Fandango’s Story Starter teaser is: Life wasn’t great at all for Walter. In fact, it wasn’t even mildly good.

Walter’s Woes

Life wasn’t great at all for Walter. In fact, it wasn’t even mildly good. His mornings started with a series of unfortunate events that made a Monday feel like a warm hug. Take today, for instance.

The day began with Walter’s alarm clock betraying him by not going off. Instead, he was awakened by his cat, Mr. Whiskers, who decided Walter’s face was the perfect place to deposit a half-chewed mouse. “Good morning, Walter,” he imagined Mr. Whiskers purring, “I brought you breakfast.” Walter sighed, flicked the mouse off his bed, and trudged to the bathroom.

He reached for his toothbrush only to realize the toothpaste was gone. A crumpled, empty tube mocked him from the sink. He considered using baking soda, like his grandmother used to do, but remembered that he’d have to dig through his disaster of a pantry. Deciding his dental hygiene could wait, he splashed water on his face and hoped his coworkers wouldn’t notice his mint-free breath.

His wardrobe offered no solace. His favorite shirt, the one with the mysterious stain that had become his trademark, was missing. He settled for a wrinkled button-down that smelled vaguely of last week’s Chinese takeout. Walter sprayed himself liberally with cologne, hoping to mask the scent.

In the kitchen, the coffee machine sputtered and died, producing nothing more than a sad, brown trickle. “Traitor,” Walter muttered, shaking the machine like a magic 8-ball, hoping it would miraculously provide caffeine. No such luck. Resigned, he grabbed a can of soda from the fridge. Breakfast of champions, he thought grimly.

The commute was equally dismal. Walter’s car, a beaten-up sedan with a personality of its own, decided today was the day to make a new, alarming noise. It was somewhere between a screech and a groan, like an old haunted house door. He turned up the radio to drown it out, but the station was playing nothing but country love songs, each one more depressing than the last. He switched to a podcast about historical disasters, which felt more appropriate.

Work didn’t promise any relief. Walter worked in a cubicle farm, his tiny partition adorned with motivational posters that failed to motivate. His boss, Mr. Crumple, had a knack for appearing at the worst possible moments. Today was no exception. Just as Walter was about to take a bite of his sandwich (the one bright spot in his day—a turkey club with extra bacon), Mr. Crumple materialized with a stack of reports.

“Walter, these need to be finished by the end of the day,” he said, his face devoid of any emotion except for a perpetual frown.

“Sure thing, Mr. Crumple,” Walter replied, trying to sound enthusiastic and failing miserably.

The reports were a nightmare of numbers and charts, each more convoluted than the last. Walter slogged through them, his mind wandering to the myriad ways he could escape this drudgery. Maybe he could join a circus? Become a professional napper? Start a YouTube channel where he reviewed different brands of cat food? The possibilities were endless.

Lunchtime offered a brief respite. Walter took his sandwich to the park across the street, where he could watch the pigeons and pretend he was anywhere else. He found a bench, unwrapped his sandwich, and took a blissful bite. That’s when the sky decided to open up. A torrential downpour soaked him within seconds, turning his sandwich into a soggy mess. Walter looked up at the sky, rain dripping from his nose, and laughed. It was that or cry.

Back at the office, Walter squelched his way to his desk, earning puzzled looks from his coworkers. He spent the rest of the day damp and cold, finishing the reports just in time. Mr. Crumple gave a curt nod of approval, which was the closest thing to praise Walter had ever received from him.

The drive home was a blur of brake lights and honking horns. Walter’s car continued its symphony of distress, but he was too tired to care. When he finally pulled into his driveway, he sat in the car for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Home was his sanctuary, but even that had its challenges. He was greeted by Mr. Whiskers, who had knocked over a potted plant and tracked soil all over the carpet.

“Thanks, buddy,” Walter said, picking up the mess.

After a quick, unsatisfying microwave dinner, Walter collapsed on the couch. He turned on the TV, hoping to find something to distract him from the day’s disasters. Instead, he found a documentary on natural disasters. He chuckled and decided to watch it. At least his life wasn’t that bad.

As the narrator droned on about earthquakes and tsunamis, Walter felt a strange sense of comfort. Sure, his life wasn’t great, but it wasn’t a complete disaster either. He had a roof over his head, a steady job, and a cat who occasionally brought him “gifts.” It could be worse.

Walter’s phone buzzed with a text from his best friend, Sam: “Game night this Friday? We could all use a laugh.”

A smile tugged at Walter’s lips. Maybe life wasn’t perfect, but moments like these made it bearable. He typed back, “Count me in,” and settled deeper into the couch. Tomorrow was a new day, full of potential mishaps and misadventures. But for now, Walter was content to let the world’s problems be someone else’s concern.

And who knows? Maybe tomorrow his alarm would go off on time, the coffee machine would work, and Mr. Whiskers would catch a mouse outside instead of in his bed. Stranger things had happened.