During the day today, I heard that there was a "Book of Condolence" at the British Consulate here in New York. So I decided to go sign it. Looking up the address online, I found that it was nowhere near work. Even so, I figured out which trains to take and went for it at the end of the day.
I hopped the L over to Union Square, then made my way to the 6 train to head north. Remember the poetry on the Statue of Liberty? "Give me... the wretched refuse of your teeming shore"? Well, if you're looking for them, they're on the 6 train. :)
After a lovely ride, I arrived at the station at Lexington and 51st, just a block or so from the consulate. I climbed the steps out of the station, opened my umbrella and walked over to the consulate. After an overly crowded, overly long time in the New York City subway system, I was happy to be arriving at my destination, intent upon paying my respects to the British people and expressing my condolences over the tragic deaths that occurred in London yesterday.
Interesting thing--the British Consulate doesn't have its own building. Instead, it's on the tenth floor of an office building on Third Avenue.
So I walked into the office building (in front of which there were a couple of New York City Police Officers) and went to the desk.
The man there said, "yes sir, how may I help you?"
Me: "I want to sign the condolence book at the British Consulate."
Him: "They're closed."
Me (truly surprised): "Closed? How can they be closed?"
Him: "They're open from 10 to 4."
Me: "Hmmm. Okay." (What was I going to say?)
So after hearing about this thing on the news, enduring a hot, nasty trip to get there, walking through the rain and then getting turned away, I was not a happy camper. Having been turned away by a consulate that apparently keeps banker's hours (aren't they supposed to be open in case I'm a British national in need of help?), I went to catch the E train to go to Penn Station where I was to meet Jeff. He's staying over and helping us again with stuff at the old house.
The E train was very crowded, which might have accounted for some greater-than-normal contact with the bodies of my fellow passengers. It was not, however, what accounted for what happened during that ride. The man next to me (tall, curly dark hair, hazel eyes) had his hand on the same pole I did. It didn't occur to me until later that it was my failure to pull my hand away when his hand (inadvertently?) slid down and touched mine that gave him the green light for what happened next.
His hand moved back up the pole and then his crotch made a very definite connection. He smiled at me and I, quite nervously, smiled back. After getting over my shock, it was quite a lovely thrill. Even when the crowd thinned out a little bit--certainly enough to put a few inches between us--he stayed there and rubbed into me.
I have my man to come home to, so I don't need a date, but it was still a fun several minutes. Now why didn't stuff like this happen when I was single? I was sure in better shape back then, but this happens now. People really are a mystery to me, but I'm not complaining! Oh, and my bad mood from the closed consulate was completely gone.
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