No Good Deed...

Monday, July 9

8:35am

North Station Subway Entrance

Monday mornings are hard enough without having to actually do anything or go anywhere.  I figure we could all use a little help, but on Mondays especially. 

As I came in the Station, one of the Metro distributors (not the one who regularly works in North Station) was heading to the escalators with two bundles of papers in his arms.  What with the number of people crowding the steps and the fact that it was Monday, it was about halfway down that the papers became overbalanced and fell to the stairs at Metro Man’s feet.  There was nothing for it but to wait until they, and he, got to the bottom of the escalator, then kick them all to safety—thus dislodging a number of papers from their yellow zip-ties and sending them fanning over the floor.  The people directly behind him start twisting sideways, avoiding actually stepping on the guy’s hands or tripping over the loose newsprint, but otherwise looking more than eager to get out of the way.

Having been on receiving end of Gravity’s wrath in the past, I get to the bottom of the stairs (stairs, because, as has just been proven, escalators are evil, vengeful creatures), and crouch down to help collect the papers.

“Did you need a paper, Miss?”  Not actually looking up, Metro man folds one of the loose papers and offers it to me.

“No!”  I said, maybe a little too loudly, “I waned to help you pick these up!”  I felt rather like an unintentional heel about everything until a rather bewildered smile broke out on his face.

“Oh…Oh!  Thank you!”  As if I’d actually done something that required much effort. 

So we scrabbled about scooping and stacking papers until I had most of the two bundles in my arms and somewhat smoothed out.  I tried to stand up and hand over the papers—only to realize that the pointy heel of my shoe was caught in my skirt.  My elastic-waisted skirt.  That is already a little too big.  And suddenly, my mother’s admonition to always wear clean underwear takes on a frightening urgency. 

“You ok?”  Metro Man asks, noticing my wobble, and no doubt wondering why I wasn’t actually handing over the papers and wincing in horror.

“Umm..yeah.”  I say, trying to balance a bag and a lunch box, along with two bundles of newspapers in my arms, on one foot, in three-inch heels, and remain upright and fully-clothed.  “My foot it stuck in my skirt, I think.  Maybe, if you…”

“Oh,” a voice behind me says, which I can just see belongs to Lady in a Blue Dress.  “Your heel is caught.  Here, let me help.” 

And just like that, my foot is free.  And I’m still clothed.  And Lady in a Blue Dress continues off, nothing more than a figure in my peripheral vision.  And for just a second, Monday is vanquished.  And it’s not all bad, after all.