DAY BY DAY BY DAY

Today, my boyfriend (we'll call him Miles) and I woke up late. I was supposed to go for a 6am walk with my neighbor and her dog and since he usually gets up to go around 5:30a- I'd have no trouble making this deadline.  I was lazily shocked when the clock read 7:01am. I was not so concerned. When I announced the time, Miles yawned. "Oh my god," he said drowsily. "Yeah," I acknowledged, turning over and pulling the sheets over my head.  I could hear the rain pounding on the top of the air conditioner in the living room/kitchen/den. Then it hit me. "Oh my god! Your car!" It was like I lit fire to the bed. He bolted up and dressed in yesterday's clothes and ran out the door without coming back for his usual kiss goodbye. "You know those ticket nazis," he said. Indeed I did and Miles was in a No Standing 7a-10a. No Standing would surely bring more revenue to the City than a simple No Parking. Even though Bloomberg supposedly put the "five minute grace period" into effect for parkers running a few minutes late, it's clear the rule is unofficial. These ticket givers (once referred to as " brownies" because they wore brown uniforms) look more like cops now (no guns, but blue uniforms and badges)and they have no flippin' mercy.
Miles moved fast. By 7:05am he called me from the street.
 "Thank god. I'm the only car left on the street, but somehow, I was spared." He got lucky. Reaaaaaaal lucky.
By the time I got out the door (after two moments of silence and forty minutes watching and listening as the victim's families named names- my god, they hadn't even gotten to the B's yet. So many lives lost), it was a little after 9:30am - just in time to witness another New York City parking phenom. People sitting in their cars (doing all kinds of things-reading the paper, talking on the phone, doing their nails, flossing) waiting for the "alternate side of the street parking" time to run out. On my street, the north side is No Parking Mon&Thu 9-10:30 while the south side is No Parking Tues&Fri 9-10:30. Since I live a block from where the street cleaning begins in the morning, the sweeper usually comes through at 9:05. No matter. At 9:06, people will park again and wait. And wait. And wait. Even though the street is clean, they must wait in their cars until 10:30am rolls around lest a ticket nazi comes by (and they always do) and give a ticket to the unattended car- just for the hell of it.

I walked past the line of people in their cars with a purpose. The morning was cool and wet and the breeze felt good. With great hope, I powered uphill and down five blocks to what I can only describe as one of the most hostile environments in the tri-state area: my neighborhood post office.

For 15 years I've been going to this place and each time my hope for peace, harmony and good service is proven a joke. It seems every day is like the week before Christmas there. The lines are always (always) long. Very long. And although there are ten windows set teasingly before us, only two of them (if you're lucky, three) are occupied with agents. Six times out of ten, as if on cue, when I walk through the door and see the line jammed back to the the post office boxes, one of the postal workers puts a sign in her window reading "Next Window Please." All I can do is laugh and kick myself for believing again that it would be different this time. I am a fool, I'll admit. But what are we if we don't have hope?

While the spiffy upper east siders protest and swear, arms in the air and shaking their heads in disgust, the postal worker, enjoying her power to torment the well-heeled upper-crusters, simply smiles and says with a smile..."On break."

Today, there were only ten people in front of me. Two postal workers were behind the counters, taking their time and walking away from their posts ( just to stir things up a little, I am convinced of this). But still, a new record was set. I was in and out in 20 minutes. Maybe, just maybe there is hope yet. I can't give up now, can I?