SelfAbsorbed.ME : ‘It’s Your Life, We Just Write it Funnier’

Yesterday was by far, the worst day ever. Wellllllllll maybe not the worst ever, but pretty damn close. It began like any other day. My alarm went off at 6:15 a.m. and I hopped in the shower, full of hope and promise for the day to come. And then it went downhill from there . . . .

When I got out of the shower, I checked my phone, and discovered a text message from my younger brother, basically telling me that I suck. Apparently, he didn’t approve of my behavior when he was visiting my apartment with his new girlfriend the night before.  I shouldn’t care because he was being unnecessarily dramatic, but my day was already ruined.

As I sat on the subway that morning on my way to work and tried to put the incident with my brother out of my mind, an obnoxious man next to me couldn’t hold himself up right and kept falling into me every time the subway car moved. And you know how much I hate strangers touching me. I tried the ole elbow trick and gently nudged him a few times, assuming he had dozed off, or was just rude, and didn’t realize what he was doing. Then, suddenly, this man turned to me and began shouting at me. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING,” he yelled. Ummmmmmm excuse me? Was this really happening? Was someone actually challenging the Subway Gal? I pinched myself to make sure it wasn’t a nightmare.

I thought I might try being the bigger person for a change and tried to calmly explain that he needed to learn how to hold himself upright because there was no need for him to be falling onto me every time the subway moved. “Ohhhhhh so no one can touch you, right? THIS IS A SUBWAY! Deal with it!!,” he fired back. Again, I tried to explain that I understood we were in a crowded subway, but that was still no reason for him to be falling all over me.

Obviously a raving lunatic, this man failed to understand my logic and continued to shout at me. I said nothing until he was done, and then said, “Are you done now? No one is talking except for you and you look like super-crazy.” Not at all concerned, he told me I was lucky he was getting off the train at the next  stop. “And you’re lucky I don’t pull out my mace on you!” I fired back.

We sparred for a bit longer - I called him bald, fat and ugly, and he called me a bitch -  and then we fell into uncomfortable silence until he was about to get off the subway. Then I, never one to leave well enough alone, said, “Have a great day you fat a**hole.”  This set him off and he swung at me. Yes, this short, bald, fat, obviously sexually frustrated man, swung at me. ME. A girl. So, I swung back and wound up swatting him a couple of times as he was departing the subway, but, unfortunately I didn’t get any good shots that could do some real damage. And then, the unthinkable happened. . . .

He spit on me.

Yes, you heard correctly. He spat his nasty, probably disease-ridden, saliva in my face. I was angry, horrified, and most of all disgusted. I couldn’t believe that actually happened. To me. Some might call it poetic justice, and they are probably right, but it was still really nasty and uncalled for. I only spat at a person twice in my life (that I can recall) - one was at a man who walked past me on the street and hit my boob, on purpose, when my arms were full of stuff and I couldn’t protect myself, and the second time was at a man I was arguing with (surprise surprise) on the subway. But he deserved it. And besides, it didn’t even hit him. Or at least I don’t think it did.

When the subway doors closed and I sat back down in my seat, I immediately took out my compact and began inspecting, and wiping, my face. The nice couple across the aisle from me, who looked horrified at the whole situation, quietly gave me a tissue to aid my efforts. I thanked them and then said aloud, to no one in particular, “I can’t believe he spit on me.” In response, an old woman close by shouted, “GOOD!” Who forgot to change her Depends that morning? Aren’t women supposed to stick together? Traitor.

On my way into the office after I got off the subway, I stopped by to see my favorite coffee cart couple, but could have sworn they just weren’t as friendly as usual. There’s a strong possibility that I’m just being paranoid, but I think they may be hurt that it had been a few days since I paid them a visit. I think they know I have another coffee cart guy on the side that I like to visit sometimes.

After everything that had already occurred, before 9 a.m., I was feeling devastated and didn’t have high hopes for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, my feelings were right and the rest of the day was just awful. I was scolded by one of my bosses for “not being a team player” and an overall awful person, or at least that was my takeaway.

Then, later that day, I received a call from Boyfriend telling me he didn’t get the job he interviewed for the previous day and thought he aced. He was upset, I was upset, it was no good. I thought about jumping out of the window, but in the end decided against it because I figured that wasn’t a very glamorous way to go.

As the clock struck 5:30, I began counting down the minutes until I could flee home, into the safety of Boyfriend’s arms and my bed. And then one of my boss’ came by to tell me that our client has yet another last-minute request that I need to work on. Of course. I didn’t leave work until 8:30 that night. As soon as I got home, I burst into tears, downed a glass of Sangria, ate dinner and passed out.

I woke up this morning feeling much better. And, as I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to hear, today was a much better day. I battled through the day of hell and lived to tell the tale. Now, where’s my goddamn prize???