This morning was a bit of a clusterfuck... I got up around 7:30, and was dragging my feet when I should have gotten my ass in gear. I had to do a loop around the block on which I typically park to find a space (mountains of gritty, grungy ice are still in profusion all over the region). I finally get on the 1 train, and the train stops just past 103rd St. The conductor of the train announced that, due to a police investigation, the train would be stopping at 96th St, and that there would be no downtown, or uptown, service on the 1,2,or 3 lines. Fuh-huck... not only was I supposed to be at my volunteering gig, but I had to think about getting back up to the Bronx so I could get to work this afternoon. I called two of my fellow coaches, Frenchy the Paisan and Morocco's Answer to George Clooney, and left them messages indicated that I was running extremely late. Then I called the director of the program, and he told me that the whole system was a mess, and that I should just do a U-turn. I trudged over to the 8th Ave line, and took the C train to 168th St, where I was able to catch the A train to 207th St. I made a quick stop at Carrot Top Pastries, where I picked up a slice of carrot cake, and a cup of coffee, then walked up to 238th St, where I had parked my car, after a multi-hour misadventure.
I'm not complaining!
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7 comments:
Carrot cake makes up for a whole lotta bad karma.
My fellow student-janitors and I used to partake here.
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No love for "The Doodle", old boy?
I did have a couple of breakfasts there, but Claire's was where we went. It was preferred by the lady student janitors, who were numerous enough to have veto power. And mostly we were on the Old Campus (that's where the bulk of summertime conferences and such as occurred).
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I don't think I would eat anything made by Carrot Top.
That stabbing story makes me yearn for the kinder, simpler time of Dart Man.
I'd be afeared of Dart Man, with this butt of mine.
I was with you til you chose carrot cake. Ewwww.
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