The glaziers are chatting about appropriate labor estimates and the low murmur of a country station twangs in the background. Sitting bored on a Monday morning, I sip my Starbucks and listen to the cars drive by the waiting room window. The damp grey day causes a mist to follow the passing cars. Meanwhile, The angry thoughts of paying for a new windshield are interrupted by the shatter of glass in the shop. I see a garbage truck go by and internally curse, because this particular crack was courtesy of the city waste department. I tried to have it repaired in summer, and I bought myself time until the weather cooled and I needed to defog my window. I sat an watched the crack climb upward, then race across the windshield.
I don't know if I am grateful for the lazy start to Monday, as I am now pointedly late to work, or if I am irritated at the inconvenience. I think I'm settling into appreciation of the loud quiet, and the fact that no one here wants anything from me but a credit card.
What mundane story can you tell?