In which I feel like an action hero

Today on the way to work, I felt like an action hero. I left the house with plenty of time to arrive at the office for my staff meeting. Before I could get on the interstate, however, my path was blocked by a passing train. No worries, until the train stopped on the tracks and showed no signs of moving again soon. I whipped around the steering wheel and zoomed back the way I'd come, all the while wracking my brain for a suitable alternate route. Deciding to navigate other surface streets to the interstate, I wove through alleys and backstreets, sending litter flying and small animals scurrying, only to confront a three-car pileup on the on-ramp. Refusing to be daunted, I again reversed my path and, with a cunning demonstrated by so many leading men on the trail of elusive bad guys in a hopped-up Chevy, I ferreted yet another alternate route from my memory and, although slowed somewhat by street repairs and a funeral procession, made it to the office with seconds to spare.

As I pulled into my parking space, however, I reflected that perhaps my journey hadn't been so spectacular an accomplishment after all. I hadn't been pursured by relentless villains hellbent on my death. I was not fleeing the police. I didn't feel so much like an action hero after all.

So I shot out the tires of the car parked next to mine, grabbed a skateboard from a passerby, sailed nearly to the door of my office and leaped off, executing a perfect forward roll to dodge any unfriendly gunfire that might be zinging overhead. Now I felt like an action hero. And there were jelly donuts at the meeting!