I Stay Indoors All Summer

One summer evening, whilst Han and I were dating, I insisted that I would hop onto the subway and meet him near his work. After applying a fresh outfit and fresh Face, I wafted off to the station. 

I hate heat. I hate sweating. I make a point to moderate my body temperature in summer. I walked slowly into the station, figuring the air-conditioned train would arrive swiftly enough. 

It did. However, I had taken out my cell and texted, "Getting on train" to Han, at which point it slid out of my hand as I attempted to tuck it into my bag, sailed between the platform and the train, and vanished. 

Oh, #@*%. 

The train rumbled off, revealing my phone unharmed but tantalizingly out of reach near the tracks. I bolted upstairs to the manned desk, and as I waited impatiently in line, a pleasant Australian tourist of a wise age asked me some transportation questions. 

I answered her, belying my shot nerves, and confessed my stupid butterfinger goof-up. "I feel like such an idiot," I professed.

Her eyes focused in brisk teacher-mode. "We grow from our mistakes," she said firmly. 

At that point it was my turn on line, and the woman at the desk said she'd send the item retrieval crew to my platform. I bolted, with only a vague goodbye to my tourist. I was adorably naive, thinking the NYC subway system would immediately dispatch a crew to rescue a cell phone.

I proceeded to wait another 90 frantic minutes for my saviors.  

I take being on time very seriously, and couldn't get over Han would be waiting for me while I was trapped in the bowels of the earth. He's actually very, very chill (unlike me), but my internal programming was wigging out.  

As I waited, I sweated, the only relief as each train barreled through, providing some air movement. My Face and stamina rapidly melted as I shvitzed and wheezed. 

I eventually begged use of a phone from a lovely Chassidish lady. I didn't know Han's number by heart, so I called my sister-in-law who had it, bawling into the phone her and Han's very heimishe names to emphasize to the phone owner that I was one of her people (which I'm sure she knew. I'm really lame).  

The crew eventually arrived, after being sent to the wrong line first. They were really nice, not calling me all the names I was calling myself. I tried to tip them but they refused. 

I FINALLY boarded the train, sighing in delight as the a/c slapped me in the face. Then I chanted to myself Han's number until I had it memorized. (He still doesn't know mine. The cleaning store lady was very disapproving.) 

After I rehydrated and disinfected my phone, I wondered about the tourist's words. How did I grow from this mistake? Hmm. 

In the meantime: Maeve Higgins hates the summer too.