It was a sunny morning in the crowded and breakneck city of New York. Blake Miles-Bancroft worked ever so hard to prepare a writing portfolio to land a gig as an editor for Time Magazine. Unfortunately, he slept through his alarm set for 7:30 and abruptly woke himself up at 8:45. Blake quickly flew off of his bed, ran a comb through his broken curls, put on his nicest collared shirt and his favorite pair of Banana Republic slacks. He then ran out the door of his apartment suddenly paused at the edge of his floor's stairs for he had forgot to put on his shoes and socks.
"Unbelievable." Laughed Blake as he looked down at his bare feet and made it back quickly to his apartment.
"Here we are!" Smiled Blake, grabbing his tribal print socks and black Doctor Martens from the corner of his bedroom. "I'm glad I have until 10, can't be late for my first day." He whispered to himself as he hurried out of the door.
Blake walked the sidewalk with swagger, wore the biggest grin he's had in awhile, and said hello to the strangers we walked past, occasionally receiving a greeting back. Suddenly, tall and slim man with a pungent odor came after Blake holding a broken and jagged beer bottle.
"Give me your wallet, kid and you don't get hurt." Screamed the man in a harsh and urgent tone.
Blake began to breathe heavily and his swagger walk became a full sprint. "Screw you, old man!" Called Blake over his shoulder. Little did he know, there was a man pushing a hot dog cart straight in front of him and they collided.
"Unbelievable..." Moaned Blake as he laid on the sidewalk motionless, surrounded by hot dogs and feeling dumbfounded.
"Are you gonna pay for all these hot dogs?" Asked the man who was pushing the hot dog cart, angrily.
Blake slowly stood up, reaching for his wallet in his back pocket. "Do you have change for one hundred?" He asked cautiously. "HA! Yeah, right kid." Scoffed the hot dog guy as he snatched the one hundred dollar bill out of Blake's hand and walked away leaving the remains of his cart.
"My clothes. What the hell!" Sighed a defeated Blake, looking down at his hot dog grease covered clothing.
"Banana Republic is close, I'll stop there. It's only 9:30, I'll make it." Blake reminded himself and then called for a Taxi.
When he arrived at Banana Republic, he ran straight to the shelves holding his favorite pants and then found a navy v-neck sweater to replace his collared shirt.
"This line is UNBELIEVABLE." Stressed Blake who was the second to last in line. He then checked the time, noticing that it was 9:45 he began to sweat in worry.
After 10 minutes, he finally got to the front and his debit card was then declined. "SHIT!" Blake blurted impatiently as he began to thumb through his wallet for his credit card. "Where is it?" He whined when suddenly a good Samaritan cut him off, and paid for both of their clothes.
"THANK YOU!" Jumped Blake who began to strip in the middle of the store without a care and slipped on his new pants. "THANK YOU SO MUCH!" He yelled again as he sprinted out of the door, pulling his arms through his sweater.
"Okay, 5 minutes to get there. I've got th-" Blake interrupted himself. "Unbelievable... A flash mob? Really?"
Blake sighed obnoxiously and looked up asking a higher power, "Why? Why today of all days do you do this to me? Flash mob of all things. Juju on that Beat... Out of all songs?! I GOT TO GO!" Determined, he looked for another taxi but there was none in sight so he had no choice but to run all the way to work. "I'm so late..." He whined as he ran down the street.
"I'M HERE! I'M HERE!" He called as he approached the Time's head quarters.
"Bancroft, you're fired!" Screamed his boss. "Oh shut up, twit." Pouted his boss's assistant. "Okay, fine. You're not fired, you're on probation. Two more strikes and you're out, Bancroft! I'm watching you..." Threatened his boss.
Blake finally sat down in his new desk, sank, and let out a large sigh.
He would give anything to turn back the clock five minutes.
