Rain in the Morning

I have you all beat. None of you have ever had quite the experience getting to work in the morning as I did on Friday. None. I’m taking bets.

Friday morning was unique for a few reasons. It was unusual in that I was working in the first place. I had agreed to PA for my father on an interview that he was shooting in a hotel in midtown. More importantly, it was unusual in that the entire city had the threat of a transit workers strike hanging over out heads. Now of course I live for moments like this, in which the whole city is forced to do crazy things in the face of mildly absurd circumstances. Plus everybody is on the transit workers’ side, since they are being offered an insulting contract by the uber-evil MTA. But regardless of these pros, it was rainy and very very early (I woke up at 6:30) as we made our way to my father’s office to pick up our equipment. We had decided to drive to the shoot, which is an unusual choice for my father to make, but this made me want to cry less than the thought of taking a more labor-intensive form of transportation so I was all for it. We got into the car and drove off.

This began as a relatively normal drive. There were potholes. There was rain. There were cabs. Between Madison and Park on 28th street, we slowed down to pull around a garbage truck. My father opened the window to pull his rearview mirror in and all of a sudden, a deluge of sewage-y water began to rain on us into the car. Yes, as it turns out, the garbage truck was improperly sealed and was spraying garbage water all over the street and apparently into unsuspecting people’s cars. In case you were curious, this did not make the car smell good. My father had gotten the worst of the sewage storm and turned the car around to go home and change. I was responsible for cleaning up the car a little while he did this, which I can assure you, was a pleasant job. When he came back we headed up to the job and I offered to drive the car to a carwash while they set up, which was an unlikely shot in the dark since my dad NEVER lets me (a) drive his car, and (b) never lets me drive in Manhattan. The circumstances were so dire, however, that I got to do both, and drove the care across midtown during rush hour to clean the car, the whole time smelling the sweet smell of sewage. As it turns out, I am a genius driver. I rule. I can actually cut people off politely (there is totally a distinction, especially in Manhattan). Oh, and a little bit of advice to you all: if you send a girl to get the car washed, the people who work there throw in TONS of stuff for free. Just a heads up.

By the way, the interview was about insulin resistance. Fascinating stuff, as you might imagine. And yes, it did involve some very funny medical words, none of which describe anything you should ever have to talk about.
-Esmee