mama said there'd be days like this

I grew up in Brooklyn. I took the subway to school or my dad would drop me off on his way to work. Without fail my mom would kiss me goodbye and send me off by yelling down the street; "have a smart day".

I could have used her directive this morning. 

I woke up late.

Then I almost walked out of the apartment without realizing that one contact lens was in fact not in my eye but instead, shriveled up and suctioned on to the side of the sink.

When I finally made it out the door I was doing much better. I walked the dog, put coffee in my travel cup, made sure my Metrocard was in my coat pocket and I was off.  I walked a few blocks to the subway station, swiped my card, descended to the bottom level and waited for a 4. 

The 5 came first, I stepped back, let it pass and continued to wait for the 4. A few weeks ago, in a 'the train has arrived' hysteria I blindly got on only to discover I was on the wrong subway. Today I slightly prided myself on looking before leaping. A few minutes pass, the 4 arrives, I embark and we're headed uptown.  

I'm sure Liz Taylor was a lovely, oft married lady but in the greater scheme of things I don't really care about her so I left the newspaper (print media! I'm Amish!) in my bag and tried to 3 star the Angry Birds screen I had been working on since last night. I'm pinging irate avians around and doing a little bit of people watching. The guy across from me looks like Biggie (but I think he's Biggier), he's rapping quietly but forcefully to himself and holding a discman. A discman. He looks at me, I look away in observance of people watching rules. He gets up, stands in front of the door, tips his Yankee hat to his reflection and starts dancing and pointing at himself. I guess the Mr. Disc Man told him to. 

WannaBiggie gets off at Jackson Avenue. That was about the time that I realized my commute doesn't involve a Jackson Avenue. Fucking fuck fuck. There are few things more self esteem shattering than being bested by the MTA. My Metrocard is really low and until a week from tomorrow, I'm pretty broke so I try and get off at a station that has the free transfer walk-across. The subway map says the Jackson Avenue station is such a station.

Ha ha, MTA, got me again!!

Refill the card, double back about 20 minutes and eventually get to work.

Where I am utterly confused by the fact that my office building elevator is being deranged. Every time I hit the button the doors open instead of closing. What is this now?

"You keep pushing 1. We're on 1", says a voice from behind me. 

Today is shaping up to be the sort of day where I'm glad I don't handle hazardous materials, babies and/or steering wheels.

*Update*
After work I tripped up an escalator (who does that?!) and I'm pretty sure I broke my big toe. Vicodin and I are home now where I'm avoiding all the knives and have no plans on showering with a toaster.