RSS
Home
The only nice person in New York City
Print
Email
RSS
Subscribe
On July 4th, I finally admitted that the allergies I'd been battling for two days were actually a cold. I was on vacation from work for three days last week, though, so I forced myself to go yesterday. I left the apartment early to ensure that the subway wouldn't be crowded so I'd have less of a chance of snotting on some stranger. At 5 p.m., I'd more than put in my time and decided to go so I could nap for a few hours before my boyfriend got home from law school. We'd talked about ordering dinner later, but I had a craving for a specific sandwich and stopped on my way to his apartment to pick some up for us.
I smiled at the doorman on duty in his building's lobby, made polite smalltalk with the woman in the elevator whose dog jumped up to sniff my sandwiches, and got to the apartment just as all of the walking and the sickness caught up with me. I reached into my bag for my keys but couldn't feel them nor hear them jingle. I dug some more and grew frustrated to the point that I got down on my knees, put my sandwiches on the floor, and started tossing things out of my bag until there was nothing left in it. Including keys.
I waited for the elevator back down, and a woman who once asked my boyfriend and me how we manage to always seem so happy joined me and asked how I was doing. I good-naturedly told her about my situation and said to keep a safe distance if she didn't want my cold. She sympathetically told me to ask the doorman for the spare key, and when I did, he and the porter joked with me about how they'd trade me the key for the sandwiches. I made my way back upstairs, glad that I've said hello to the doorman so many times that he knows me well enough to hand over my boyfriend's key and giddy about the prospect of that nap. I tried the key, and it fit into the lock but wouldn't turn. I tried again.
I took my sandwiches back downstairs and asked him if he was sure he'd given me the right key. He said he was, I called myself an idiot, and I went to try again. Five minutes later, I was back at his desk, and he sent the porter up with me to try. He couldn't get it to turn, either, so we went down to the convenience store in the building to get a cup of soapy water. Apparently lubing the lock has worked for other tenants. But not for me. So I thanked them both for their help, offered to buy them black and white cookies, and left to meet my boyfriend at law school to borrow his keys.
How was I able to maintain my sanity through all of this with a runny nose to boot? That morning, I had stepped onto the M104 bus at 2nd Avenue to take the leisurely ride to Grand Central that should last two minutes but actually lasts ten with all the traffic and found that my MetroCard had expired. Expecting that I had a fresh one in my bag as I always do, I sat down in the seat right behind the driver and fished through my belongings until I realized that the new batch of TransitChek MetroCards hadn't come in at work before I left for vacation. I went for my change purse instead and was pleased to hear the jangle of many coins. All of which were pennies, naturally.
I decided to politely ask to be let off at the next stop, but when I approached the driver and apologized for my lack of MetroCard, he said, "Hey, don't worry about it. Just give me whatever you have." I started to drop my coins in one by one, but he told me just to toss the whole handful in at once. It came out to a whopping $1.52, nearly 75¢ less than I needed. I thanked him, and he said, "These things happen all the time. It's no problem at all." I thought to myself about what a great guy that bus driver was, so understanding. On my way back to my seat, though, I realized that what with my runny nose and stuffy head, I probably sounded like I was cying, and he probably thought I was pitiful.
Either way, here's to you, Mr. Bus Driver. You made my day.
– Katie Ett, unapologeticallymundane.com
Related Articles:
Add a Comment
.jpg)
