When he woke up he got ready and went to work.
When Ryan woke up, he showered, got dressed, fixed a lunch for himself and drove his car to work.
When Ryan Whyte woke up this morning, he followed his normal routine. First, he took a warm shower. Finishing that, he dried himself and walked to his closet to get dressed. He picked out a casual outfit and put it on. He selected comfortable socks and shoes and put them on also. He groomed himself a little, and then went down to the kitchen. In the kitchen he fixed himself a lunch consisting of a tuna fish sandwich, an apple and a small bag of pretzels. He put all of this into a brown paper sack, along with a bottle of water. Ready to go, he locked the back door and got into his little economy car for the familiar forty-five minute drive to his job.
"It can't be five already," Ryan Whyte groaned, slapping at the snooze button. Within seconds, he was sound asleep again. Ryan Whyte had already done this four times this morning, but he didn't know that.
"It can't be five already," Ryan groaned, opening one eye to glance at the digital clock. 5:47. "Damn," he said sleepily, reaching over to turn off the alarm. He still had time. No time to lose, but no reason to panic.
Every muscle protested as he sat up slowly and swung his feet around and down to the floor. Two months later, and the wood floors would have shocked him awake, but it was late summer or early fall and they provided no stimulation. He groaned like an old man as he stood, even though, at thirty-two, he was far too young to do so.
Mechanically, he walked across the dark room to the bathroom and flipped on the light. The bathroom was clean, for a guy bathroom. An expert in bathroom cleanliness would have found several issues to note, but it was passable for Ryan. Retrieving his toothbrush and toothpaste from the drawer beside the sink, he opened the glass shower door and placed them on the shelf up below the shower head. He turned the water on to full heat so it could warm up while he took care of more urgent matters.
By the time he left the water closet, the shower was beginning to steam. He glanced over at the clock. Thirty minutes to go. Stepping out of his skivvies, he stepped into the shower. It was a bit too hot, so he adjusted it quickly. Then he stood. Standing in the warm water was the most important reason to shower, as far as Ryan was concerned. Soap, shampoo, these things were of secondary importance. Luxuriating under the warm flow was what showering was about.
When he had ensured arriving at work at least five minutes late even under the most ideal traffic conditions, he decided he needed to get busy. He lathered his body and wet his hair at the same time. Then he rinsed his body and lathered his hair. If he could rinse his hair and brush his teeth at the same time without getting soap in his mouth, he'd do so. As it was, he did them one at a time, but quickly. He had always brushed his teeth in the shower, a practice that was universally considered disgusting by all of his past and present friends and girlfriends.
When he was finished, he turned off the water and reached out of the shower door for his towel, which was on the ledge beside the shower. After drying himself, he grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste and, exiting the shower, threw them back in the drawer. He never left them in the shower because that would just be gross.
He glanced at the clock again. He needed to leave in five minutes, something that would never happen. He walked quickly into his closet and put on black boxer briefs and brand new, soft, white gym socks. He loved Friday casual dress. His jeans, which were perfect today because he had already worn them twice since he'd washed them, were draped on his tall, black, roll-aboard suitcase. He pulled them on, thanking God it was Friday, and pulled a white undershirt from a hanger. Tucking in the undershirt, he buttoned and zipped his jeans and pulled a light green golf shirt, fresh from the cleaners, off another hanger and over his head. Leaving it untucked (ah, Friday), he slipped into his already-tied white Nikes with the blue swoosh and headed out of the closet.
Thankful for low maintenance hair, he was deodorized, shaven, brushed and headed for the kitchen within another three minutes. In the kitchen he pulled open the refrigerator and, stooping, peered inside. There was tuna fish in a Tupperware bowl covered - mostly - with Saran Wrap. He was pretty sure it was left over from yesterday (or was it the day before). The bread was, conveniently, still on the counter from yesterday (or was it the day before), so he took out two pieces, grabbed a spoon from the drawer, and spread the rest of the tuna into a sandwich. He put the sandwich in a baggie (not ziplock because he needed to go shopping) and put it into a plain brown paper bag from the bag of bags in the cupboard. He also grabbed the least bruised granny smith apple from the bowl (the bananas needed to go) and put a handful of pretzels from a large bag sitting open on the stove into another baggie. Tossing these into the brown bag and grabbing a bottle of cold water from the still-open fridge, which he closed, he headed for the door. He glanced at the microwave clock, but it was blinking 12:00, so he looked at the old, reliable analog on the stove. He should have left five minutes ago. Not too bad.
Closing and locking the door, Ryan walked to his car, a little, blue Honda that he'd bought for economy and...well, just for economy. He opened the car door, tossed the water and brown bag onto the passenger seat, and slid behind the wheel. All in all, it was a good start to the day. He felt light-hearted as he backed out of the driveway and punched on the radio for the familiar forty-five minute drive. "Ah," he thought, "Friday."
