Sands and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
Disclaimer 1: No, I don't own Sands. I'm sure he's relieved.
Disclaimer 2: Yes, this is a parody of the classic children's book Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. I don't own that title. That belongs to Judith Viorst. And yes, I am aware that the title of the story is missing a few words. That's because this site won't let you have very long titles, apparently.
Thanks to Melody for the beta. I don't know where this one came from. It just sort of showed up in my head. Enjoy!
First the alarm didn't go off, so he overslept. Then the coffeepot decided to go balls-up. That pissed him off, so he shot it.
When he was scooping the mess of broken glass and coffee grounds into the trashcan, he cut his thumb. And there were no Band-Aids.
He stubbed his toe getting into the shower, and there were no clean towels, because he hated to do laundry and he was always forgetting.
He was almost finished getting dressed when his cell phone went off. He flipped it open. "Yeah?"
"Sheldon, baby!"
He winced. "What?"
"Oh darling," a syrupy voice cooed in his ear, "you aren't having one of those memory lapses again, are you? You do remember how we met, right? I was the only one who understood your depression and why you were suicidal."
"What?" He glared at the phone. "Who the hell is this?"
The woman sighed, a patient, affectionate sigh. "I'm your wife, darling. Surely you remember me, and our four-year old daughter?"
He shuddered. "Um, sure. Listen, I have to go do some secret spy stuff now."
"Are you sure you're all right, darling?" the woman purred, her voice breathless. "I could come down to Mexico and surprise you."
"No!" he shouted. "No, that won't be necessary. Listen, uh, I'll send you some flowers. Uh, what's your names again?"
"Mary," the woman answered with a huff of indignation. "Honestly, Sheldon. Maybe I should come down there. I am your wife, Mary Sue Sands. And your daughter is Jade Sapphire Tigerlily."
He closed his eyes. "Right. Well, keep watching the mailbox. Gotta go." He ended the call.
He stood there shuddering for nearly a minute, then flipped open the phone again and dialed another number. He couldn't remember where exactly he lived, so just to be safe, he called in a strategic air strike on all women named Mary Sue. That made him feel a little better.
The car wouldn't start right away and the radio decided not to work, either. He ran out of cigarettes and when he stopped at a store to buy some, they were out of his favorite brand. So he shot the clerk, just because.
He remembered then that he had forgotten to bring his fake arm, and so he had to go back to the apartment. He floored it the whole way, so of course a cop pulled him over, and he had to flash his badge so he wouldn't get a ticket.
And naturally he was late for his meeting with Belini, and wouldn't you know it, the moron just had to start playing power games with him. And then the stupid waitress spilled coffee on the fake arm, and after that there was no point in even pretending that this day wasn't anything but a real shitter. So he shot Belini and he shot the waitress. He asked for some help, but no one even budged, and that ticked him off some more. For a moment he entertained the thought of shooting everyone in the cantina, but then he would run out of ammo and that would be just what he needed to make this day perfect.
So he drove Belini's body to the lake and dumped it, and on the way back he ran out of gas and he had to walk all the way, and when he finally got to her apartment, that stupid bitch Ajedrez had changed the locks.
When she insulted his manhood, he almost shot her.
He called a tow truck to come get the car and they were booked solid for the rest of the day. He walked back to his own shitty apartment, and there was a notice taped to the door from the landlord. His rent was late.
He tossed the note on the kitchen table. "Fuckmook."
He took a hot shower to get the smell of blood out of his hair, but the hot water ran out halfway through, making him yelp with surprise at the first shock of cold. And there were still no fresh towels, so he had to use the damp one from the morning.
He was on his way to one of the cantinas for dinner when his cell phone chirped. "Yeah."
It was Ramirez. The former FBI agent had a lot of useless information to report. "Get inside," he told Ramirez.
Jeez. It was so hard to find good help these days.
His dinner was cold, the tequila was watery, and halfway through the meal he realized he was being watched.
Well. This day just kept getting better and better.
His new shadow followed him back to the apartment. He went around the rooms, shutting all the blinds, except for the one in the bedroom, which came right off the wall when he yanked on the string, and landed on his foot. He hopped around cursing for a bit, and hoped his stalker was having fun.
There was nothing good on TV and he didn't even feel like jerking off. This had been a shitty day, all around.
He waved good night to his shadow from the cartel, then got ready for bed. A glob of toothpaste fell on his shirt, and he banged his knee on the doorframe. He turned out the lights and the room remained bright as day, thanks to the missing blinds and the light in the parking lot just outside his window.
Sands sighed. Tomorrow would be a better day. He just knew it.
Note: Apologies if I got the timeline wrong…it's been a while since I actually watched the movie.