The sound of wind chimes woke me up. Not real wind chimes. But the ones Apple designed on the alarm app to make you want to destroy all wind chimes that have ever existed. It is effective, but damn you to whoever created that infernal noise.
My smartphone glared the pre-crack of dawn time — 5 a.m.
I have been getting up around this time lately to improve my productivity. I am not sure how it is going, though, because I just end up going to sleep earlier. And when I say earlier, I mean at a time that would make grandparents proud.
I walked to the restroom and squinted at my horrific morning reflection. “Who is this person and why are they in my mirror,” I asked myself.
I began my usual morning routine — go to the restroom, turn on the shower, shave, jump in the shower, dry off. Since it is November I have omitted the shaving step of this process.
I am unsure if I want to continue my Movember this year. My facial hair grows pretty evenly all over my face and it has a nice reddish-orange tinge to it. But my stache grows like a young boy in puberty.
It doesn’t just grow fast, but it grows straight out and black. So each year, when my facilal hair reaches the end of its my Movember journey, my face tends to look like a relative of tony the tiger.
Should I keep growing?
I left the bathroom and began the next step of my morning routine — breakfast preparation. I start most mornings with a whole avocado sliced in two pieces; an apple sliced in fourths — or eighths if I’m feeling extra Instagrammy; a banana cut up into slices with peanut butter on top; and four to eight strawberries.
Some people might say, “Ugh peanut butter is so 90s; it’s all about the almond butter.” To those people — I was born in the 90s and I LOVE IT.
Next I grabbed the shirt I was going to wear for the day.
I don’t own an iron. And even if I did, I am horrible at ironing. I have sought help many times, but I just can’t learn it dammit.
So I returned to the restroom, hung up my shirt, turned on the shower at full heat, and closed the door.
Pro tip No. 1 — if you are iron challenged and you have a wrinkled shirt, pop that bad boy in the shower for ~10 minutes and it will come out looking fresh af.
You can thank me later.
While my shirt was steaming, I took my essential vegan vitamins — B12 and Iron.
I am vegan, which means I don’t eat any animal products. I originally started for a girl. Ugh *sigh.* Yes, I know. That is a different story. But what homegirl didn’t tell me about going vegan was that you become deficient in some things that your body needs, like B12 and Iron.
The brand of B12 I get tastes pretty damn good — almost like a strawberryish cherryish flavor? It tastes like berries.
The Iron on the other hand, tastes like someone at the Iron factory, who hates hates people and all things that taste good, created a flavor that represented the disdain he holds toward his ex-wife. It does NOT taste good. But I’m not looking to enjoy a nice cup of iron in the morning. And it had 4.5 stars on Amazon.
I immediately went to brush my teeth after. It turns out not only does the Iron taste like all the mistakes in the world, it can stain your teeth if comes into contact with them for too long.
When I read this fact on the Amazon review page for the Iron, I almost in the middle of whole foods,
Once my teeth were sufficiently stain free and my mouth was feeling like a million bucks, I turned off the shower and grabbed my shirt… My beautiful. Wrinkle Free. Totally unironed shirt.
I put on my suit. Picked one of my three ties. And packed up my briefcase.
I used to have more ties, but like all things that get lost in my life, they have fallen into a black hole never to be found again.
I turned off all the lights, put on my gloves, then headed to the elevator. It was about 6:15 at this time.
I clicked the elevator button and waited for my transportation room to take me to the lobby.
“I FORGOT MY GLOVES!” This is the sounds I emitted when I realized I forgot my gloves.
I reacted so strongly, because I have poor circulation in my hands. So when it gets cold outside, my hands feel like slow motion. And the feel superrr comfortable. This last comment is sarcasm.
I ran to my apartment, grabbed the gloves, and returned to the transportation room. I am using transportation room as a synonymous phrase for elevator. Because if you think about it. You press a button, walk into a room, press another button, then arrive at another room. Magic. Thank you man who created the elevator.
I walked through the lobby, waved at the doorman, and yelled something like “Hey, hya good day.” I just got new headphones that are louder than I am used to, so I have been having a hard time gauging my volume. Chris is one of four other doormen named Chris, and full disclosure I’m not sure if that was one of the Chrises. Please forgive me Chris. If that is your name.
I began the walk to my work. The walk isn’t too bad right now. But winter is coming…
And with my hands and my background from Dallas, I am not looking forward to it.
I always walk much faster than I need to to give the illusion of me running late to an important meeting. It gets me to where I’m going faster and people tend to get tf out of the way.
Also, I live in the financial district and people just walk that way here.
I walked by the federal reserve of New York, like I do every morning. It usually has two armed guards standing by the entrance I walk by. I always give them a “hey I know you have a gun please don’t shoot me” nod as I walk by. They usually return with a “hey if you don’t attack me I won’t shoot you” nod.
I walked by and we exchanged nods. The peaceful relationship continues.
The walk to my subway is very downtownish. What I mean is most days look the same walking on the streets to the subway. The buildings are tall enough to block the sun from all angles. And on cloudy days the sun is already blocked. To check the weather on the way to work I usually have to look straight up, like a chicken in the rain.
But it makes cloudy days less depressing? You have to stay positive.
Today was trash day, so I had the unique opportunity to walk by trash mountains. Please understand what I mean when I write trash mountains. I didn’t realize the amount of trash people produce until I moved here. The trash here is ridiculous. And the trash collection service must be equally as ridiculous — in an efficient way — because the next day the trash is gone. So hats off to the garbage men and women of NYC.
I walk by a pizza parlor and a smoke shop everyday to work. When I walk by the pizza place, I want to break in and eat alll the cheese. But I don’t. Because I don’t know how to break in to a pizza parlor.
I finally arrived at my subway station.
I don’t have an unlimtied metro pass. So when I arrive to the station most mornings, it’s always exciting to see if I will get the welcoming, green “GO” circle light up or the “you should get an unlimited card” reminder — “INSUFFICIENT FARE.”
I swiped. The green glow appeared. It’s going to be a good day.
I waited for my R train to deliver me to work.
I ride the uptown bound R train from Cortlandt to 23rd everyday. The people are always different. But the types of people are always the same. Businessmen and women, working class men and women, students, homeless people, and a gray area.
The people who occupy the gray area could be anyone of the categories, but are dressed out of character.
Ninety percent of these people are looking down. Consumed by their smart phone.
My thoughts on the subway go much much deeper but I digress.
The R train approached the stop and grinded to a halt. The doors flew open with a purpose. This allows the busy people trapped behind them to fight their way out like black Friday shoppers fight their way in a store to buy the must-have holiday present. But since it was 7 a.m. there was no flood of people.
I got one of the older trains. Bleh.
I hopped on.
The male voice of a robotic jolly man came on over the PA system in the train and exclaimed — “STAY CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS PLEASE”
If the monopoly man could talk, I imagine he would sound something like this.
We started moving.
The lights in the old trains have an old fluorescent tinge to them. The floor is an old black matte color spackled with yellow. The seats have an orange and yellow color scheme. It was a creature of the ‘70s.
I often ask myself — “did this really look good to someone in the past?” And then I thank baby Jesus for being born later. But I’m sure someone will say that about my style when I’m older. It’s a vicious cycle.
I rode my usual five-or-so stops to get to 23rd street. This stop takes you to the heart of the flatiron district, which is where I work. For those of you unfamiliar with the Flatiron District, it is called such because of the Flatiron building. Which looks like a flat iron.
I work in a place that is named after my one true weakness — ironing. Is it IRONy?…
Dad jokes for days.
I hopped off the subway and walked with haste up the stairs to the street. The illusion of being busy must be maintained.
I rushed past the slew of luxury and higher end shopping stores that I usually pass on the way to work.
Fifth avenue is a street away from the uptown 23rd street subway stop. So lots and lots and lots of shopping occurs in the area, Which I get to see daily. But I can’t afford it. SOOO I just love it.
As I approached work, I saw two large fire engines parked outside Club Monaco — a bourgeois boutique. Had a fellow window shopper like me had enough of it and just decided to burn that mother down?? Had a disgruntled employee decided to give his or her boss the shaft?? I wanted to know the reason for the famous NYFD presence.
I upped my usual hasty pace to see if I could get a scoop of the goings on. The firemen weren’t walking very fast. Must have been a false alarm. Dammit.
I’m glad no one was hurt. But still dammit. Who doesn’t like a good fire.
I reached the office at 7 a.m. I walked in and swiped my incorrectly spelled name card. “Trever” was ready to work.
I got to my desk and clocked in. There was one other person in the office. It was pleasant.
I clicked and clacked away for two hours when my boss appeared.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
I was taken off guard. “Uhhh working on a video?” I replied.
I was working. She gave me an “alright I got you” nod and then sat down at her desk.
Nods are a big part of my life.
She began to click and clack at her desk, while I continued to click and clack at mine.
I kept wondering about my bosses tone. Have I done something? Damn the ambiguity.
About an hour later she approached my desk — “Alright, I’m leaving now.” she said.
“Alright?” I replied. Why was homegirl telling me she was leaving??
And that’s when it hit me.
Every Wednesday my work does a show from the NASDAQ in Times Square. And every Wednesday that is where I meet my team to begin work.
Ohhh Lord. How could I forget.
I slapped on my gloves, put on my jacket and head out the door. After my transportation room delivered me to the lobby, I sprinted outside and power walked back the direction I came.
I barreled past Club Monaco and the firefighters were still wading around outside. Still no fire. Dammit again.
The illusion of rushing to a meeting was no longer an illusion. I was really rushing to a meeting. I wonder if I looked any different. I think there was probably a noticeable panic on my face now.
I arrived to the subway stop in record time. I sprinted down the stairs and swiped my card.
“INSUFFICIENT FARE”
Shit.
It was the metro’s way of saying a big f you.
I whipped out my wallet and went to reload my metrocard. The wallet was empty.
Shit again.
Some people would reach for their card to pay with things. But I am a firm believer in no plastic. No credit cards. No debit cards. Debt is an evil thing that people must avoid at all costs. But most people seem to love it. I do not.
What do I do? Do I plead with someone to swipe me in? Do I tell them I’m really a normal person, I just don’t have any money? Either way I am going to look like a crazy person.
As these doomsday situations were racing through my head, I hardly noticed an uptown R train that approached the stop beyond the swipe turnstiles. It was only 10 feet away, but might as well have been a mile.
How do I get in?
People were squeezing their way one at a time through the turnstiles to exit the underground transit system, causing people to wait.
So some people started using the emergency exit.
This was my ticket. Just act natural and go through the door.
A flood of people were coming out of the emergency exit, but I was able to slip by on the end through the door. I had an “oh I forgot something I have to turn around expression” for anyone observing the situation. It must have worked, because I walked directly on the subway and faced away from the subway attendant.
I was waiting to hear a deep voice shout “HEY STOP!” or a hand firmly grasp my shoulder and yank me off the train. Had the attendant seen?
“Just don’t turn around,” I repeated internally to myself. All I wanted to hear was the monopoly man say “STAY CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS PLEASE.”
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
“I’m going to get arrested. My record will forever be tainted by the subway sneak-on of 2017. What will I tell my children?”
And then
“STAY CLEAR OF THE CLOSNG DOORS PLEASE”
Those beautiful words finally came. They have never sounded so sweet. The doors closed and we were on our way.
It felt good sticking it to the man. “Maybe I should be a professional metro scammer,” I thought. No bad idea.
The tranquil mood on the subway to work was no longer present. It had been replaced with the loud bustling environment people are familiar with when they think of NYC. We were packed in there tight.
I was about six inches away from my neighbors’ faces when I overheard them talking about bitcoin. I know a thing or two about bitcoin and I was feeling extra confident after my successful subway sneak attack.
I leaned in. “Talkin about bitcoin huh?”
They said yes. That was all. Another friendly New York City conversation.
I decided to listen to music, because I was exhausted from all the talking.
I was jamming to some classic 90s hits when the train arrived at the next stop. People got on. People got off. “I wonder how much longer until my stop,” I asked myself.
I took a peak over someone’s arm holding onto a support rail to see at what stop we were located.
42 Street
I absorbed the information and continued to jam.
“Wait. 42nd is my stop!”
I ducked under the same arm I peaked over and was off the train. The doors closed promptly behind me.
“Sure am cutting things close today,” I thought.
I made it. And in pretty good time.
The Times Square Subway stop is always an interesting ordeal. I say this like I’ve been there a million times. This was my third time at the station.
I located my exit and sprinted up the stairs two at a time.
At the top of the stairs, near the turnstiles that would spit me out into the heart of Times Square, was a Jazz band.
Since I made better time than I thought, I decided to stop at watch me some subway yazz for a bit —
Only in NYC will you find the best subway jazz hits.
After soaking in the mellow tunes of the Subway jazzers, I decided to go out into Times Square. I still had some time so I decided to be very extra and Instagram a bit.
I headed to the middle of one of the more crowded areas of Times Square. Stopped. And Started taking some selfies.
Selfie taking for me has been interesting lately. I dropped my phone about two weeks ago and got a perfect crack right down the middle of the front facing camera.
At first it added an interesting effect to my pictures, but the crack has grown. Now it looks like I’m in a cloud of smoke or a ghost is photo-bombing me.
So I have resorted to the OG selfie taking method — using the back-side camera and turning it around. For anyone who had a RAZR or another phone without a front facing camera, you will remember the difficulty of taking a selfie.
Those were dark times. Thank you for creating the iPhone Steve Jobs.. you have allowed me and all the other 15-year-old selfie takers to take selfies with confidence.
To take selfies the OG way, though, requires a certain degree of skill. I cocked my arm out so I could get some leverage and achieve the correct selfie-taking angle. It’s all about the angles baby.
Just as I was doing this I made some eye contact with a female passerby.
I have never seen such contempt.
She looked like I had taken everything she valued in her life and set it on fire. It’s safe to say she was not feeling it.
TO BE CONTINUED —