Whenever I have a long day at work, I feel it necessary to tell everyone I know. Guess who's working ELEVEN hours today? Huh, what did you say? No, ME. I'm working ELEVEN hours. In a row! Aren't you impressed with my stamina? Holy long day, batman.
In grad school, eleven hour days are commonplace. No one raises their eyebrows and say "How many?" when you're toiling away at all hours. Now, because it garners attention, I tend to play it up. I AM STILL AT WORK AND THE EVENING NEWS IS ON.
Today was one of those exhausting days, the 2-cups-of-coffee-just-to-stay-alive type. These sort of days make me lose faith in humanity a little bit and Crabby, Crotchety Laura takes over.
To make matters more crabby, something flew into my eye while I sat waiting for the bus. Ever have something sting your eye so bad that the harder you blink the stingier it gets? Well that's what happened here. One wonky-eyed sting fest with streaming tears and everything. I kept jerking my glasses off and rubbing my eye with my sleeve (I know, I know. That doesn't help), mentally barking about what a ridiculous day I was having. C.C. Laura was irritated, and it wasn't just her eye anymore.
And then the nicest thing happened.
An older gentleman waiting with his daughter for the bus leaned over to me and said, "Are you alright, miss?" I looked at up him, one eye still wildly tearing up and said, "That might be the nicest thing anyone's asked me all day." This response confused the man who eventually turned away towards his daughter.
As I sat on the bus ride home, my one eye now bloodshot, I suddenly didn't care about my eleven-hour day. I wasn't annoyed by the disrespectful students or my email inbox. My faith in humanity had momentarily been restored. Today's joie de vivre? Strangers who care enough to ask.
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