Losing My Social Worker Card

Last Sunday morning, I was a little cranky. This was attributable to a number of factors:

1. The day before, JP and I had gone to the Met and bypassed the art to go directly up to the roofdeck, where, despite the 90 degree weather, we chugged multiple glasses of wine. Slightly warm white wine. This was at 2:00 pm, and we both had eaten nothing that day. We then stumbled around the museum, mocking the art, and then left for an early cocktail party. On the way to the subway, we stopped at a pub and had two more drinks. Once we reached the party, we both poured with a liberal hand. At 8:00 pm, JP went home (wise boy) while I decided to follow the crowd to The Metropolitan in Williamsburg for more drinking. So, to put it mildly, I was hungover.

2. I am, by nature, cranky.

3. I had somehow managed to gain 10 pounds and 3 additional facial blemishes while sleeping.

I had agreed to make pasta salad for a BBQ I was attending that night, but had none of the ingredients, and thus had to leave my comfortable, air conditioned apartment, and journey to the Food Emporium which is 3 (long) blocks away. I had only traveled about 1/2 block and was already dripping with sweat when an (apparently) homeless man asked me for a cigarette. I was smoking in an attempt to curb my rampant hangover. Bad Idea.

"I'm sorry, I don't have one." Which was true; I'd left my pack at home.

I continued walking, and heard him say 'I know you have them'.

I was suddenly furious. I whipped around, stared at him, and shouted

"I don't fucking have them! Ok? I don't!"

He looked shocked. Another man walking by also looked appalled. I continued my walk up the block.

And then it hit me. I had my iPod on, pretty loud. Maybe he hadn't said what I had thought he said at all.