Brown and Out

We all have those days, when we leave home feeling slightly substandard. Usually it's about the way we look, or at least, that's how it emanates. I have a friend (male) who can go through 15-20 (no exaggeration) different outfits before settling on what to wear.  I can relate - I've done the same at times - but before work that's never an option. On weekday mornings I give myself half a minute, a full one at most, to choose my clothes.  And today my very brown choice feels crappy.

In the station, walking through the tunnel, I see Michael Z. and his daughter.  I do not believe - though it's just a hunch - that he is still a practicing Orthodox Jew, yet his daughter is dressed so incredibly yeshivish.

On the platform, I wait patiently for the next train.  I'm over the clothing bit, and one thought permeates my mind: if you're wearing dark sunglasses but staring, do people know you're looking at them?

At 59th, I run into Eido J. He says hello and shakes my hand as he hurries by.  After a short ride on the B train I exit at 48th, where I am greeted by a band of Cinco de Mayo applauders in traditional charro suits and sombreros.  I notice an unusually strong police presence too, and one officer sends me across the street, past two mounties and slew of other cops.  It turns out that Barbara Bush is in NBC studios.

Just before crossing Park Avenue, I hear someone calling my name from behind.  It's Lovey E. in jogging clothes, sneakers, and her trademark giant backpack.  She walks to work and dresses sporty for the occasion, changing into something more business-appropriate when she gets to the office.  We chat and catch up for a bit, and agree to meet up for lunch sometime soon.

The Heat Is On

I’m not quite running late today, but considering how many hours I’ve already been awake I really should have left a long time ago. Jetlag, with a little bit of extra insomnia and the achy cold I picked up overseas make for a bad recipe and so I’m not particularly in the mood to get to work anytime soon. On the street, I start to flip through the songs on my blackberry and fail to notice the piece of scaffolding on the ground until I trip over it. Ezra F. is walking across the street.

I reach Overlook Terrace and I see the A Station Homeless Guy pushing his cart up the block towards me. His new girlfriend is still with him, she is clinging to his side. She has a stern look about her but he seems happier than I’ve ever seen him before. Closer up I can’t help but notice how much younger she is than him, and I think she must view him as a sort of protector in her unsheltered world.

I reach the turnstiles and get the infamous “insufficient fare.” It’s so hot and humid in the station that by the time I’ve purchased a new card I am sweating. Down at the platform the heat is worse and I slowly feel the antiperspirant start to give way. I am glad I use Dial.

Meyer B. is at the platform and starts speaking to me but I can’t hear him because my music is playing too loudly. I fumble to pull the headphones out of my ears and am able to piece to together that he has told me about four uptown trains that have passed and that a downtown train must be on the way soon. I have no idea why I find this funny but I start to chuckle and keep walking towards my spot. It’s so hot that I can’t stand still, and I start to pace even though I know it will actually make me hotter. I run into Marc R. and we wave to each other. Further on the platform I can see Yael B. talking to Simone G.

Nomi G. spots me and walks over. We start to chat about Chicago, weekend plans, holiday plans, and many other various topics. The train arrives and we board together and continue the conversation, but it’s so crowded that we keep bumping into each other. My left arm is sandwiched between my body and the door.

We are somewhere between 145^th and 125^th when the shot of Dayquil I took finally starts to kick in. At 59^th, I say goodbye to Nomi and as I walk off the train she asks for the link to my blog.

On 48^th street I spot Lovey E. and catch up to her. She works across the street from me and we try to get lunch together once a month or so but our schedules are such that I haven’t actually seen her in a really long time. I am surprised, and somewhat jealous, that she is wearing a t-shirt and when I ask about it, she tells me that she sometimes walks to work. She likes to wear comfortable clothes and then change when she gets there. I walk with her the rest of the way to her office and cut thru her lobby to get to my own building. There is nothing quite like that cool, crisp air conditioning as it strikes against me.