Only 720 Calories!
This is how my day was supposed to go: 1. Wake up, miserable from the heat that accumulates in the room overnight, but still persistent with a positive attitude; 2. Receive a call from He-in, a good friend in London, so that I could orally sign a contract for a flat that we had arranged in June; 3. Go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art with my younger brother, Scotty, and enjoy our simple and relaxing day there.
The train derailed first thing. Well, not first thing: I did wake up in a stale sweat as expected. ‘MISSED CALL at 5:45 AM’ my phone read. Should have scraped all plans from then on out. Called He-in back to receive a flurry of “FUCKFUCKFUCK;” apparently our landlord bailed out on the day that we were to sign our contract.
Indulge me in a little flashback: back in June of this year, my two future flat mates found a fantastic flat right above a pharmacy, with brand new floors, bathroom, furniture, kitchenware, and the whole nine yards. Some quick negotiation of prices and the ink was dry (or so I thought). The landlord was (or at least, seemed eager) to have us as his renters, and was very accommodating to our needs. A little drama of how exactly we would split our rent, but we managed; we were all set for a fine little flat in Fulham, London – all we had to do was make some down payments and sign the contract before we move in.
A couple months later, there are 3 shelter-less college students, a failed contract, one flaky landlord, and a whole lot of panic. He-in and Harriet (the other flat mate) fervently went on the prowl for a property, calling me and texting me (Lord knows what the phone bill will be for numerous international texts and calls).
I do what I can to help out, but 3000 miles of ocean doesn’t make it easy. It’s alright though, a nice day at the MET still awaits, just got to take a shower and go.
Water is out.
Okay, no shower.
Scotty and I still braved the sticky heat to voyage to the MET. An hour and an awkward bus ride next to a rather large, unkempt, black fellow (who smelled DISTINCTLY of dogs and cats who have rolled in their urine and feces for days) later, we were at the locked doors of the MET. Yup, that’s right people, the MET is closed on Mondays, — so the next time you decide to journey to the other side of a city, be sure to check the opening times.
Rather than wail and scream at the steps of the MET, we walked around in Central Park (which left me feeling rather physically-challenged, due to the plethora of runners) and then ventured down 5th Ave to Empire State building just to say that we have eaten at the Chipotle at the base. That was a success, sort of: the line was incredibly long, leading me to believe that the entire Empire State building must have vacated into the small Mexican grill for lunch – but we managed. Chipotle now lists all their calories on their menu, so now I can proudly say that I only consume 720 calories there, rather than the 1000+ my cousin had lead me to believe. The day went a little smoother then on out with a rather long and hot, yet relaxing stroll up 5th Avenue – though I was bummed to find out that not only had my coupon to the GAP had expired, but the only other shop that I was looking forward, Express, had completely disappeared on me.
Though still flat-less (but showered), I am still sane, and, shockingly enough, content after winding down the day with a well-deserved True Blood episode. Hopefully the second trek to the MET goes as planned tommorrow, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll go to sleep with a place to live in London.
