Could My Life Be Any Worse?

Could My Life Be Any Worse? thumbnail
By Guest Contributor
Published: February 1, 2009

By Chas Morris

I’m having a really shitty day. I go to pick up my dry cleaning today and the stupid dry cleaners mis-pressed my brand new Hickey Freeman black striped super 120s wool 2-button suit. I tell the person that if I wanted my suit to be pressed like it were a 3-button, I would have brought my Gucci navy lambswool 3-button. But I didn’t. I brought in my Hickey Freeman black striped super 120s wool 2-button suit and now it isn’t even suitable to donate to one of those “consignment” boutiques.

All of this, and it isn’t even 10am.

I need a drink. Badly. I go to my second favorite lounge, the Vespa Quart on E. 47th and order a Square One Organic Vodka and Diet Club soda. I ask the new bartender to heat it up, because I hate cold vodka. He gives me a puzzled look, and asks if room temperature was okay. I almost rupture a vein. First my 2-button, and now an inept bartender?

No day can get shittier than this.

As I near my apartment, I realize that I am in one of those taxis that has not yet installed the credit card machine, so I am forced to ask the taxi driver to take me to the nearest ATM machine so I can pay him. Seeing as how the last time I used an ATM was during my youthful years at Yale, I had no idea how far the nearest ATM was from my apartment. He drives me all the way to 8th Ave. and W. 42nd St., where I withdraw 200 dollars. I do not ask for a receipt, but if gives me one anyway. I hate ATM machines.

I return to my apartment, only to discover that the entire place smells like old eggs. I call the super, some guy named “Gus,” I think, and get his answering machine. I tell him my place smells like that God-awful Thai stand in Chelsea and that he needs to get somebody up here to get rid of the smell before it embeds itself on all my precious belongings.

Unable to handle the stench, I take the elevator to the lobby, then I exit the building and I go for a walk. Fifteen minutes into my rather mediocre stroll, I am almost taken out by a line of speeding fire trucks. Just because somebody’s apartment is burning down is no excuse to almost kick up mud from a mud puddle onto my new Zegna suede jacket.

Thank God I can afford a new Zegna suede jacket, though.