So, I have been wanting to write about street meat (we’ll get to it. Waiiiit for it.) here in the city, but then I got distracted by ‘The Impossible Quiz’ (http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/365143. Try it. It will make you insane, which is oh, so fun) for the past several days and with all the recent hoo-hah going on in the city, I’ve decided to talk about it instead.

So, the city was in chaos and turmoil yesterday. Was it a terrorist threat? Was security and welfare compromised? Fire, explosion, crazed Britney sighting? No. It rained. Granted, it did rain a lot, nonetheless, the insanity that ensued necessitates a ‘but still…’

It kicked off at about 4 in the AM with some serious thunder and lightning action. Now we have no AC, so I have a pretty complicated set of fannery going on in my boudoir. I have the double fan, window unit which can both suck and blow (do what you will with that) in one window and a small, rickety table fan in the other window. The thought that went into this set up was arduous and the effect (in my mind) is that if the one by my bed sucks air in, while the rickety one pulls air out, I will get a nice circulation thing happening. As I said, ‘in my mind’, which is filled with all sorts of fanciful imaginitive things. Like my relationship with Vincent D’Onofrio.

So, I slumbered in my little self-actualized wind tunnel until the cracks of thunder and lightning roused me. Now, I’m barely conscious at 9am, when I’ve been up for 3 hours already, so the 4am wake up call left me a wee bit muddled. Convinced that lighting was plotting to specifically strike the metal cage surrounding the blades of the rickety fan, I tottered over to it, turned it off and removed it from the window, barely recognizing the water pouring onto the sill and my wood floors. Also note that I turned off the fan in the window furthest from me, as opposed to the one directly above my head. Genius. Pure genius.

The storm came down hard and fast for a couple of hours but had ended by 7:30 when I left for the Train. I was way early heading out, but it was already 90˚and my shower was starting to wear off.

Waiting for a train can be a lot like sitting at home on a Saturday night, desperately longing for the phone to ring with some fabulous party invite and pathetically vamping ‘what about me?’ It hurts. It feels personal. It offers ample time for the sweat to hike all the way down from your neck to your butt crack. Oh joy. But wait!! There it is! And as everyone ponies up to dash on the moment the doors open, you realize the train is empty and it’s not going to stop.

When a train finally does stop and graciously lets us on, it’s so jam packed that I wind up getting more action in two train stops than I’ve gotten in the past year. (‘How YOU doin?’ wink, wink) So, I stand on the train, some guys face at my crotch level, listening to the grunts and groans of the poor bastards by the doors as people try to bum rush and force a spot for themselves onboard at each stop. And I hadn’t had any coffee since I had run out at home so I was super pleasant. *sigh*

It took us an hour to go the distance it normally takes 15 minutes to travel. Then I had to switch trains, sit in it while it didn’t move for about 20 minutes (PS-it had no AC either, so we were pretty ripe at this point.) Finally, the train moved one stop, then kicked us out of the train the train station, basically everywhere underground. Oh darn. Since it had rained, there was water on the tracks of all the downtown trains, so they weren’t running anymore. A modern city thwarted by H2O. Goodie.

I had to walk the rest of the way to work. Not that big of a deal, but once I got there I literally had to go into the bathroom, peel my dress off, and mop off my schweaty bod. Yeah. You all want a date with me now, dontcha?

Since our trains are distinguished by letters and numbers, the MTA service update read like a bad trip down Sesame Street. I could just picture The Count (the 1 train is not running, mwuhaha, the 2 train is not running, mwahaha) and the creepy, furry puppets dancing around like they’re auditioning for The Labyrinth musical. The trip home was just as bad and involved a whole lot more shoving, pushing, wriggling, swearing, shouting, jabbing, sighing, eyerolling and ‘intellectual’ dialogue on where the money for MTA projects actually goes. One suggestion was: ‘Right down the god-damn toilet!’ I think they’re onto something there.

Through all this I learned several things:
1) your boss is so happy when everyone manages to make it in on a day like that, that she springs for lunch. (the Four Seasons does NOT deliver, btw)
2) wear a skirt with about 2 days growth on them legs when there’s the possibility of a train ride like that. It helps fend people off.
3) leave the fans and all other potential lighting hazards on. Even if it just blows out your power strip, your ‘apartment being struck by lighting’ is a pretty rock solid excuse for calling in.