How I Got Home

The interviews went alright (but the next time I say I have four in one day, someone slap me). The first one was really good, and the one I’m most eager to work for. The second was in a skuzzy part of Brooklyn, the third was in a pediatric office (read: screaming kids) and they really liked me, enough to have me come in tomorrow for a “working interview”. The fourth was an older guy who needs an assistant/bookkeeper. He works on the 32nd floor of the New York Life building. I walked in and sat down to talk to him.

“So, what’s your first question?” he asked.

I pointed backward. “Can I look out your window?”

He said "Sure! It's a great view of the Empire State building."

I’ve never been that high up before; it was floor 32.

We had a really great interview, and it was time to go home. I got out and tried to find the subway again, but it had moved. (I swear.) I wandered around the sidewalks for a while looking, and then suddenly I looked up and realized I was directly across the street from where I was twenty minutes previously. Arrrgh! I walked two more blocks looking, and then slumped against a railing figuring out who, of the hundreds of people walking by me, would be a nice person to ask. After a few minutes I noticed one girl walking towards me, but right before she got to me, she disappeared down somestairs. The railing I was leaning on was around the entrance to the subway I needed.

So I made it back to GST and went to get my ticket. Neither of my cards go through and I don't have enough cash so I'm like "ok, now what?"

I found a cornor and dug around for my cell phone. Not there. I checked both pockets. Nope. I dumped out my purse, and then scanned the ground in the immediate vicnity looking for any sign of it. I'm freaking out, digging through my purse again, and somewhere in the back of my mind the eternal optimist chimmed in that one day I would be laughing at this. Out loud, I said "shut the fuck up." (Sidenote: Does this make me crazy, that I'm actually talking to the voices in my head? I'm terrified to speculate.) Finally, I found it "hiding" in the pocket I had just checked.

I called Byron first, because he works in Stamford, but he had taken his motorcycle to work. I called my mother. Mom will have a solution. She's mom!


"You know what to do, honey, ask people for money. Just be really polite and friendly and explain your situation. Tell them you'll send a check as soon as you get home. Make sure you present yourself well and use good diction. I'm sure people would help you. New Yorkers are so friendly!"

In a word: panhandle.

Ok. Mom. First of all, there's a reason no one ever says "Manhattan Hospitality". It DOESN'T FUCKING EXIST! Plus, if anyone saw me wandering around asking for money, I'd have to use my "good diction" to explain to a police officer why he shouldn't arrest me. Panhandeling is illegal.

A little plaintivly, I bleeted out "Um, couldn't Daddy come get me?"

"Well, you can call him, but that's far and it's a lot of gas money! I don't think he'd want to."

I called my dad, hesitantly. He didn't think twice. "Of course I'm coming to get you!"

"Are you sure? Cause mom says you probably wouldn't want to."

"Hell yes I'm sure! Don't worry about it!"

Guess who gets "Parent of the Week"?

More tomorrow... (because this story is FAR from over)