The Old and Homeless Hate Me

It’s only noon and already this has been a busy Friday. Around 9am I was hit by a car. While coming back from our little office café (Normandie—where Pete Sampras and his wife often have breakfast together) an elderly man in his late 100s took his foot off the brake right as I was crossing the street in front of him (in the crosswalk bitches). This happens; people get bumped, no big whoop. But this time he didn’t stop, he tried to mow me down, like a fucking hit man. With cat-like reflexes, I jumped onto the hood of his car and did a dive roll to safety. Senile-hit-man just kept rolling, confused and possibly rolling, until oncoming traffic had to stop and yell profanity at him. Some coffee was spilt. Later on, a nice homeless man, dressed in a white (formerly) shirt and black slacks walked into our office to request a key to the bathroom. We work in an adorable little office suite with shared (and locked) bathrooms—very freshman dorm situation. Well, the bathrooms are locked for a reason, mainly to prevent nice homeless men from moving in. At first we were confused about why he was asking us for the key—he wasn’t here to see anyone from our office. Then we caught the smell and it all clicked. All I could think about was that Will Smith movie where he’s a homeless Wall Street intern sleeping in the bathroom… because that was what was about to go down here. Eventually I made up a lie explaining that we didn’t have bathrooms in this building but that he should try Sotheby’s across the street. With candidates interview this afternoon, I can only imagine what the rest of the day will bring.