As many of you know, I am employed as a technical writer for a software company. I write computer manuals. I usually work from home in the silence of my home office – tapping my computer keys and very occasionally talking on the phone. Part of my writing responsibilities is designing training materials for the software I document. I am so good at this that I have been assigned to provide training to our clients.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I was assigned to conduct an all day training event in Washington D.C. at the Urban Institute. The first hurtle I jumped was making preparations ahead of time for childcare, transportation, and baking a birthday cake the night before for my husband's birthday that day.

Because I had a ride to and from the Metro station, I didn't think twice about leaving my hat and gloves at home, (ok, I did think once about it) – it was warmish and I was going to be traveling in the subway. I did have to carry 15 200 page manuals (that I had written) on my back in the subway at rush hour). But at least I had a seat!
When I climbed up from underground, the temperature had dropped about 15 degrees and the wind was blowing hard. It was COLD. I walked fast, my nerves keeping me warm. I arrived, got set up, and greeted all my students as they walked in, using my leadership skills.

It was a full class, and at least a third of the students came in late, disrupting things, but I kept the rhythm going – another toastmaster skill I employed with success. The training was progressing very well. I was beginning to think my star was on the rise….until it became a falling star…

In the middle of the all-important first exercise, the training server (the computer our company software runs on) went dead. The class froze. Nothing happened. Did I panic? Nope. Did I let out a string of bad words? Nope? I whipped out my cell phone and called support.

There I was, 30 eyeballs staring at me as I talked on my cell phone, trying to save my class and my reputation. Little did I know then, but all of my company's servers that run that software just went down (the US Senate is a client that was affected). I was put on hold. Did I gasp with disbelief? No. Did the string of bad words stream forth then? No. I gave the class a break. Told them to check their email – which they were all happy to do. When we restarted after a few minutes, I told the class it was sun spots, and we had had to wait until the magnetic pulse subsided. They laughed, and by then, we were back in business.
After lunch, I had a lot of ground to cover still, and was faced with a very warm room filled with people who just ate lunch. Can you say snoozeville? I rolled up my sleeves (it really was hot) and got back to business. I kept them awake by asking questions and giving them problems to solve. Getting the audience involved – A toastmaster's skill. My star was back on the rise…
Well, you guessed it, the server went down again. I called support. I was put on hold. I was told the CEO was in the server room and I had to wait. I really was ready to blow my top. I visualized strangling the chief engineer who put me on hold. This caused me to smile at the waiting students (in a mad sort of way).

I decided it was time for table topics. I sat on the front table and asked each of the students what their objectives were for using the software. I got some good answers and conducted a dialog about communication strategies. By the time we concluded the conversation, the server was back up and we were good to go.

With 15 minutes left to go, racing to cover the last hour material, the server died again. Three times is the charm, right? I gave up. I passed out my business cards, I had them fill out the evaluation, and I let them go early – staying within my time limit, another toastmaster's skill.

While en route home, I phoned my husband to tell him when to pick me up at the Metro station. He said he had to pick up our son at the high school and then he'd be there. I arrived at the station. It was getting dark, and bitterly cold. I missed those gloves and hat. I waited for 20 minutes and then called again. I couldn't help it, but the string of bad words came out between my chattering teeth, "Where the bleep are you? It's bleeping cold out here!" Jeff said he was still at the high school. I had almost 30 more minutes to wait.

No Toastmasters' skill could make me warm or sooth the anger this time. When at last the car pulled up, it was filled this 3 teens, my 8 year old and a much frazzled husband. The teens' ride never showed and they were stranded. Jeff took them all in, but told them they had to go to the Metro station before being brought home. My anger melted as I climbed into the hot car, remembering that it was my husband's birthday and we had birthday cake at home.

My Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day was saved by being a leader, using humor, involving my audience, being able to speak of the cuff, and respecting people's time. I learned to never forget my hat and mittens, and birthday cake for dinner can lighten any mood.

The title for my speech was inspired by Judith Viorst’s “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible,No Good, Very Bad Day”