Fortunately...unfortunately

...a bee comes along and stings you (in a very sensitive place), and the venom wakes you up. Unfortunately...

you immediately lapse into anaphylactic shock and pass out again. Fortunately . . .

...a wandering minstrel comes along and sees you in distress. He has an EpiPen (all wandering minstrels carry them), so he stops and injects you with life-saving epinephrine. Unfortunately...

by the time you wake up the minstrel is making unwelcome amorous advances on your person. Fortunately...

a crowd gathers, and many start shouting for him to stop. Unfortunately . . .

Unfortunately nobody really wants him to, their demands are half hearted at best. Fortunately...

minstrels aren't typically athletic, and even in your puny state you are able to throw him off you. Unfortunately...

...a band of lute players (the minstrel's backups) arrives and starts pummeling you for attacking the minstrel. Fortunately...

you have a pitch-pipe in your pocket. You blow an E above middle C causing them to stop pummeling you, and tune their lutes. This gives you time to escape. Unfortunately . . .

someone left a jumble of lute strings on the ground and they snare your ankle. Fortunately...

...the strings are made of gut from a very old cat, and they stretch easily, allowing you to break free and continue on your way. Unfortunately...

Unfortunately, now the lute players are really mad at you for breaking their stash of lute stings. Playing weddings and birthday parties doesn't really make ends meet and because of rising instrument string prices, in what ever country we find ourselves, they were hoarding strings. The ones you just trashed. Now they're out for blood. Fortunately...

you convince them with superior logic that you are an emotionless, flawless, bloodless automaton, and their quest for your blood is thwarted. Unfortunately...

...they believe you for only one minute, after which they pursue you, lutes raised, ready to beat the hell out of you. Fortunately...

as they give chase, you run by a street-corner busker, and the lute players screech to a stop and join in giving you yet another chance to flee. Unfortunately . . .

After the crowd ran out of tollorance for the out of tune lutes and three players broke their G string, the lutenistas are given the gate and told to get lost. Fortunately...

...you are at last free of the lute players. You have no other problems, either. It is a beautiful day, and you can finally breathe the fresh air and gaze up at the clear blue sky. Unfortunately...

You take a deep cleansing breath and inhale a bug. Fortunately...

the bug was a Thai delicacy, an edible weaver ant. Unfortunately . . .

...you're allergic to Thai food. Fortunately...

your reaction is mild enough to be nonfatal and it will pass. Meanwhile, your partially closed eyes and swollen lips make you look like Mick Jagger. Unfortunately...

you accepted money from a local club owner to perform (he thought you were Mick Jagger), and by the time your set comes around the swelling has gone down. The now irate club owner calls the police, and holds you at gun point until they come. Fortunately . . .

...Mick Jagger walks out of the bathroom just in time to save the day and clear things up. Unfortunately...

No one can understand a damn thing he says. The best suggested translation has something to do with the lack of toilet paper and Aramis. Fortunately...

...Keith Richards arrives and says he can interpret anything Mick says. Unfortunately...