Getting to Work

Okay…not going to lie…after travelling around the world I got a little cocky and didn’t think that America would be too tough. But actually, I think that America is harder than the rest of the world. For example, Harvard St. and Cambridge St. are not synonymous to foreigners…but to me – oh my – I got all mixed up. And worse, I live on one of them. I just couldn’t remember which.

So adventure number one was me wandering around the city by myself trying to find my way to work. I decided to do it the night before my job actually started so I could time it out and plan the route for the morning. Smart choice. It took 17 minutes. I was expecting more like 7. But then again…I’m not sure that I can full out sprint a mile in 7 minutes anymore.

And then off to bed I went, complete with a warm glass of milk, the outfit for the next day laid out (jacket included) and teeth brushed. Gosh did I think I was becoming a responsible adult.

Thankfully, Mommy still called me in the morning, waking me up a good ten minutes after my alarm had started going off. Apparently the extra loud buzzing from my phone, indicating phone ringing and alarm ringing was what I needed to actually get out of bed…and see the rain outside.

In all my planned packing I had forgotten one important detail: it doesn’t actually snow in Boston in November. My new wool coat, bought for city life, would be useless in the rain. Even worse, as my first step on the sidewalk proved, it would take me a little more than seventeen minutes if I wanted to get to work all in one, non-fallen piece. And then my mind started wandering because, you see, I’m a writer at heart so with each person that walked by, I would try to come up with their life story, I wondered where they were hurrying to or from, if they were late, if the noticed me etc etc. But it’s the city you see…so there are A LOT of people hurrying past and if I think about all of them well…I get lost.

And suddenly I was on Galileo Galilei Way. Which was funny because you’d think that’d be a name I’d remember. But I didn’t. At all. So I was officially lost. I reached for my phone, hoping that I could call my Mommy (because being officially lost meant that I was officially no longer a grown up) and have her help me. When I realized that I had left my phone in my apartment.

It was right about then that I was about to just give up and quit the real world – after being there for a total of 12 hours – when I saw a bunch of chefs smoking on the street. This is a good sign because there’s a culinary arts school in my building. So I rushed towards them and sure enough they were standing right in front of the building entrance. And so I arrived…miraculously on time, soaking wet, and smelling of smoke.

I love first impressions.