Yesterday morning, I decided to bring a bag of frozen broccoli with me to work in an attempt to be a sliver more healthy. Needing a carrying vessel, I asked my boyfriend if I could use a stray Saks bag floating around his apartment and was delighted to find that it was the perfect height and depth for broccoli-toting.
As you may have noticed, I often take the bus across 42nd Street to Grand Central, because I get a thrill from having people drive me around since I barely know anyone with a car here. And also because I’m lazy. But this morning, I was feeling anxious about the end of summer and decided to walk it instead. Swinging my brand new lunch bag, I took in the sights of two businessmen stretching the backs of their suits as they embraced, the new non-functional short-sleeved fall jackets on all of the women, and the new look of the Pfizer building now that the giant photomosaics have been removed from every window. It was a great way to start the day.
But then I got to the east stairwell on the outside of Grand Central, which is very narrow for the amount of people who use it. A stream of passengers was attempting to take up the entire staircase, which just seems impossible to me. Having been raised correctly and not by savages, I just don’t have it in me to use the wrong sides of stairs, so I assume that everyone else realizes when they’re in the wrong, too.
But no, with every step, I found myself having to thwart collisions with businesspeople and babies alike. I held my lunch bag out in front of me so they would see me coming and move out of my way, and it worked very well until I was almost at the bottom. It was then that this woman not much older than I was in a matching grey pencil skirt and vest decided she was going to hold her ground. I was approximately five inches taller than she was and fifty pounds heavier, so I just went for it and slammed right into her.
I said, “Oh, pardon me!”, which you know I didn’t mean, and she yelled, “Yeah, pardon YOU!” I found it so laughable how mad she was that instead of spitting into her mouth and screaming, “MOVE TO THE RIGHT, JERK!,” I just smiled at her, and the person behind me laughed as she moved over and stormed out onto the street.
The smash ruined my new lunch bag, but it’s worth it as long as I know it also ruined her day.
– Katie Ett, unapologeticallymundane.com
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