el shake

There's a juice and fruit cart on the corner of 56th and Broadway that I patronize everyday on my way to work. I go so often, that when they see me coming, the people who staff the cart start my order, so it's usually just about ready when I get to it and pay. I get a scary looking, yet delicious shake made of a lot of green stuff, masked by fruit and with added protein. It's like crack, it's so good, so I call it the crack-shake. Clever, I know.

So there I was the other day - the cold day - running dreadfully late for work. I mean, I could have still made it on time, but then I forgot something and had to go back upstairs, so I had literally no cushion. I thought of not stopping at the cart, but no, no, I needed that crack-shake. As per usual, I peeled around the corner and threw a five at the cart guy, swooped up my shake and kept on toward my office. Then I got to the corner, where two dudes in City Sights gear were having a conversation of some sort.

They kept shuffling, these City Sights gents. I tried to get out of their way, as we waited for the light to change and stepped into the street. Because they were the weaving type, I swung out wide to the right, with ample clearance, and started across the street. That is until one of the dudes began swinging his arms wildly.

I'm not exaggerating here. The flailing was a fully extended, oblivious-to-the-world sort of antic and the tip of his fingers, reaching maximum velocity in their animated motion, caught my cup juuuuust as I was about to take a swig. Did I mention that it was really cold that day, and that I was carrying-slash-drinking a frozen beverage?

Flash forward approximately one second and I was wearing the entire thing, from head to toe. And I was late.

The wildman made a feeble attempt to apologize and took my 2"x 2" napkin in an effort to dab away at the twenty ounces of frozen, blended deliciousness that now adorned my shirt, pants, jacket, hair, hands and even - yes - even my bra. Every step I took between that corner and my office saw splotches of tasty crack-shake glob off and fall to the ground. I left a trail from Carnegie hall to my building. A trail of unrequited deliciousness.

The kicker here is not that I was already late, wearing a shade of frozen green that I wouldn't normally don, no longer had my breakfast AND was cold. The kicker is that when I got to work.........

I got in trouble.

Because it was my fault that the friggin bus-seller dude doused me, or better yet, I clearly did it myself in order to procure a larger dry cleaning bill and have organic fruits and vegetables gracing my lovely, matted mane for the next ten hours. Yes, in the gilded cage that is my fund, it makes sense to be angry with people when random, annoying shit happens to them. Athankyou.