AAFDA the answer to Gremlin Days

Ever have one of those days when nothing seems to go right, when even the simplest task seems insurmountable and every little speed bump looks like Kilimanjaro?

Sure you have. Everyone has days like that. Days when the hammer hits the thumb more often than the nail, when the snow starts to fall as you pull into the golf course parking lot, when the last $60-off iPod is sold seconds before you arrive at the big box store.

Over the years—owing in part to the fact I seem to have more “gremlin” days than most folks—I’ve developed a system for dealing with them, a five-stage process I call AAFDA (Annoyance, Aggravation, Frustration, Disbelief, Acceptance).

Last Friday was an AAFDA day. It went like this:

STAGE ONE: Annoyance—The drive to my weekend job (marine biologist) took about an hour. As I was arriving at the job site, all the electrical systems in my usually reliable truck went kablooey. Pulling into the job site parking lot, the engine died as well. I turned the key, but nothin’. No click-click, no vroom-vroom, no grinding noises.

Nevertheless, work waited. I opted to deal with the problem when the evening’s job (cataloging Organ Pipe corals off the shores of Papua, New Guinea) was finished.

STAGE TWO: Aggravation—Ten minutes into the job (see coral thing, above) a key piece of equipment broke, an 18-inch subwoofer that costs about $200 to fix. My pay for Friday’s job was $150, leaving me $50 in the hole. (Why I need an 18-inch subwoofer to catalog coral is difficult to explain; just run with me on this one.)

STAGE THREE: Frustration—We finished up around 2 a.m. and, along with a couple co-workers who know something about cars, we investigated the dark recesses beneath my pickup’s hood. It was raining, of course. No car has ever broken down on a beautiful day at the beach alongside the Texas Bikini Auto Mechanics Team’s tour bus.

After much prodding, poking, wrench turning and rain cursing, the consensus was: The truck was broken. Probably the a) alternator, b) battery, c) ignition coil, d) plug wires, or e) bad karma.

A couple co-workers offered to drive me home, which lead to…

STAGE FOUR: Amazement—Dripping wet, exhausted, cold and disheartened, I squeezed into the back seat of my co-worker’s minuscule, compact car, a space better suited to a gerbil than a human being.

As I struggled to find a place for my knees, other than on either side of my face, a sound like ripping cloth filled the car’s interior. As it turned out, the sound was ripping cloth—the seat of my pants splitting gleefully up the seam. My co-workers, cultured gentlemen that they are, laughed until Mountain Dew shot out their nostrils.

STAGE FIVE: Acceptance—The ride home was a long one. The guys waited in the driveway, hi-beam headlights blazing, as I walked, tattered butt in hands, to my front door. My head held proudly erect, I turned and waved goodbye, using at least one finger.

They drove off laughing, anxious to find someone with whom to share the story. (This turned out to be everyone, as I discovered the following evening.)

But I no longer cared. I had reached the final AAFDA stage—acceptance.

Climbing into bed beside The Lovely Mrs. Taylor, I settled in for a good night’s sleep, confident the next day would be better.

“How was your night?” Mrs. T asked drowsily.

“The usual,” I said.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said, drifting back to sleep.

To contact Mike Taylor with your questions, comments, or the name of a good tailor, e-mail mtaylor325@gmail.com or write via snail mail to: Mike Taylor, c/o Valley Media, Inc., PO Box 9, Jenison, MI 49429. Miss a week? More Reality Check online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.mlive.com/advancenewspapers.