How could that be, you ask? It is because if you select just the right combination of bullshit, stir it up, and stick it in my gob, my long term memory purges one or more pieces of critical data. Once, is was my phone number* and another time it was my social security number**. This week, it is the pin code to my ATM card. I have not been able to remember it since Friday.
Most places that take credit cards can just run a Visa-debit card through as if it is a credit card. It gets kind of embarrassing, however, when you are charging a cup of coffee for $1.35. But at 2:20pm, with a persistent hangover and a head full of horror and a mouth full of cotton, you just push the card across the counter - and though the Boricua kid who swipes your card mutters to his Dominican friend, "yo, she just ghetto" - you are grateful that you are not toothless and living under a bridge somewhere. After all, some people only wish they could be so ghetto as to have an ATM card in the first place. You know all too well that in a year or two, you could be one of them.
I was in this condition when I staggered up the block and received the mandate to be at Penn Station by 3:13pm. This presented two problems: 1) my aforementioned cashlessness and 2) that fact that I live in midtown EAST, as in six entire avenues*** from Penn Station. I concluded that the only way to make that train was to take a taxi - the only thing I could NOT do with no cash.
I was giggling (and also wetting my pants just a little ) when I looked down and saw this:
right there between the planter and the curb. I looked around. With no on sight, I had to assume that in a city of millions, this bill had been lying there unnoticed for less than half a nano-second. I picked it up and hailed a cab, which cost $10. I bought a round trip ticket to Nicetown, NJ, for $9.50. Problem solved.
Once I arrived at my brother's house, there was a bit more emotionalism than I will describe. By morning, I realized that it might be wise to request support for the next 30 days - in the form of pharmicuticals. So what did I do? I called my doctor**** who left a scrip for me at the front desk, which I picked up today. Problem was, though, that I left my bag at my brother's house, so when I went to get the magical drug, I had no money and no ATM card. Nothing, in fact. I was about to tear the universe a new ass hole. Seriousy. Then I looked down and saw this:
righ there on the FLOOR of the pharmacy, in front of the cash register. Folded in half, right there on the shmutzy tile.
I guess I don't need to tell you that the copay was. I am pretty sure you know.
* that would be when my mom was dying.
** that would be when I lost my job and wrecked my car and lost my wallet - all on the same day.
*** approximate travel time across town:
train: 40 minutes.
foot: 40 minutes.
helicopter: 45 minutes.
limo: 90 minutes.
taxi: 37 minutes.
**** if you ever want prescription drugs, call you doctor and tell her your dad has less than a month to live and that he doesn't want to see you EVER AGAIN. Then listen for the sound of her pen scratching out orders for controlled substances.
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