Bad, worse, Troy

When the first rays of sun fell through the half-open window, he slowly got up without opening his eyes. He skilfully felt his way into the kitchen and brewed a strong coffee. Still with his eyes closed, he went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face.
He could only vaguely remember leaving his apartment last night, but after that ?!
He opened his eyes cautiously, but immediately regretted it, as the light from the bathroom lighting bored into his head like needles. He screwed up his face in agony, apparently only because of this his head had really woken up. Because he felt as if someone was beating his brain with a sledgehammer.
He opened a drawer in his bathroom cabinet and felt for a pack of painkillers, but the next moment he pulled his hand back with a jerk. He hadn't found the pills, but found the razor blades, which he had been looking for for six months.
The day promised to be a catastrophe and not a normal, ordinary, all-world catastrophe. No, but a catastrophe of gigantic proportions. But he could worry his head about that later if he didn't do it all by himself. At the moment he seemed to be planning to do just that.
Where were the damn pain pills?
Again he put his hand in the drawer and searched, this time more carefully, for his rescue in pill form. But they weren't there, not a crumb was to be found. So he spent the next ten minutes unpacking, re-arranging and rearranging all of his drawers. He found all kinds of things, things he didn't even know he still had, much less where he got them from. A fork, the tickets for the concert that he had been so desperately looking for - the concert would have been a week ago - a CD and, for some inexplicable reason, nail polish and a dried-out mascara.Frustrated, he got up to at least drink his coffee, which in the meantime had almost certainly gone cold.
As soon as he had walked three feet towards the kitchen, he slipped on what turned out to be nothing more than the missing pills.
He drank his lukewarm coffee and wondered if it would be worthwhile to just get back into bed and lay ad acta all day. But how could it have been otherwise, the phone rang at that moment. Now he knew at least in which part of the chaos, which had once started as a completely normal hallway, it was.
Thanks to the pills, he was now able to open his eyes without having to fear directly having to suffer a brain short circuit. He rummaged through various piles of unidentifiable things until he found the object of desire, his phone.
As soon as he had accepted the call, a slightly hysterical Tseng nagged in his ear: “Troy, where are you ?! Everyone else is already there!” And he hung up.
What was so important today? And what day was it anyway? Demotivated, he shuffled back into the kitchen, to the only item in his apartment that was always well kept and tidy in a certain place, to his appointment calendar.
He frowned at the calendar, and then he saw it: circled and underlined three times, President Shinra was celebrating his fiftieth birthday today and the celebration was due to start at eleven and it was half past ten ...
The disaster had just progressed to astronomical proportions.