I went to a meeting today and had to commute home in rush hour Manhattan traffic. It was tough; twice I missed the subway by mere seconds and once I had been waiting right where the doors open, but people shoved me out of the way and the doors closed on my face and arm. “Ah!” I shouted, “THE SUBWAY DOORS ARE SQUISHING MY FACE!”, except, of course, it sounded like, “Tha! TH’ THUBTHAY THORS THAR THUISHING THY THACE!”

Someone behind me grabbed my left shoulder and heaved, thank god!, and with another big yank I was able to rescue my handbag which was half in my hands and half on the train in danger of going downtown without me. I thanked my quick-thinking rescuer and scowled (painfully) through the windows of the subway at the people who had shoved me aside and were going merrily on their way with their faces unbruised. Assholes.

I took another subway in the wrong direction, and then, because I took so long getting home, Rob left our home subway stop where he was waiting for me with the car and I had had to walk seven blocks in the rain. And the drummers! My god.

There were these guys with bongos that got on the subway to “entertain” everyone with their music, hoping for thank you money. Ok, fine, it’s New York. I expect that, and usually it’s pretty cool to stumble upon a car with musicians. But they’re drummers. DRUMMERS. The first (only?) requirement of drumming is that you need to have rhythm. These guys did not. I wanted to hit them with my purse and yell,

“One!” *smack* “Two!” *smack* “Three!” *smack* “Four!” *smack* LEARN TO COUNT TO FOUR!”

But these guys were “free stylin’”, which is to say they were too, ahem, “chemically altered” to keep a beat. The noise made me feel slightly crazy. I changed subway cars to get away from them, but at the next stop they moved, too, and I had to go back to the first car to get away from Annoyance, the musical.

During my switch, I realized I was on the wrong subway, so when it stopped I found the correct one, an endeavor that involved all sorts of complicated shenanigans. When I finally got myself sorted and found a seat on the correct subway, I heard drummers on that one, too. Like the first guys, they sounded awful. I thought to myself, “How many off-beat drummers could there be in this city right now?” and then I saw them and kind of froze for a second, horrified. It was the same guys.

I was going to move but I figured there was no point. They’d just find me again. I sat glumly, shoved between two fat people, and endured them pounding on their instruments like drunks (which they probably were).

The drumming stopped and they took off their caps, walking up and down the car hoping for money. “A small donation would be appreciated,” he said to me, smiling.

I seriously hate this city sometimes.