I took the subway from Penn Station this morning, uptown to the Hilton, where I was helping out for a few hours at an adolescent psychiatry conference we were attending. I didn’t have too much trouble finding the hotel, only getting turned around a little when I first emerged on the street — something I seem incapable of not doing every time I take the subway. (Manhattan’s essentially a grid of uptown/downtown, east side/west side, but I have a lousy sense of direction, thrown for a loop practically every time I wander underground.)
Then again, finding the hotel was a piece of cake compared to finding the exhibit hall where we were selling our books. That place is a maze.
A co-worker arrived to take my place a little before noon, and I headed back to the office, risking the subway a second time. And from there, the day progressed like pretty much any other. I sent some manuscripts out for review, received a review back, and had a perfectly ordinary afternoon.
Then this evening, I wandered downtown — walking this time — to join some friends for pizza and a live simulcast of House on Haunted Hill by the Rifftrax gang. They were joined by comedian Paul F. Tompkins for the movie and a couple of shorts (equally terrifying and hillarious). There was a brief moment of panic when I realized I’d forgotten to print my ticket — and the again, when the machine didn’t recognize either my credit or theater points card — but we got it sorted out at the ticket booth, and I didn’t have to head home in shame. (The theater was pretty crowded; I don’t know if it was sold out, but that’s a distinct possibility. That definitely happened at their first live show, where they had to show itbon two screens.)
Then I hopped on the subway — seriously, I usually don’t even have a MetroCard, much less one that gets used this much in a day — and only just made the train home. I believe the phrase “skin of my teeth” may come into play. And so my many thanks to the annoying (and possibly drunk) teens who were rushing to get on the same time…and therefore keeping the train from closing its doors for that second or two I needed to get on. (I wrote this on the train, which is more fun than writing it in Penn Station, waiting almost an hour for the next train, and not getting home until after midnight.)
I’m glad that tomorrow’s Friday. It’s been an oddly long week.