Chapter 2
I wake up the next morning before my alarm—as per usual. Someone is always creeping in and out of the bedroom in the mornings. Luckily the bathroom in this apartment is off the living room, so that cuts down on the noise a little. We also keep a vanity table set up in place of a kitchen table to create a hair-and-makeup zone, keeping the bathroom open as much as possible.
But someone is in the bathroom now, so I'll have to wait. No biggie. I plan my morning routine around this, so when my alarm sounds I hit the snooze button and stretch out under the covers to wait.
In retrospect, that's the exact moment when this day goes to shit.
Because somehow, inconceivably, in an apartment shared with three other girls, I wake up an hour later to complete silence. And now I'm late. Really late.
"No, no, no, no, no!" I mutter while tossing the covers off and dropping out of bed. I drop because I'm a top-bunker and I don't have time to use the ladder and oh, holy shit, how does my life include a ladder required to get in and out of bed?
My feet hit the floor, but one lands on a sock and my foot skids until my pinky toe bangs into the milk crate my bottom bunkmate has been using as a nightstand. I do that weird dropped-open-mouth thing one does when they hurt themselves right before they swear, which I do next. How? How did I even just do that? I hop around for a second while I do the math on how I'm going to make it to work on time. Then I bolt for the shower and thank the water gods that it's hot before jumping in.
I'm out in under a minute, sans hair wash. No time. I'll spray some dry shampoo on and make the best of it. I've got a perfect record at work. I'm always on time, always dependable, and I don't need today to ruin that. Especially when I'm applying for promotions.
Plus my boss is a bitch of the worst degree. I'm pretty sure she hates me so I'm not going to give her anything to use against me. No way, no how. I just have to pay my dues and then get promoted out of her department. Fingers crossed.
Teeth brushed, pants on, blouse buttoned and I'm flying out the door. And… the elevator has two strips of yellow caution tape forming an x across the doors. Okay, Lauren. Just breathe, you got this. Six flights is not that many. I shove open the stairwell door and keep one hand on the rail as I book it down the stairs as fast as my feet will move, my sneakers thumping on the concrete steps and echoing through the stairwell. I don't have time to care about the racket I'm making, I'm just counting my blessings that it's only six flights.
Shoving open the door on the ground level, I sling my purse across my body and make a run for the subway. I think I've still got this, as long as the trains are running on time I'm going to make it with a few minutes to spare.
I'm two minutes into my run when I remember I forgot to grab my office shoes on the way out the door. Dammit, I hope I have a pair of flats in my drawer at the office or I'm going to be stuck in these all day and my boss will make a snide comment about millennial shoe choices while pretending it's a joke.
No, it won't be a joke. And yes, she will be wearing shoes that cost more than my rent. But I'm so going to make it on time, so she can suck it! I sigh in relief as I run down the stairs into the Fourteenth Street Station and squeeze through the turnstiles in time to make my train. Once on, I score a seat and get to work. First I pull a brush out of my bag and get to work taming my blonde hair into a perfect ponytail with lots of volume and a final strand of hair wrapped around the band and fastened with a bobby pin to cover the elastic. I watched a video online once and now I can do it without a mirror and in motion when necessary.
My makeup is done via a compact mirror and finished before I reach my stop. Then I walk another five blocks to my office. In Manhattan it's called walking but anywhere else that pace would be considered a jog. I check my phone when I'm a block away—the building is in my sights—and grin. I made it.
I've even got just enough time to grab a coffee from the little shop located next door to my building, as long as they don't have a line. They only charge a dollar for a coffee to go, which even I can afford, and when I approach the door and see no line I'm tempted to click my sneaker-clad heels together. No line! I'm still getting my morning coffee! Which really makes all the difference, you know? When I don't have time to stop or the line is too long it throws off my whole morning. I need that cup like a baby needs a pacifier. It's like a cup of zen to get me through my morning, no matter what the boss throws at me.
See, today is totally my day because life is all what you make of it. I could be pissed off about oversleeping, but no. I'm going to call that sleeping in and still making it to work on time. A total win, yay me, I think as I double-check the time and reach for the door handle of the coffee shop.
The door doesn't budge because it's locked. My brain registers this at the same time it registers the orange eight-by-ten sticker stuck to the door. The one labeled New York City Health Department with a big check mark next to 'closed for health code violations' which cannot be possible because I just got coffee here yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.
Wait.
Oh, shit. I get coffee here every day.
At the place closed for health code violations. Well, that's great.
Walking next door, I swipe my badge to get past security while wondering if coffee can be contaminated. It can, right? Like bacteria in the machines or something? Never mind, I'm fine. My stomach is okay. I think. I might need to talk myself out of phantom hypochondriac stomach issues, but I'm probably fine.
I need a refund on this day and it's not even nine AM.
I sigh before giving myself a pep talk. It's fine, Lauren. This day can only get better. Nowhere to go but up, blah blah. I work in marketing, so I know it's all in how I spin it and I've already determined that today is a good day for a good day, so it will be. I'm going to have a good day if it fucking kills me.