Ana Street: The Worst Day Ever

Thursday, October 28, 2004
The Worst Day Ever

Oct. 18 – The Worst Day Ever

Okay, maybe it’s not the worst of them all, but surely, it shall remain as one of the most terrible days of my life.

It’s started out like this. It’s Monday, first day of the week for everyone else but the last for my class. You see, it’s retreat week, and all I could think of was to get over this day as quickly as possible. I had my note cards ready to be submitted, and all I had to do was to take my last Unit Tests during the first two periods. After finishing the CLE test, I was ready to take the Economics test. Before the test started, our teacher said in a clear and simple manner not to write on the questionnaire, lest the whole class merit minus two points each. I even mumbled to myself, half-jokingly, what if I actually wrote on it? That would be the end of the world. With that in mind, I took the test. I didn’t pull out a pencil anymore because everything had to be in ink, and based on experience, I was never going to have time to rewrite my pencil-marked answers in ink. After minutes of going through the first parts, I reached the last part of the test, which was Modified True or False.
For those who have not encountered such an exam, Modified True or False involves two statements per item. Either statement may be true or false. If, say, the first statement is true and the second statement false, there will be a prescribed letter-answer for that item. There is no fixed prescribed letter-answer. It changes from time to time, teacher to teacher. What I do to make it as accurate as possible is to mark both statements either T or F and just check, later on, what the prescribed letter-answer corresponds to the item. This was my plan of action when, halfway through number 3 did I realize that…I WROTE ON THE QUESTIONNAIRE.
I wrote on it.
In black ink.
In black non-erasable BIC ink.
There goes two points for each of my classmates.
I immediately raised my hand to call for my teacher. Of course, upon confessing my sin, he looked at me and looked like he wanted to crush my skull into little bits and pieces. Incidentally, that’s also what I wanted to do with myself.
Okay, I cried. Yes, I cried a lot. In fact, I cried so much, my classmates skipped the anger bit and moved on to the compassion part right away. Either that or they are genuinely forgiving and sympathetic people. I’m betting on the latter. That was another reason why I was crying. They are such good people that I couldn’t understand how I could do such a thing to them. I was pretty happy it was retreat time the following day.
But things didn’t stop there, my friends.
There was one resonating theme during that day, and it was that of how clumsy and careless I am.
I went to the supermarket with my mother, yaya, and sister to buy my retreat stuff. I left my mom in the supermarket and went ahead to the van in the parking lot. The parking lot was on a slope, so when I opened the door ever-so-carelessly (with the Eco-test issue still in my head and heart), I accidentally hit the other car’s door. I panicked for a moment, looked around, and figured that no one saw it. I didn’t notice any scratches on the car so I hopped into the van. Then, the blood drained from my veins. A man of about middle-age stepped out from the car I just hit! He opened my door, pointed at a scratch on his shiny maroon car, and said in suppressed anger, “Look at that! How careless!” That word again.
I apologized profusely. Then we both went inside our respective vehicles. I waited for my mother. It seemed like ages before she finally came to the parking lot. I was praying the rosary, begging Mother Mary to protect my family from any police-involved situation. Weirdly enough, he just sat there in his car. While waiting, I thought, what if he’s just waiting for my mom? Maybe, when my mom arrives, he’s going to step out of the car and start shouting at her? Then, my mother came. The man could probably see her from his seat, but he didn’t step out. My mama stepped into the driver’s seat. Normally, when she steps in, I don’t do anything. This time, however, I quickly handed over the keys to her, as if to say, “Quick! We have to leave quickly!” She got the keys, and set them aside. She got her phone from her bag. Oh no! Not a phone call! The phone call lasted for around 3 minutes. It was to be the longest phone call ever. While she was talking on the phone, in the middle of my rosary, the man’s window went down. Oh no! Here he comes! But he stayed inside. He didn’t come out. The window was down for a while, and then it went back up again. I was sweating and fidgeting while all of this happened.
My mother finally put her phone down, to my relief. Then, she picked it up again! Oh no! Another phone call! More time for the man to step out of the car! Luckily, she decided to make my yaya make that call instead, so we drove out of the parking lot, safely and peacefully.
I was able to take down the car’s plate number. I was even imagining, due to my paranoia, the man stepping out of the car, holding a gun, pointing it at us as we drove away. I could imagine the man taking down our plate number, reporting it the police. For the whole duration of that trip, I would constantly check if there were any maroon cars tailing us.
Mr. WBP-348, I am very sorry.

posted by Ana, sgtpepper72687@yahoo.com
7:18 AM

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