Try and keep up.

Thurs. approx. 1 pm.

I wake up, completely comatose from my delightful nights sleep in my 3rd crash house.  I actually have my own room, not in a loft, very nice.  Either way, I stretch and yawn and my phone rings.  It is the lovely British lady Niccola, calling to tell me that I got the job I wanted.  So already, best day ever.  I "knew" that I had gotten it, but actually knowing and "knowing" are two totally different things, so yay me. 

I immediately make the necessary phone calls to share in my joy and reassure concerned family that I will not be hitting the pole or doing something equally shady to pay rent at my beautiful, ramshackle new apartment.  I decide that since things are going so well, I should try to use up this good fortune and get some stuff accomplished.  

It is a beeeautiful day in Brooklyn, 60 degrees and sunny.  Everyone in my new Puerto Rican ghetto is holding it down on their front stoop, hollering at all the "mami's" showing skin in t shirts.   Myself included.  I hoof it down to the local market and pick up some detergent so I can get some laundry crackin.  I could almost skip down the street, if I wasn't carrying 4 loads of laundry on my back.  

The laundromat is one of my favorite places in the world, probably for the same reasons I love the subway.  It is a place where everyone shares a common grumpiness at having to be somewhere necessary yet unpleasant.  Which I suppose, makes it a little bit less unpleasant, misery loves, blah blah blah. 

I'm starving and I need to make change, lucky for me there is a Puerto Rican rotisserie chicken shop right next door.  No one but a New Yorker knows what the hell that is, but its pretty much heaven in the hood.  Quarter seasoned rotisserie chicken with bomb ass beans and rice.  I grab my food, pump the washing machine with enough quarters to make me cringe, sit back and enjoy my food.  Time passes kinda fast watching toddlers frantically chase rubber high bounce balls as they ricochet off the dryers.  

Finished my laundry with time to spare, and then head over to the new apartment to argue with the fix it guy about repairs I was promised by my landlord.  I took a wrong turn to get there and was guided to the apartment by said fix it guy yelling at me from my kitchen window that I look like I don't know where I am going.  Don't know if you have ever seen a street of brownstones, but they all look the fucking same...so I thought, until I realized that ours is by far the shabbiest on the street.  

From there, I hoofed it back to my crash pad to shower and hop on way to many trains to travel probably less than 10 miles.  Either way, showed up at Smiths Tavern to watch my roomie Tyler croon away with his guitar and drink very reasonably priced beer.  Paid for 2 Stellas and got a Bud Light for free. Once again, yay me.  

After 3 or so more musical acts, me, Sage and Tyler were so hungry, we almost considered eating at a place advertising Pitza.  Pitas? Pizza? Who can tell, it was next door to a place selling Chinese Food and Tex- Mex.  Ha. Some combination places here give Louisiana Fried Chicken Chinese Food & Donuts a run for its money.  Instead we decided on a lovely little diner where I ordered my diner specialty.  If you know me well enough you'll know that would be steak and eggs.  Second delicious meal of the day.

Due to increasing hostility at the commune, we though it would be best if S & T went back with the other non-asshole members of the house (who also performed at the bar).  Being The Jackie that I am, I said "I can take the train, I'm fine."  Uh. Right.  I head down to the G train station where I meet an adorable little Indian who politely walks up to me inquiring if I have a boyfriend.  Usually, this is where I roll my eyes 360 degrees, hide behind my hair and smirk.   But he was so damn polite so I told him that boyfriends are for suckers.  He looked so disappointed and replied that it was a shame because he was pretty sure he could fall in love with me, but he would settle for being my friend.   He was so sincere I allowed him to sit with me on the train.  

Turns out at night time, you have to transfer off the G and wait for another G train that arrives 10 minutes later.  The subway station was on and poppin.  A drunk black man was singing the best rendition of "You Give Love A Bad Name" that I have ever heard, and seeing as how its a karaoke favorite, that's saying a lot.  I guess this is where things started going down hill.  As I watched 2 young hipsters suck each others faces off, and this little teenage Indian stare at me with starry eyes, I got very very tired.  The train arrives and the Indian wishes me a goodnight, as he was already at his stop and just wanted to ensure my safety. Who says chivalry is dead?

I sit on the train about to pop in my headphones when the most odd assortment of black guys and one pasty pale hipster start howling out acapella songs.  Of course, they had to get into "OMG" by Usher which completely distracts the hell out of me because it is both strange and entertaining.  Then half way into Hakunamatata, I realize I had missed my train stop, which at 3 am is one of the worst things you can possibly do.  I have to get off and trudge to the other side of the tracks to begin the very long wait for the next train. 

I was so defeated and tired, not to mention my buzz had completely vanished, I sat my ass down on the filthy wooden benches and waited patiently, for the first ten minutes.  With thoughts of in love hipsters, wasted time and the throbbing heartbreak I am still in total denial about, I almost breakdown into tears.  Thank god for the wiley little subway rat that almost ran right over my damn foot.  No time for tears when rats might eat your toes. That, and how could I feel sorry for myself when a fifty year old woman with a limp is changing out the filthy trashcans in the subway station at damn near 4 am.  

I buck up and the train arrives shortly after.  I take it back 2 stops and trek the stairs up and down to my next point of departure.  As I pass the turnstile entrance,  a young gentleman who is clearly coked out is frantically waving 3 dollar bills at everyone that passes asking that someone please scan their metro card so he can board the train.  The toll booth is clear on the other side of the station, and the train is about to pull in.  The street side of my brain said "Fuck em", but after enduring the misery of waiting forever to see the lights in that tunnel, I caved and swiped him in.  I could only hope for someone to return that karma at 4 am on a really bad day.  

So a million hours later, I am home safe in my nice borrowed bed. Covered in New York grit, ready for sleep. And that my friends, is a day in the life of The Jackie in the (other) Big City.