Yeah, right.
Despite the fact we're a week out from the holidays, the work pace is still fast and furious. When things go like clockwork, it's exhilarating. When proverbial flies embed themselves in the ointment, it's like the blooper reel of "Seinfeld." This week is decidedly the latter.
It started on Monday morning, I was scheduled to go to our Baltimore office for two days. I coordinated my train travel with the Queen Bee's so that we could share the taxi cost. When the train arrived in New York's Penn Station, I was rushing for the appointed car where we were supposed to meet. Wouldn't you know that the narrow aisles of the train platform was clogged with a geriatric Russian tour group? In true New Yorker fashion, I pressed upon them with urgency to get by. I don't know what they were saying to me as I squeezed by them, but I don't think it was exactly polite. I'm just glad none of them spit on me.
I met the Queen at the pre-arranged point and our voyage began. We both tried to work and at one point, had to call in for a monthly management call. As we strained to listen to the conference call with a less than reliable cell signal, the noises of the train (including a multiple sounding of the trains whistle) forced us to mute our phones. I was to provide an update on the call and attempted to do so while exiting the train and speaking over the loudspeaker and piped in Perry Como Christmas music in the station. I continued to do so while shoveling luggage into the trunk of a taxi and speaking over the loud salsa music on the taxi's radio. It was beyond frustrating.
And it was still Monday morning.
The day rolled out as planned and by 6:40 pm, we were ready to call it a day. The Queen and I were beat but hungry. As we evaluated our options for some cheap eats, I decided since we were in Baltimore, shellfish was in order. We found one of those dive joints on the waterfront and ordered a clam bake for two (boiled lobster, crab legs, mussels, clams and corn). It was served in a big pot with two bibs, a mallet, some forks, some wet naps and what appeared to be drawn butter. Chased with a glass of white wine, we ate like white-trash kings.
The next day was equally busy. In the middle of meetings at the end of the day, I realized that we had all of 20 minutes to get downtown to the train station for our return trip home. Oh, and it was starting to snow. One of the Queen's minions agreed to drive us to the station and she was drove like the wind to get us there. It was a good effort, but we missed our train. We sat in the dilapidated, Perry Como Christmas music filled terminal while I dialed into my next conference call. I was asked to mute the call again here too.
The train arrived an hour later and damned if it wasn't jam packed with commuters. I was almost willing to stand on the ride back into New York. I finally got into Penn Station past 8 pm and the snow was coming down. I decided to personally spring for a taxi home (I just couldn't handle the subway) and I stood for 15 minutes in the outdoor cab line, pelted with relentless snow . My blowout wilted like fresh spinach in a hot pan.
Yeah, people, this has glamour written all over it.
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