Rainy days and Mondays
I think this is the worst Monday I've had in a long time. I was late for work yet again, because of signal problems, both mine and the train's. And then I got intense cramps and didn't feel like having anything but Tylenol with my coffee. At lunch, I wanted hot tea, but got iced. I decided to walk to Battery Park to shake some of the cold off (it was freezing in the office and yet 75 degrees AND humid out). Bad idea. By the time I got to the park, I was melting. I almost crashed into a vendor. He had a cart so I had to back off. I sat by the water where the ferry to the Statue of Liberty docks and watched the tourists, but after about five minutes my skin was hurting from the heat, so I headed back to the office to refreeze. By mid-afternoon, the sky was looking darker by the minute. And suddenly, it was pouring. By five o'clock, I was making plans for dinner in my head but then somebody called with a question and kept me for 15 minutes. Finally, at 5:30, thinking I was free, happily swinging my ridiculously small Totes umbrella, I made my way to the Rector Street station only to find out that the N,R trains weren't running because the tracks were flooded. So I walked another two blocks to Broad Street, where I found out the M train wasn't running. Somewhere between slipping and sliding (I had worn these stupid open-toed heels) and dodging umbrellas, I made the lazy but at that point smart decision to just go back to the bank and get the number for the cab company and take a damn cab to Brooklyn. Unfortunately, no one had a number, but the transport-savvy told me to just take the 4 train to Atlantic Avenue, transfer, and take a cab at Pacific Street, which is what I ended up doing. When I got off at Atlantic, it was complete chaos. People were running in all directions. Somebody had allegedly jumped on the tracks. Trains weren't running. There was a mysterious, smelly, smoky haze and there were puddles of rainwater on the ground. A claustrophobic's worst nightmare. On the third route I take, I find the exit, albeit the wrong one . I stood for five minutes at a street corner, trying desperately to remember where I was. I'd been in that neighborhood before, but I've never been good with directions. And then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a conspicuous car service sign across the highway. The wait for a cab was thirty minutes, but I would take anything at that point. Hey, for someone who still gets lost after having lived in New York (where the streets are numbered and maps are everywhere) for two years, I did pretty good.
{You're No Rock n' Roll Fun, Sleater-Kinney}
I think this is the worst Monday I've had in a long time. I was late for work yet again, because of signal problems, both mine and the train's. And then I got intense cramps and didn't feel like having anything but Tylenol with my coffee. At lunch, I wanted hot tea, but got iced. I decided to walk to Battery Park to shake some of the cold off (it was freezing in the office and yet 75 degrees AND humid out). Bad idea. By the time I got to the park, I was melting. I almost crashed into a vendor. He had a cart so I had to back off. I sat by the water where the ferry to the Statue of Liberty docks and watched the tourists, but after about five minutes my skin was hurting from the heat, so I headed back to the office to refreeze. By mid-afternoon, the sky was looking darker by the minute. And suddenly, it was pouring. By five o'clock, I was making plans for dinner in my head but then somebody called with a question and kept me for 15 minutes. Finally, at 5:30, thinking I was free, happily swinging my ridiculously small Totes umbrella, I made my way to the Rector Street station only to find out that the N,R trains weren't running because the tracks were flooded. So I walked another two blocks to Broad Street, where I found out the M train wasn't running. Somewhere between slipping and sliding (I had worn these stupid open-toed heels) and dodging umbrellas, I made the lazy but at that point smart decision to just go back to the bank and get the number for the cab company and take a damn cab to Brooklyn. Unfortunately, no one had a number, but the transport-savvy told me to just take the 4 train to Atlantic Avenue, transfer, and take a cab at Pacific Street, which is what I ended up doing. When I got off at Atlantic, it was complete chaos. People were running in all directions. Somebody had allegedly jumped on the tracks. Trains weren't running. There was a mysterious, smelly, smoky haze and there were puddles of rainwater on the ground. A claustrophobic's worst nightmare. On the third route I take, I find the exit, albeit the wrong one . I stood for five minutes at a street corner, trying desperately to remember where I was. I'd been in that neighborhood before, but I've never been good with directions. And then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a conspicuous car service sign across the highway. The wait for a cab was thirty minutes, but I would take anything at that point. Hey, for someone who still gets lost after having lived in New York (where the streets are numbered and maps are everywhere) for two years, I did pretty good.
{You're No Rock n' Roll Fun, Sleater-Kinney}
