I have a 9AM meeting this morning and even though I'm running a trifle late (I'll probably get there only 15 minutes early rather than my usual 30) I decided to hop on a Limited Bus I saw waiting rather than get on the Black-Hole-of-Calcutta-like six train.
New York's 2nd and 3rd Avenues used to have elevated trains but they tore those down just before World War II, and for the last 70 years or so, Manhattan's Upper East Side, arguably the wealthiest conclave in the world, has been served by just one wheezing line of over-stretched mass transit.
This is due to change in two years or so when the 80-years-in-the-making Second Avenue Subway opens, but as we say in New York, I won't hold my breath.
In any event, I got onto an M101 heading downtown and found a single seat about two-thirds of the way back. Near me were three African-American girls, about fifteen-years-old I'd judge in all their teenage and Friday ebullience.
One young lady began singing.
"I don't want to go to school today.
I don't want to learn.
I don't want to go to school today.
I don't want to learn."
The other two girls erupted in laughter at this and began singing along. In my day, had I been as boisterous on a bus, my old lady would have whacked me in the head with a rolled up newspaper, but it's Friday and they were young and full of life.
In fact, I laughed along with them.
At one point, one of the girls made eye contact with me, as if to gauge my appreciation of their virtuosity. I spoke to her, one of those un-New York-like habits I have.
"I don't want to go to work, either," I said.
With that, they erupted into howls of laughter. For one brief shining moment, I was the King of Comedy. The Borscht Belt on Lexington Avenue.
The young women de-bussed at 79th, I presume to make their way to Robert F. Wagner school on 76th Street and I opened up my Mac to scribble this.
But let it herewith be reiterated:
I don't want to go to work today.