Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

Midtown East Heretofore, I haven't really documented my personal 9/11 experience. Which also includes my 9/13 experience. I haven't done so mainly because in the grand scheme of things, it's pretty damn insubstantial.  This said, in the past few weeks I've been in more than one conversation where we all shared our 9/11 memories and despite the fact that mine is, as stated previously, of little relative consequence, it was harrowing at the time and mostly about an incident that isn't discussed much.  But before I launch into my little tale that's all about me, let me briefly review Tom's day. On the morning of 9/11, Tom was in Newark airport boarding a flight to Chicago. He was with his boss headed to a business meeting. The gate he left from was literally right next to the gate the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania departed from.  When Tom and his boss's plane touched down in Chicago, they walked into O'Hare and were confronted with TVs everywhere b

I don't know what exactly the Met employee was doing back there at her workstation. Besides waiting for something young and tender to wander by. Natch. Someone's work station at the Met tucked under the stairwell behind a sign The time before this last time we were at the Met, it was during business hours. Some woman in a blazer was working away at that desk back there. She had her laptop out and the keys were clacking something fierce. She occasionally paused and took a casual squirt from the giant bottle of hand sanitizer. Who was she? What kind of Met worker gets assigned the cubicle in the cupboard under the stairs up to the Japanese Art section?  I did not approach the subject in question; therefore we have no actual data to work from.  As such, left to my own devices, I'm going to speculate that this particular Met worker enjoys poetry readings in the basements of churches. Pre-pandemic, I mean. These days, she's up to big time stuff like getting up at 6:45 every