I’d like to change gears a bit and reflect on the blessed phase of my life last year that is entitled Recent Competent College Grad meets Entry Level Job. Some background: I graduated in May of 2006, lived at home in Summit, NJ, did two internships for the summer, then went on board as a Floater at Sotheby’s auction house on the Upper East Side. Now I interned at Sotheby’s in 2005 so I was very familiar with the bridge/tunnel commute. However, once the words “real life” or “job” (rather than “summer internship”), settled in my head, the commute took on terrors of its own. Here is how my morning routine worked. Please bear in mind that my dear friend, CEB, was also floating at Sotheby’s and happened to live one block away from me, ie. we achieved the dream. The follow excerpt, for humor sake, will entail life sans CEB's company on the dredged commute, ie. the era when that salup ditched me for
Oh the rat race!
The alarm, aka my mother, went off at 6:20 AM and I was immediately greeted with strong black coffee that could fuel a jet. After completing the ordinary morning tasks, I would hurry my chauffeur (mom, thanks again, or brother) around 7:00AM to reach the 7:18AM train (yes you read that correctly ) and subsequently relive the anxiety that was comparable to being late in Middle School during the morning commute. Upon reaching the station (of course I am always prompt, anxiety runs strong in Catholics and Jews, and even stronger when you’re a mutt like me), I avoid eye contact with anyone I may know (no offense, but it's so early in the morning and do we really want to do that do-we-sit-with-each-other- dance-while-I-awkwardly-listen-to-my-ipod?). Once safely on the platform, I encounter a whole new other anxiety; the pigeons that huddle and nest in the trellises above our innocent heads. The droppings on the cement platform say enough, they’re dangerous and the puffy, dirty flying rodents are ready to drop. Hood in tact, I am resilient and stand diligently, gently rubbing up my elbows against fellow commuters. The whistle blows from the approaching vehicle and we get ready. The platform is packed and the primary goal in this race is to narrow down to a train door, jump in and snag a seat. This is why positioning on the platform is really key, pigeon poop and all. One, two, three, GO. It’s a race for the doors, push in, lucky if you’re a girl…sometimes chivalry still exists. Everyone scrambles. The unfortunate stand.
Once arriving, we all line up like cattle, being herded to our destined locations. Some days, I take the E, which will lead me to the East Side, hop on 6 and then take the
[Insert 8 hours of work]
Now the time is 5:30 and it's imperative that you make a mad dash to catch the express train. Personally, I like to spice it up on the way home. I’ll either run the four long blocks to the Lexington route, or if I really want to cruise in style and finish up that New Yorker article (why are they so long?), I’ll opt for the Xtown bus. Down the 6 we go until 33rd Street, run like the wind, past the Artisinal (yum), past the homeless woman in front of the Church (sorry, no spare change today, too bad I'm not salaried) and race, race, race. Finally I reach