The Complaint Department

The Management rattles the complaint box, and the papers drift to the floor...


False Fruit.
You scan the rows and boxes and stands of fruit, trying to be as deliberate and perfect in your choice of the fruit that suits your fancy for the week.  You find the Navel oranges (or clementines, as the season dictates), struggle to open the plastic bag, and go about your selecting.  You might squeeze a few, look for ones devoid of any discoloration, or just grab randomly.

None of it matters one damn bit.

You perform a similar ritual with those lovely looking Braeburn apples over yonder, and yes, struggle again with the plastic produce sack.  All of these apples look delightful and are unbruised.  It's only later, possibly the following day, when you eat one.

Rather than the satisfying snap of a crisp, juicy apple, the whole thing sags beneath your teeth like some evil pulp.  You can't even chew it because the texture is utterly what an apple is not, and you let the wad of wasted apple fall into the trash.  Now you're irritated that this, and possibly each of the other apples are ruined (they are), so you move onto your orange.  The citrus floats from the rind as you peel and tear through it to the flesh.  You separate one wedge of the orange, place it between your front teeth, and bite.

Dry as a goddamn cob.  The juice has evaporated.  Or been sucked out.  Or something ridiculous.  And your day has been effectively ruined because of this pile of false fruit.

Plastic Produce Sacks.
You can't half-ass these bags, folks.  Poking through produce with one hand and tearing a bag with the other is completely impossible.  Should you attempt such a move, not only does the bag not tear at the dotted line where it promises you that it will, but due to your lack of superhuman strength you end up unrolling another three to four bags before any tear occurs.  You'll snap out of your produce search, tear the one bag off that you need, and are then faced with a dangle of unopened, untorn produce bags that you cleverly try to hide behind the roll, stuff in the trash, or put them in your pocket because you feel too guilty.
 
And the thing isn't even open yet.  You flip the bag over a few times looking for the correct end, find it, rub the bag together to get it to open, and realize that you're at the wrong end.  Or not.  So you shake it out, snapping it in front of your face like a crazy person.

'That Kind of Day.'
1.)  You oversleep a bit.  Something small.  Let's say five minutes.
2.)  You get out of bed, wondering what happened there.  You don't recall hearing the alarm, and you already feel a bit...off.
3.)  You bang your toe on the edge of the bed.  Or bang your shin on something as you get into the shower.  Either works fine.
4.)  You get ready for work, school, whatever, conscious that you're five minutes off.  Your toe/shin hurts.
5.)  You go to the kitchen to eat cereal.  There isn't enough milk for such things.  So, you have toast and coffee and some Oreos.
6.)  You head out to the car, carrying your bag, your coffee, and any other paraphernalia you may need to have a successful day.  You're still conscious that you're running about five minutes behind.
7.)  The radio is irritating you.  The commercials will not stop.  Or, your iPod isn't playing songs you'd prefer today.  Either works fine.
8.)  The traffic is absurd.  But you can't decide if it's because you're running a bit late, if there's a wreck ahead, or if it's always like this.
9.)  You get to work, try to get the various things off the passenger seat in one giant well-balanced pile.  You're successful.  You walk to your office/desk/room/bunker, nod your head or smile to a co-worker in greeting, and your pile collapses, inches from it's destination.  Now the irritation is gone and you are genuinely pissed off.  Also, you're crashing from the sugar in the Oreos.
10.)  You're quiet for the rest of the day, and you feel ridiculous getting upset at such little things.  But whatever.  It's your life, and you can be cranky whenever you feel like it.
11.)  A significant other asks you what's wrong/how's your day/why are you so cranky, and you feel foolish telling them any one of those things, let alone the entire list, so you say, "Nothing."
12.)  You hit your head on something painful.  Trust me.  It'll happen.  You're seeing red and wondering if it makes more sense to cry or try to obliterate the thing that you just hit your head on.  Instead you glare at it and threaten it with horrible, unspeakable things under your breath.
13.)  The small things keep happening, and the day progressively swirls down the toilet, and everyone else seems to be deliriously happy.  Whenever someone stops by with their cheer, you're tempted to tell them to piss off and slap them in the teeth.  And then you feel guilty again.
14.)  You wonder if things will get better once you get home for the night.  They won't.  It's one of those days, and you have to see it through to it's conclusion.