It’s Monday. The worst day of the week regardless what anyone has going on. It sucks. Just point blank sucks. And today, I had one of the worst Monday’s, and it’s only 1:10 PM. Let’s go through a little timeline of events:

My alarm went off this morning at 7:05. I snoozed it about eight times, until the clock on my phone read 8:15. I finally dragged myself out of bed, contemplating making up some kind of excuse to call out of my internship, my head pounding with a migraine. I was talked out of it, got my lazy ass ready and headed out to the train.

I swipe my MetroCard, and it’s rejected. Insufficient fare. I sigh, head over to the machine to add more money to my card. No bills accepted at this time. Fine. I’ll swipe my credit card. Just kidding, machine eats the $26.25 I try to put on my card, and I’m forced to deal with an MTA worker who would rather be doing anything else than helping customers. He gives me a new card with $20 on it, and tells me I have to send in the other card to receive money back. Should take two weeks. Fine.

Head down to the train. Actually make the train about .2387 seconds before it’s going to leave the station. Cool, a small win. I plug in my headphones. “Hurts So Good” starts blasting. Great, the headphones are broken. I sigh again. I sit in an open seat, and am then made into a sandwich between two larger people. Okay, no headphones, no breathing room, no money for lunch. Great.

“Train is being held momentarily by the trains dispatcher. Please be patient.” PatienceSomething that at this point in the morning (9:30 am) I have little to none of. Train continues to move on the express track, another small victory. Insert a woman who took the empty seat next to me at 125th Street, who proceed to pull a hairbrush out of her bag and brush her long hair into my lap. Looks like I’m getting checked for lice. She gets off a couple of stops later, and I’m ready to yak.

Insert a very drunk and disorderly man holding a half eaten donut at 42nd Street, who sits directly across from me. Lovely. He begins to fall asleep with donut stuffed into his mouth falling onto the people next to him, one being a nurse concerned he will choke on the food in his mouth. He begins to yell. “will make a scene.” I mind my business, and try not to look anywhere near him. In bringing my head back from looking at what stop I was at, the drunk and disorderly man was staring at me. “What the fuck are you looking at, you stupid bitch?” I am appalled. I am scared. Everyone’s eyes and ears were towards the situation, but no one said a word. “I will cause a scene.”

I get off at Bowling Green, holding back tears from being berated in public and having another persons hair and donut crumbs on me. I stop into the store to buy another pair of headphones and a water, to ease my nausea. I go into the office building, take a seat at my desk and unpack my bag. There’s another working pair of headphones sitting at the bottom of it. I test the “broken” headphones: they worked. Now I’m crying at my desk, wondering what I did to have such a shitstorm of a morning. Insert boss. Cancel tears.

Waiting for an email about whether or not I’m being offered my dream job. The weight of impressing or disappointing the people I love sitting heavily on my already slumping shoulders. I don’t deserve this job. I don’t deserve happiness. I deserve this manic Monday.

If anyone is truly thinking that they are in any type of position to fuck with me today, I suggest you don’t. I am seething with anger, and will likely rip your fucking head off. Proceed with caution.


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