The commute to work is the best time of the day. why? Well because it has to be. The moment tommy’s voice is yackin in my ear on his minute radio stint, it gets me pumped about Sunday’s game. As I lather up in the shower, I gaze out the window at what I just learned is the tallest building in the States, our pretty Sears Tower. Hmm, which black suite shall I wear today? Ann Klein or Tahari? Running out the door ten minutes behind schedule, I dig for my phone buried in the covers from late night texting and grab two two many totes in which I deem necessary for the commute, kiss monty and grab an apple, apologizing that he has to eat dry food but only until we are clear of our economic crisis. The B-U-S comes cruisin’ down LaSalle with what seem like less and less people each morning (where are they all going)…and here comes a quick prayer for a seat. YES! I see one, towards the back and past the “tilt’a’whirl” less than desirable middle seats where any sudden movement will get you car-sick….or uh...bus-sick that is. I-Pod in and Day Tripper by the Beatles on repeat goes on. The temptation to read emails on the blackberry is a consideration but after reading some “self help” book, by a shrink, she recommended NOT doing so, something about ruining your day even before you get into the office. So I pull out a book that is long over due to be finished and with a slight sense of A.D.D. and the strong curiosity of the people around me, get the better of me and I realize it’s a lost cause, so I put the book back in my many-a-totes and my bookmark will remain in chapter 2 once again. Bing! The mystery man speaks overhead to tell me that we are at Madison stop and we in fact will not run into the Board of Trade Building located smack dab in the middle of the street only one short block away. Day Tripper is on it’s third run and I switch to my “cruise” music, usually Britney Spears, “Gimme More” or Donna Summer, Hot Stuff. Now begins the three blocks walk which is the most fun part of the day. Don’t ask me why. Maybe it’s the quick detour to mcgriddleland in which two are purchased along with coffee and a container of milk. Three minutes later I continue down the path to the old PH (home), a man raises a flag above head and the sunrise peaks through the buildings, just enough for my sunglasses to look appropriate, and I wish for a quick second that my toes could handle this commute in 4 inch heals, just so I could play the chick off Devil Wears Prada with my coffee and blackberry in hand in high heels walking downtown frantically to a job I’m suppose to hate. Well let’s revise to the real world version. McDonald’s coffee not starbucks, and Puma tennies not Prada stilettos, and my hand bag is probably Marc by Marc Jacobs not a actually Marc Jacobs. But that’s ok because I really do like my job and for that, I’ll take the real world version. Time for one more song and I choose Daft Punk, One More Time because it makes me smile. Memories of my sister and I listening to them as kids pop into my head and in recent years it turned into my friend’s favorite band so new memories are formed. I arrive in the elevator and I’m by myself. I can’t help but adjust myself in the present mirror behind me and a quick urge to start dancing comes over me….quick, I tell myself, your office is only on the 2nd floor. I smile and realize if I had heels on, I could not dance up and down for fear of an ankle shatter, so I pull out a few moves in my pumas and careful not to spill the coffee. I gain composure and walk into the office sharing a bit of small talk with our Russian receptionist all the while realizing I forgot my pantyhose and I am meeting clients in fifteen minutes. Happy Friday bitches.
