jump up from the bent over position she was in while grabbing something out of the backseat of her car. She immediately looked back toward my building and locked eyes with me. Glaring at me, she shut her car door and walked away shaking her head.
I love my life.
"Well don't I feel like the fucking asshole."