awful night

My doorman calls to tell me I have a package.  I'm not expecting one. Especially not a box from Apple. Damn. It's a big box of Christmas cards I made recently for M.  I forgot to change the delivery address and it defaulted to my own.  

Then I eat a quick and early dinner.  Salad with chicken.  I'm out the door by 5:45 in order to make a 7pm screening of Inherent Vice at 53rd and 7th.  About 2.2 miles from my apartment.  I am meeting MF (as in my friend, as I'm sure she'd prefer remaining nameless), and our plan is to meet at 6:30 (in case the movie is oversold).

If I had more time, I'd walk.  Instead, I take a crosstown bus.  It's 6:15 when I get on the C train at 81st and Central Park West.  But then, the C train doesn't move.  We all sit there wondering why. Then were told there's an incident on the subway line further south. 15 minutes go by and the initial announcement of "we are being delayed" morphs into "this train ain't moving (or words to that effect)." 

So en masse we leave the subway.

I walk a block to catch a bus.  But I see none in view.  I walk about 10 blocks before finally spotting one. But it turns where it shouldn't.  "We have to detour," says the bus driver. "There's road construction ahead."  There's also gridlock. I feel like I'm in that movie After Hours where the main character is stuck in SOHO and just can't get to where he wants to be.

It takes 90 minutes to get to the theater.  I could have driven to the Hamptons in the same amount of time.  I am not happy.

By the time I arrive, the movie's been playing for 12 minutes (according to the studio rep at the door).  I have to crawl over two people to get to MF.  I whisper, "What have I missed?"  She whispers back, "I have no idea."  She means this literally.

About an hour into the movie MF (who NEVER EVER talks during films) turns to me and says, "I want to kill myself."  I suggest she leave but we are in the middle of the row, and there are two super-sized couples guarding each end.  "I think I'm having a panic attack." She later tells me she felt trapped.  Trapped watching an impossibly complicated very long film with the lead actor sporting hideous mutton chops.

And the ride home, too, was hell.  It takes MF two hours, and me, just a little bit less.  This headline helps explain why.

Apparently, the subway problems that started around six are no better after 10.

And then, as if an impossibly long unpleasant movie, unhappy friend, and dreadful transportation aren't bad enough, I exit the train station instead of transferring.  This means I have to pay again, another $2.50, to get back into the station.  

I get back to my apartment just in time for Jon Stewart, so happy to be home.