2.02.2006

Filled With Rage

My morning started innocently enough; Special K and soymilk, NPR, another mental reminder to buy coffee filters. The problems start when I have to leave the safe haven of my apartment (which, by the way, I absolutely love. I love the light and the uncluttered space and the dishwasher. Oh, and the lack of bedbugs. Definitely appreciating the absence of the bedbugs.) and deal with the outside world. My friend The Lawyer always says that no good comes of leaving the house, and I think she's right.

The 1 train, which delivers me to my internship each day, stopped at 96th street with an announcement that it would be going express to 145th street, bypassing my stop. I reluctantly vacated my seat and waited on the platform, along with the other grumbling commuters, hoping that the next train arrive soon. I hate the MTA; first the strike and now these interuptions, which are happening with more and more frequency. And there's almost never an explanation, which leads me to believe that the changes are part of some arbitrary plot to ruin my day.

I was late to work, and in response to the gentle inquiry of my co-intern, supplied an answer which was laden with expletives. Luckily I had stopped my rant by the time my supervisor came into the office. Unluckily, she had just picked up a batch of flyers from the campus print shop, and asked me to distribute them. Did I go to graduate school to learn how to hang up flyers? Probably not. Does anyone read these flyers? Probably not. Am I learning anything valuable? Probably not.

When I returned from my one-woman campaign against nicotine, I made the unwise decision to call my former management company. We're still haggling over my December rent and the return of my security deposit. I hate being back here. Even dialing that number inspires dread in the pit of my stomach. I hate them, I hate dealing with them, and I hate that I have to continue to communicate with them in order to get my money back.

Thus, the rage. I need to go home, kick something, and then go to yoga.

1 comment:

g said...

What gets me most about riding (or shall we say waiting for) the 1 is that the MTA made a point of promising straphangers that no service would be sacrificed by the termination of the 9. It is a fundamental tenet of my spirituality that hell for the higher-ups at the MTA is an elevator, stuck between floors...