You know you're having a bad day when the transporter brings up what's left of one of your feet in a cooler. Specifically, what's left of your foot bones.
I'm not saying "Kids, don't ride a motorcycle, ever, because you might live to regret it."
I'm just saying, if someone handing off someone else's fragmented foot bones in a cooler at change of shift isn't an indication it's been a crappy day for some poor schmo' out for a spin on the ol' motorbike, then, dude, I dunno what is.
(Plus, waking up to find you have only 1.5 legs when just yesterday you had two fully functional lower appendages isn't a predictor of a happy fun day, either. Neither is the painful screaming associated with same.)
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