Carl Burg was a smallish, spectable wearing model of normality. He had a wife that nagged a bit, a baby that cried a bit, and a Chevy that broke down a bit each day. On a particular Tuesday morning, Carl had begun the day with an arguement. His wife, Nancy, had awoken in a mood and had no patience with the baby. The more the baby cried, the angrier Nancy grew until she exploded in a fit of rage that must have been heard by the neighbors. She directed that rage at the baby, screaming for it to shut up. Carl made the unforgivable mistake of telling her the baby couldn’t understand and explained she was certainly upsetting the poor child more. Her rage found a new focus and Carl left for work twenty minutes early to avoid a third tirade. He clicked on the radio to a news station. “...done away with another welfare program called W. B. K...” Apparently the governor had seen fit to reduce the welfare budget yet again to eliminate Wives, Babies and Kids, a program that gave dairy products to underemployed families and single mothers. The middle class would love that. They always thought the unemployed got the welfare. Carl worked his back crooked trying to bring home the basics for survival and depended on that particular program. Fifty bucks a month was what it amounted to for him. Fifty bucks more he would have to make somehow. Oh well, not enough to let it ruin a whole day. His thoughts returned to Nancy and her mood. She was growing less and less understanding of Davey, their little boy. He cried a little, he was colicky. It had to be expected AND endured. There was no other option. Why was he always taking the heat for her... He had to slam on the brakes as a green pick up truck decided he couldn’t wait for Carl to pass. Must have been important for truck to pull out in front of him like that. That thought melted to nothing as the truck barely hit forty miles per hour. Carl’s knuckles grew white on the steering wheel. No reason to get angry. He was going to be early to work anyway. Maybe a pleasant slow drive was just what he needed that morning. No reason to get angry. He looked at his hands and loosened his grip, tiny aches crawling out of his fingers. No reason to let it ruin your day. He turned on a music channel. No news, good tunes. The truck’s right signal blinked like a lazy eye. It slowed. And slowed. It nearly stopped and then abruptly accelerated. The moron must not have know where he was turning. The blinker stayed on, though. Three more times the truck slowed before finally pulling into the parking lot of a video store. A MegaVideo no less. That was a huge store you could see way back where the idiot had first signalled. Ten more minutes and Carl glided into the parking lot of Grant’s Tool and Supply. He worked there in a shipping and receiving kind of role. He spent a good deal of time loading and delivering industrial supplies. It was heavy work. The rest of the time he was required to deal with customers who were usually manufacturing plant owners. For that reason, his manager, Darrel, required he wear a collared shirt that buttoned up. Black jeans were acceptable but not encouraged in Darrel’s eyes. Of course, Darrel never did any of the loading and delivery. As soon as he arrived, Darrel put him to work. Three tow bars and some drill bits to Wellman’s Die Shop. Carl went into the warehouse where the delivery van was and started gathering the items. The tow bars were monstrously thick rods of iron. They weighed like a granite slab. Carl managed to drag them to the van and push them inside. The heavy labor made him feel a little better, it let out some aggression. He wasn’t the physical sort but in this he did find a modicum of joy. Arriving at   So strange how a thousand things considered so minor individually can accomplish devestating results when focused in the right area in the correct amount. A reasonable person would look at any individual item and say “how trivial” and be done with it. Dismissed at a glance.