Don't worry. The title is not a metaphor....
As many of you know, New York has an infestation problem of the vermin variety. I was well aware of this before moving, and really haven't experienced such an overwhelming anxiety that I've needed to write about it...until know. I had assumed, poorly, that rats would reside where they belong: in the subway and behind their desks at realty offices. I've been here for almost a month and my theory seemed conclusive for the most part. Nothing out of the ordinary, right?
WRONG!!!!!
BIG WRONG!!!!!
I hope that this is not my last blog entry, because I fear that I may have stumbled onto some very dangerous entities. If you never hear from me again, please take what little belongings I have and donate to the "Lindsay Lohan - Free My Soul campaign". Girl could use a break.
It all started when I was getting off of the A train at 200 in Inwood. My pedestrian comrade Arianne suggested that we go up a different flight of staircase than the one I normally use. I knew something was weird when my knee jerk reaction was to do anything but follow her. So of course I did as she had suggested and went up the alternative staircase (I would later associate my wording of "alternative" to have similar meaning as if I had said instant death...)
Making our way up, everything seemed fine, when out of nowhere a forearm sized rat landed on the back of my neck and scurried down the stairs. I screamed for what felt like days....gay screamed....so it was really high pitched. This giant asshole left a mental scar on my back that made me consider burning my shirt into a sacrificial effigy, but alas, it was my very favorite shirt so sacrificing a small animal was my only alternative. I packed my pride up, and left the scene with Arianne. It was then that I started thinking, why did this bitch of a living creature jump on me?
To give you some ground plans, I was coming up from an underground stairwell. The rat...let's call him Gregory, jumped off of the Bank of America (or the Bank of Douchbags according to yours truly) building onto my unsuspecting body. The building itself had to be 25 to 30 feet high, and I was probably at least 5 feet underground from the point of impact. And yes my judgement is accurate because I did commercial construction for three years....and I enjoy the company of men so there!
So Gregory jumped 30-35 feet and just happened to land on me so he would survive? This was not a coincidence.
My first reaction was the Gregory worked for Bank of America, maybe for the last 5 years (GUESS THAT REFERENCE!!!) or so and just found out he didn't get the promotion he was hoping to get. Maybe management said that his talents were best suited elsewhere, and that he should continue doing great work in the mail room. Maybe Gregory had a bad childhood, or maybe he just had no clout. For whatever reason, Gregory thought that the only was he could find retribution was through suicide. Was I a coincidental mishap in his plan, or was it that he couldn't really go through with it but still wanted to give everyone a good scare?
That's when I had a flashback. Gregory didn't stop and putz around after the incident. We didn't grab cocktails to commiserate about the economy. No, Gregory kept on running the second he hit the ground. My god, I WAS IN A SCANDAL.
I still believe that Gregory worked at Bank of Slumerica, but he was doing side business. Obviously drugs, and most likely prescription. He probably requested to work nights so that he could meet with his Mafioso dealers in a more private setting. But Gregory had a bad habit of not making his payments, and on this night, he knew it wasn't just going to be a finger that BIG SAL was going to take. Gregory goes through his whole day, sweating like Nomi Malone in....well every scene of Showgirls (I have to reference this movie at least once a month) and dreading the fact that at 11pm, Sal will come knocking at the back door and he still won't have the money. Sure he could take it from the safe, but he would surely get caught. And he would lose his selling grounds too. Maybe another boss could loan him a hit-man to take care of things, but then he would still be in debt. The only logical thing to do was run.
I think Gregory transferred a whole bunch of money into a private account and ran for the hills. I was his opportunity to get outside without anyone seeing him on the cameras. That way, Big Sal would come storming in, make the mistake of being seen, and be blamed for the murder of Gregory Blonski III. It was a perfect plan, and I was just the missing piece....that's what she said.
I mean, it could just be that a disease infested animal happened to cross my path at the most unfortunate time, but there is no fun in that.
LOVES AND STRUGGS
B DANN
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