Picture it. A NYC gal trotting through the streets of Manhattan with her handbag over her shoulder, coffee in one hand and shopping bags in the other. She effortlessly makes her way through the crowds and traffic and arrives home no coffee spilt and hair in tact....and she did it in heels no less.
And then there's me.
After days of holding my drycleaning hostage (damn inconvenient NYC dry cleaner hours!), I finally was able to retrieve my clothes from the cleaners tonight. Unfortunately today was also the day the clothes I ordered online arrived, meaning I had to make my way home with not only my dry cleaning, but also a rather large JCrew box as well as my purse. During rush hour. In the rain. (Irony of ironies...my dry cleaning consisted of my raincoat). As I fought my way through the turnstile, the hanger of my coat got stuck on one of the bars, flinging me and the box through the turnstile, and leaving the drycleaning hanging on the other side of the turnstile mocking me. Thankfully one of the policeman patrolling the station had seen my very smooth maneuver and passed my drycleaning through to me. I managed to make it on to the train without further incident, aside from accidentally stabbing a fellow train passenger with my coat hanger when I sat down. When I finally made my way to my stop and got off the train I remembered that my stop doesn't have regular turnstiles. It only has the revolving door ones which are impossible to get through when you don't have a free hand to push them with. I managed to go in sideways pushing the bars with my shoulder with my dry cleaning draped over my arm. Until the coat hanger once again got stuck on the bars and since it was rush hour and people were streaming through the exit, my coat went round and round until I was finally able to rescue it. FINALLY I make it home and step into the elevator only to find it has JUST been painted and the walls are still wet, so I stand very still being extra careful not to let anything touch the walls...and then the elevator stops and my floor and I remember that you have to push the door open, it's not one of the ones that open automatically. I manage to get a hand free to touch the faceplate of the door and swing it open and run out (though not without stabbing myself with the coat hanger) and make it to my door. As I throw the drycleaning down on the couch and my purse on the table. It hits me. I could have just WORN THE COAT HOME.
Stylish NYC gal trotting through the streets of Manhattan. I think not.