Xfers

Nick mocks me for compulsively checking my email. It's not that I'm waiting for anything specific, or that I just get so very much email that it makes sense for me to constantly refresh the page, and it's not like I think about checking it when I am out of the house. It's just a thing to do with my hands, is all.

I couldn't check yesterday, and came home to 15 emails. Take that, Nick.

Most of them, naturally, were from Andrea and Mary, who, unaware of the fact that I was not keeping up with the conversation, were busy planning dinner for three. They generously decided that I should choose the restaurant (since I won't get to choose them for much longer), conveniently forgetting that I somehow always get stuck choosing the restaurant.

And I was still a little shaken from the last time Andrea and I ate out, you know?

But after a flurry of phone calls (and some citysearch comparison shopping by Mary) I decided that it was time for a return visit to this great little Mexican place where Melissa had a birthday, oh, forever ago. Lovely atmosphere, wonderfully winey sangria, and freakishly good tiramisu. I don't get that last one, either.

So. I set out to make my way to Grammercy from Rockefeller Center, but I was clearly due for a stupid commute from the start. See, the man in front of me swiped his card and went through the turnstile so fast that his "OK 2.oo BAL 14.00" was still on the screen when I clumsily ran my own card through. And it stayed there.

Now. I generally buy one-day unlimited cards when I know I will be running around, so I was waiting for a simple "GO." Between the unchanged message and the awkward swipe, I didn't even bother to try the turnstile; I swiped my card again. "OK 2.00 BAL 12.00."

Damnit.

After waiting forever for a bus at 23rd Street (I love how it's always smokers who hog the best spots in the rain, and then of course they exhale all over the inferior spots, so that basically the rest of us have to stand in the rain, by the way), two came at once. As I climbed on, I absently looked at the Metrocard display, expecting the usual "1 XFER OKAY." "2 XFERS OKAY," I was told, and gritted my teeth as I considered offering the wasted transfer to the person behind me.

I decided that that would not make me feel any better.

Karma is alive and well, though, because after a series of miscalculations, I hopped off the bus two avenues early. By the time I made it to the restaurant (eight miraculous minutes before our 7:00 meeting time), my glasses were covered in raindrops. This ceased to matter the moment I stepped into the warm restaurant, as they promptly steamed over and effectively blinded me.

I explained to the host that I was waiting for friends. "Ah," he said sagely. "The bar!" After a difficult pause, he broke down and asked if I could see anything. Discovering that I could not, he took my arm and led me to the bar, explaining why to any patrons whom we passed along the way.

The bartender, who served up a margarita, showed me his wedding photos, and taught me to clean my glasses with Absolut® all within two minutes of my arrival, could not have come at a better time.

We had a lovely night; we did. We ended up hopping another bus up to DT-UT (I was bitter about using my Metrocard again once the extra transfer had expired, and a little cranky when we eventually noticed that we had been waiting for the wrong bus...but whatever) and mainlining processed sugar for a couple of hours, which is always a nice thing.

I headed over to 3rd Ave., where the bus that leaves me at my door eventually swung over to the curb. And as I climbed on, I happened to glance down.

"1 XFER OKAY."

Okay.