Friday
12:18 pm
I'm getting changed after my photo shoot, looking at my phone like it was a heart monitor and I had a few minutes to live. I need to get to that 12:45 train. I grab my bag and I'm down the stairs. I do my routine pat down. I’ve got my phone, wallet, and computer. Now for my phone charger. Where's my phone charger? I drop my bag on a chair and grab sheepishly grab the next elevator to the 4th floor. I grab my charger and fly down the stairs, almost knocking down the poor soul who was unlucky enough to be in my fire trail. Grab the backpack and I'm off towards the El. My awkward run/jog is not helping my already frazzled look.
12:24 pm
I make it up the obnoxiously large flight of stairs to the train to catch the Brown Line right as it arrives. Luck be a lady tonight. Now the long trek to my safe haven: Randolph Street. It is taking forever and a century to get there. I am driving myself mad waiting after every stop, so mad that I convince myself to get off 6 blocks before the station and sprint because "I’m fast enough".
12:35 pm*
The good news is I am fast enough. The bad news is that it is 6 blocks and it’s been 2 years and some change since my last basketball practice. I get back to my awkward freshman-that-is-late-for-the-first-day-of-class charade and I’m off. Zigging, zagging, huffing and puffing. I just took a deep breath as my legs are reminded off this while I type.
12:38 pm
Anyways, I make it to the station. It’s a few minutes till that :45 train and I am content and proud of my supreme hustle . I walk briskly through the heavy doors to the platform and look for that glory train to paradise.
*While Jess is running through Chicago, I am the train that is leaving at 12:35. He should have checked, re-checked, and then checked the schedule again.
12:47 pm
Dang it.
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