A portion of this is up at Naptime in the City that Never Sleeps, so if you frequent both, this version is longer and more complete.
There is nothing more lonesome than eating a packet of mini cheese Ritz for dinner. But by 11 pm–after a 9-5 in the office, followed by a shift at my second job selling books at author events–I’m starved. I buy the crackers from the platform vendor while waiting for my train home. I cram the greasy disks into my mouth with germy subway hands. I am exhausted. I am beyond caring. Chewing, I watch the rats scurry in the tracks below.
My ride is exactly 1-hour long and at an hour where more normal people than not are tucked away in bed. Sometimes I can’t resist the compulsion to buy something to eat before I am home. Oftentimes my journey takes such an unappetizing twist that eating after it is out of the question.
For example, a man shit before my very eyes a few weeks ago. We were on the subway. It was late. Across the aisle from me, the man was badgering a woman for money. When she refused to give him anything, his tirade began.
He paced up and down the car, muttering: “I’ll show you! I’ll show you!”
After a time, the man stopped directly in front of the woman, popped a squat, and pushed. By some grace of God, he did not bother to remove his pants.
It’s rare that I ever see what a human face looks like whilst a shit is in progress. I don’t know many infants and my bathroom mirror is above my sink, not across from my toilet.
When defecating, the human brow furrows, then eases. The mouth puckers, then smiles. The smile is not big nor toothy, but a relaxed expression. It is a self satisfied grin that simply says: I pooped.
When his crap was fully expelled, the man exhaled as if in a soda commercial, although I doubt the steaming load in his pants was carbonated or refreshing. I do not have to tell you how bad this smelled.
After, the man sat down between us on the subway floor, laughing. The woman and I changed cars at the next stop, leaving him to fester–the only pair of pants he owned filled to the brim with shit.
***
Now about this second job. After a 9-5 in the office, I am a bookseller for a company that sells books at non-bookstore author events (mostly readings at cafes and bars, with the occasional conference and private party). Hauling suitcases crammed with paperbacks and hardcovers on city subways and crosstown buses, I am a mobile libris.
While the commute is a pain in the ass and the long days are more than difficult, I like the actual book events. I also enjoy taking home a cut of hard cash at the end of every night; $50 for 3 hours of easy work is not bad. After setting up, I mostly kick back and listen to authors read and talk about writing. I’m often selling at the KGB Bar, a New York literary institution where the bartenders are getting used to me and waving me off when I try to pay for my beer.
The other week, I worked an event for AM Holmes, one of my favorite writers. While she signed books, we chatted about cover art and the apocalypse. This week, I worked a lecture series in a Chinatown bar. There, longtime Onion contributor, Todd Hansen, gave one of the most truthful, amazing talks on humor that I’ve ever heard (and, to give you context: I just spent the last 10 weeks of my life in a humor writing workshop).
If the book-selling job paid a little better, I might be tempted to quit office life all together. But as it stands, I’m just happy to have a way to save up money. Because in a city like this, saving is next to impossible. Its not that I spend rampantly. Its that a gallon of milk costs $5 and rent in a sketchy neighborhood costs is $1,400 monthly (utilities not included). It was nearly cheaper to live in Scotland, where the pound is worth double the US dollar.
Extra money is also good because I’m busy paying off my credit cards to a zero balance. I’ve got a rigorous schedule to ensure I do this within 12 months. Anything I can do to help move this along faster is good. Paying interest irritates me. Even if it afforded me the luxury of having furniture before I could actually afford any.
Most importantly, I need to save up money because we’re getting out of here soon. A plan is in motion. Home-sweet-Chicago-home is on the horizon. More on this as things unfold (I don’t want premature information floating about – I am trying to get better at biting my tongue), but it is suffice to say: this summer will be very different for my husband and I. Different from now and different from ever before. Change like this is so hard. We need to do it now though, while we are young, while its still possible to get this life right.
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What’s your commute like?
