The day began as any other. It was the best of days. It was the worst of days. It was the day I walked around with a pubic hair stuck to my face. It was the day I didn't not wake up to realise that it was just a bad dream.
The morning began as any other. I rolled from my bed and desired coffee. Well, I attempted to roll from my bed. I was unable to move either of my arms and in fact I didn't even feel either of my arms. They hung cold and lifeless beside my body - unmoving, unresponsive. I had slept on them throughout the night. They had been crushed until they were no more functional than two oversized uncooked pork sausages. It was then I made the nearly fatal mistake of getting out of bed instead of waiting. Instead of rolling and standing, I rolled and fell onto the floor. There I lay, stunned for a few moments. Trapped between the narrow gap between the bed and the wall, staring at the accumulated bed leavings. Was it here that I did acquire my unwanted facial passenger? Reasoning would say yes but after I had recovered some sense in my arms (achieved by flailing my arms about in the fashion of an uncoordinated high velocity spinning octopus) my next, and routine, encounter with the mirror said no. I was unable to do little more than smack my hands into my face, so shaving was out of the question. I did however sit and smack my hands into my face just to experience the weird sensation of a dead fleshy entity rhythmically hitting me in the head.
Visual inspection of my face (as far as I recall) did not present anything unacceptable, such as a big fat pimple, or a big goober hanging from my nostril, or dandruff decoratively sprinkled about my scalp, or alas a pubic hair stuck to my face. I was in fact ready for breakfast but for the small detail that I do not eat breakfast - ever - I drink it. I only drink coffee for breakfast. I went and ground some coffee beans, smelling the wonderful fragrance and desiring the caffeine hit that was soon to follow. Unlike other days my wife slept in and I was going to leave before she even got out of bed. This I believe was the one safety valve, the only saviour, that could have prevented the events to follow. I now see it as a conspiracy of events - each one perfectly aligned in time and space, conspiring to produce an outcome of immense social unacceptability - a straight walking, coordinated freak. I drank my coffee. Was it here that I did acquire my unwanted facial passenger? Reasoning would say no, but had this innocent non-sentient cup been venturing to the land where pubic hairs dwell, only to itself be the unwitting host of some distant traveller? I fear I will never know.
The walk to the train began as any other. I gathered my belongings. A backpack, wallet, keys, and palm pilot and strolled to the train. Coincidentally I left my house the same time as my neighbour. We had walked to the train together before. It was not a long walk and we often engaged in social chit chat to pass the short time between home and train station. I should have realised something a miss from the start. As my neighbour approached his face went quickly from standard morning greeting to take on an ashen, fearful look. His typically cheerful "Hello" was at once broken and high pitched, sounding like a vinyl record being scratched at high volume. Before speaking anymore he quickly turned and ran back towards the house as I watched in stunned silence, not knowing what to make of this. There I stood for a moment, consciously blinking. After a few moments more he did not return, no sound could be heard. I turned, shrugged my shoulders and proceeded to walk to the train.
I boarded the train just as on any other day. I had purchased a monthly train ticket, and my timing was perfect. The train, as is usual for this time of the day, was crowded. As I strode through the door I spotted a seat. It was a small space on the end of a two seater. The two seater bench was facing towards another two seater, designed for groups of 3 or 4 people to chat to each other face to face. Realizing my chance I quickly took the seat. Across from me was a middle aged business man, sitting next to a similarly dressed older gentleman. Next to me was a fairly young woman. As is typical in cramped environments people rarely look directly at each other, preferring instead to gaze off into the distance or read a book. Today I had no book to read so I gazed at the floor. The train started to move off from the station and engaged in its typical lazy sway on its way to the next stop
The day, even though it had just begun, ended like no other. Quite quickly, everything became unusual. The man across from me began to smirk and fidget while looking directly at me. This was obviously infectious as the older man next to him did the same. They then both bent at the waist in an attempt to either support the pressure building inside of them or to somehow discreetly let out a burst of laughter. It was then the first said "Mate! You've got a massive pubic hair on your face!" As before I blinked consciously and slowly raised my open hands to my face. As my hands inched closer I saw the stare of many eyes upon me. With each passing moment I realised that his statement, as untruthful as I wished it to be, must have been correct. And with each passing moment my face felt hotter and hotter making my head appear as a glowing red sphere with a massive pubic hair jutting forth in all its curled glory for the whole of the world to see.
I ran my hands across my face and satan's package of unerring social rejection attached itself to my right hand like an obedient dog. Before my eyes truth was realised and the symphony of horror, as if it had reached its last, most humiliating crescendo, ordered open the doors of the train, where through I ran unable to avoid the stares of the train people.
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