9:00 AM, Friday Morning? No problem

Friday was a very interesting day. Why? Well, originally I intended to be at work a few minutes early, but, as later events unfolded, this turned out to be somewhat impossible. I'll explain.

I got up with plenty of time to get out the door and be to the train station before the 7:38 express to Grand Central took off, but, as I am learning, it takes a minute to get the two kiddos out the door with me. Why do I want them to come with me to the train station? Well, parking costs $8.00 a day, which is $160 a month, which is absurd when I have to pay $293 for an on peak ticket plus $80 for subway fare. So Becky and I have agreed that it is better for her to have the car during the day and not let it sit in a parking garage costing us more money. Ergo I have to get my kids in the car as I get out the door to leave.


So, after getting the kiddos ready to go, we were slated to arrive at the train station at 8:00. As I closed the back door (which is our main entrance) I had the fleeting thought that I should check my wallet right then, to make sure I had my train ticket. I thought it was a good suggestion (since I had forgotten my ticket once before this month), but thought that since I was hurrying to get to the car, I would check when I got there. I got to the car, clicked Declan in, and promptly forgot about checking for my ticket.

I got to the train station around 8:00 am (which was in time enough to get me to work only a few minutes later), and I even had enough time to check the train schedule on the screen before I went to the different tracks. As I walked down I remembered that I had to check my wallet. As I pulled it out, I was quite confident that I would find it right next to my new debit card. Why woudln't it be there? After all, I had taken extra precautions since that one day that I had forgotten it and hadn't even had enough cash to buy the ticket and had to get an invoice (which was very embarrassing). Lo and behold, when I checked, I didn't have my new debit card. I had given it to Becky, since hers hadn't arrived yet, and she needed it to go shopping etc. I also discovered, to my chagrin and almost-horror, that I didn't have my ticket.

It was a time for action! I time for heroics! A time to be bull headed and stupid! Yes, the time had come for me to...call my wife and beg her to come back and get me so I could go home and find my ticket. The time had also come for me to standing in the humid 22 degree morning. Now I realize that to the rest of the people reading this who live in Utah or Idaho, that would be considerably warmer than your past month has been, but cold weather that is humid is displeasant, nonetheless. Yes, I bravely stood in that frigid weather and heorically waited for Becky to come back.

Becky, the heroine of the morning, finally came back after about 10 minutes (which is an eternity in New Yorker time, but I really did feel bad about throwing her morning off and making her drive through the nasty complex of freeway and frontage road to get back to the train station). She came back and I jumped in. As I did, Maddie asked, "Are you back from work, Dad?" No, of course I wasn't, which made her all the more sad. We drove home, and as I got out Becky handed me her keys, because they have the lone house key upon them. How else was I to be able to get into the house to get my train ticket? So I bounded up the stairs, unlocked the door, rushed to my boudoir, found my ticket, quiet promptly, locked the door, inserted the keys into my pocket so as not to lose them, and bounded back to the car.

The whole time, the car had been running. How you might ask? Well, after taking Becky's keys out of the ignition, I promptly inserted my own set of keys into the ignition so that the kiddos and Becky could still manage to be warm while awaiting my prompt return (which I admit that I delayed somewhat slightly due to looking for Becky's glasses and my paycheck). When I returned to the car, I found it still running and found that the kiddos were still happy and content. We returned back to the train station, I jumped out of the car, grabbed my backpack with my lunch, kissed Becky and Maddie goodbye, and ran to the platform and boarded the train.

I was nestled in cozily (the trains aren't nearly as full at 8:30) to a plastic covered, red leather seat, and pulled out my scriptures to finish preparing for my talk on Sunday. I remembered my ticket, and produced it. I placed it in my scriptures as a bookmark and awaited the conductor's approach. No sooner had he verified that I indeed had a ticket which ensured my valid transit from Stamford To Grand Central, that I felt my phone vibrating. Becky and I usually exchange texts while I ride into work, so I pulled out my phone and prepared to see a text. What I got was a phone call from Becky, which was received with more enthusiasm than had it been a simple text.

"Honey," she said, her voice full of concern and dread.

"Yes?" I asked.

Before she even said it, I realized what she was calling about. My morning had gotten that much more effective. I didn't have to do more than notice that the feel of my right pocket was off. She was locked out of the house, and I had the keys.

"I have your keys, don't I?"

"Yeah...what should we do?"

"Well, ask Signora Calabrese (our downstairs neighbor and mother of the landlady) if she has an extra key, if she doesn't, I'll have to  meet you at the Stamford Train station as soon as I can."

"Ok. Love you bye."

She called back a few minutes later, and, of course, the downstairs neighbor didn't have a key and, to boot, was feeling rather ill. So I texted the lady I thought I reported to and also another VP with whom I was working on a project that I would be in late.

30 minutes later I arrived at the Metro North Station Platform in Harlem, and began to look for the next train that would stop in Stamford. It wasn't even on the digital list. It eventually came 20 long, cold minutes later. I spoke a little bit with a lady who had wanted to get off one stop after Stamford, but the train that she got on hadn't stopped there, so she was in my same predicament. Too bad she wasn't interested in talking more, she was friendly, but just wasn't interested in talking. So I moved over to the sunny side of the platform and shivered (but significantly less than had I still been in the shade) until the train came.

It finally came and I read my Winston Churchill book (to raise my spirits) on the train ride back to Stamford. I learned lots of things while reading. Things like, "ALWAYS give Becky's keys back to her after you leave the house." and "Heed the promptings you get as you walk out the door!". I also learned that the French were so adverse to going to war that they brought themselves to their own knees in 1940, which I attribute directly to their leaders who were all busy spending their nights with mistresses instead of their wives and/or figuring out how to thwart the Germans.

I arrived at the train station and gave Becky her keys and she asked where the nearest ATM was and so I proceeded to try to find it on the GPS. I was so enwrapped in this that little did I realize that 1). Maddie was in silent moping mode because 2). Declan was screaming because 3) they had spent the whole time while I was going and coming at Shoprite and that 4) I was in danger of missing my next train. When all 4 things finally dawned on me, I jumped back, gave them all parting hugs and dashed off to the platform, for the 3rd time that morning.

Thankfully enough I made it to Grand Central without further incident. I boarded the 4/5 express line, as normal, and proceeded to wait,looking out blankly at the passing grey cement walls. I noticed that there was a rather sophisticated gentleman (perhaps sophisticated isn't the right term, intelligent? scholarly? New Yorker? Bleeding heart liberal?) standing in front of me. It occurred to me, as he crossed to the other side of the train, that he resembled a chubbier, balding Heywood Banks. I found myself wondering what he would do if he had a bulldozer and how much he liked toast.

At the next stop (14th Street, Union Square) another guy got on the train and began to speak. Usually this is a privilege afforded the occasional beggar. He however, was no common beggar. He was a rastifarian-wearing, guitar-playing, Jamaican-born, dreadlock-bearing town rapper (not crier) for our 44th President. Yup. I got a reggae-rap exposition on the merits of our 44th president and his political philosophy and a few snide rapped remarks about the undesirability of Mitt Romney.

After we got to Brooklyn Bridge/City Hall stop (which was the next stop on the express line), his song ended and he put out his... hat? for a copper or two. None were forthcoming. The balding, pudgy Heywood Banks, who had begun to express his assent and acceptance during the 4th verse by engaging in an awkward, scholarly, "white-man" groove, shouting out the occasional "Right On!" (his version of Hallelujah), began to suddenly evangelize and pontificate on the rasfifarapper's message.

"This man is right! Did you hear him? He's right on!"

(A few people gave a couple dollars)

"Did you hear him? He was talking about Lance Armstrong and what's wrong with this country!"

(A couple more dollars were exchanged)

"Lance Armstrong isn't America!"

(more dollars, and some effusive praise of "thank you for your song" begins"

"Wall Street IS America, as it stands presently! And we're coming to Wall Street in just a minute here"

(I notice a "War is Terror" button on Heywood's lapel, it all starts to click)

"We weren't meant to live like this!"

(The train begins to move, the reggae-rapper begins to strum a light guiter chorded melody to accompny)

"And I'll tell you this, this man (points to the reggae-rapper) is telling you all the truth! Its a good thing we have Obama as our president!"

(I start getting worried. Is he going to start saying something really dumb that I won't be able to help myself but rebut? Oh man, that could be really bad)

"We need to keep up hope and change!"

(Train stops at Fulton Street, 1 before my stop, Wall Street, I decide to get off and walk the rest of the way).

The reggae rapper gets onto another train car, and the pudgy Heywood Banks goes on. I think, Heywood's nervous public expression notwithstanding, that they were in cahoots.

I don't think I've ever seen a scam like that one before on the Subway.

I got to work (finally) by 11, just in time to see an email from the guy to whom I really do report, with the subject line, "Be here at 9!" followed by an email that said, "What's going on?"

ugh.

So I went to his office to explain, knowing that in person apologies are much more effective than clumsily worded emails.

"Pete, I'm so sorry about this morning. I texted Phyllis (to whom I thought I reported) about my being late due to the ticket/key fiasco, and forgot to text you. I texted the other guy just so he would know that I wasn't dropping the project we were working on together."

"Matt, you're fine, no worries. The email about getting in at 9 went to the whole team, and frankly, wasn't really meant for you. No worries, I'm not a clock watched. Some people on this side of the office have been slackers as of late. Thanks for letting me know."

"Thanks, Pete. I'll make sure if anything happens in the future I text you, not just Phyllis."

"No worries. I hope you're alright after the ticket/keys fiasco."

"Sure am, thanks for asking."

And I went back to work. So today, I got up at 6, had breakfast with my family, read scriptures with them, got to the train station, with my ticket and without Becky's keys, by 7:25 and caught the 7:26 express to Grand Central, and arrived at work at 8:35. Aaaaah. And I didn't even  have to deal with any more subway evangelizers. Thank goodness.

How was your Friday?