Friday the 13th
By prettypolly
- 524 reads
I never paid much attention to superstition. Friday the 13th was supposed to be unlucky, but I never found it to be particularly unlucky. Anything bad that could happen on Friday the 13th could happen on any other day.
So, when I woke up on a Friday the 13th, I thought nothing of it. The weather was fine, bright and sunny, if not a little chilly. I showered quickly, had a skimpy breakfast of egg on toast and a cup of strong coffee and headed towards the Edware Underground Station. I worked in Walthamstow, about twenty miles from my home. I caught the underground train and all seemed fine, until a fault developped with the train and we all had to alight, several stops before our destination.
We waited until another train came five minutes later. It was packed, to my chagrin. I boarded it and was squashed between a fat middle-aged man and a tall woman. I was uncomfortably hot in my woolen coat and there was no way that I could reach the windows to open them. It was a relief to finally arrive at the destination.
I waited at the bus stop to reach my office. Five minutes passed, then ten and there was still no bus to be seen. I had forgotten to take my gloves and my hands turned purple with cold. I stuffed them in my pocket. More than twenty minutes had passed and I looked at my watch. Five to nine. No way would I make it to the office on time.
I reached for my phone and typed the route of the bus and the destination for my office. Unofficial strike. I sighed, irritably. I had no idea. How silly of me not to have watched the local news for transport information! It was too late anyway. I ordered an Uber cab. It arrived but charged a fortune for my destination but I was not in a position to argue.
I arrived at my office half-an-hour late. The boss, Mr Brown, was in a foul mood.
"You're late, Miss White. I am afraid that you will have to make it up after work."
I looked at the pile of letters on my desk. Apparently, they had been building up in my absence. Mr Brown was a sadist. He enjoyed bullying people. I explained to him about the difficulties I had with public transport and he merely sniggered.
"If I can arrive here on time, so should you," which was a pathetic excuse, considering that many of his staff lived far from the office.
I looked around the office. My colleague, Mrs Halford, had not even arrived. He dumped some more papers in my in-tray.
"This is from Mrs Halford. She is off sick for a whole week. You will have to deal with her work, as well as your own, I am afraid."
I looked at the endless sheets. Mrs Halford's work, as well as my own. There was no way I would finish it, without working through my morning and lunch breaks and even working overtime. As if reading my mind, my boss said:
"You will have to work overtime to finish it. Take it home."
I left the office at six-thirty instead of six. It being January, it was naturally dark and the cold seemed to have intensified. I had thought of ordering another Uber taxi, but then I saw tailbacks of cars on the road, apparently immobile.
I made my way towards the underground station.
"Attention please," a female voice announced over the tannoy. "I am afraid that the Victoria Line is closed and all services suspended for the rest of the evening, as there has been an incident on the tracks. We apologize for the inconvenience."
I almost screamed in frustration. I would have to find some other way to get to Euston Station before continuing on the Northern Line to Edgware, but how, with the Victoria Line normally taking me to Euston not working this evening, the bus on strike and the Uber jammed in the same traffic queues as everyone else? And I had Mrs Halford's unfinished work in my bag. I had a computer at home on which I could finish the work, but goodness knew what time I would get home.
I would have to walk to Euston Station. I turned on my Satnav.
I lifted the collar of my coat. The wind blew like a block of ice around my head. I walked briskly.
It got even colder and began to snow. I lost track of the time. I looked at my watch. Eight-thirty! Good heavens! I would not get home before ten o'clock. I had never been out that late before and it made me uneasy.
I turned into a side street. I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. I did not turn around. I did not want to attract attention. It was best not to make eye contact with anyone unfamiliar. There were people who liked to make trouble just for the sake of it.
All of a sudden, I felt a push from behind. I felt my bag being torn from my shoulder and I hit the pavement. My legs were bruised and my hands began bleeding. I tried to stand up but my legs shook. I grabbed hold of a lampost. My bag had gone, with my cash and mobile phone inside.
The street was empty. There were no witnesses. I fought back tears and continued on my way. It was well past eleven o'clock when I arrived home.
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Comments
I really enjoyed this piece.
I really enjoyed this piece. For me it sometimes seems like the superstiion is true, but only the date is wrong!
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