The War Zone

I left work a bit late today after a totally worthless meeting with my Field Advisor. I was kind of hurrying because I wanted to have time to clean my apartment in anticipation of Girl's Dinner tomorrow night before heading out tonight with my friend, The Lawyer (and the reason why I'm calling her 'The Lawyer' is that her initials are 'JT' and I already know five 'JTs', so I clearly can't give initials because then it's just confusing, right? Right.)

So I emerged from campus, and was barreling toward the subway, when I hear a man say 'hey honey' in my general direction. And since this is pretty much a normal occurence when you are a) female and b) walking in New York City, I gave him my standard reply which includes a half-snort, an exaggerated eye-roll and a hand gesture which clearly communicates that the offender should fuck off. (Maybe that's not the standard reply. If, for example, it's late, and I'm alone on the street, I might increase my walking pace and attempt to state my 'fuck off' by sending brain waves.)

And as I'm walking down the subways stairs, I get a better look at my admirer. I've just flipped off Bennie, the daytime manager of the JavaCity in the student center, one of the people at work who has been consistently kind, even though he is usually reaping the benefits of interacting with me before I've had my morning coffee.

I need to be more careful about directing my rage.