“Passengers: we are holding behind another train, and expect shhhhgrrrtttshhh.  At this time, geeeeshhhhhhhtttttt.  Thank you.”

I look up, as if squinting fiercely at the Metro handrails will help me better understand the train’s speaker system.  No, still no idea what was said.  I stick my hand into my oversize purse and start feeling around: old, slightly soft apple, tube of lip gloss, electricity bill, assorted dog hairs, and finally, mobile phone.  “Team – train delayed,” is how my email starts, until I realize we are between stations, and there isn’t any phone service.  I hit “send” anyway, hoping for another secret tech deal between Apple and frenemy Google, that will allow this email to be delivered.

Nothing to do now, but wait.  Maybe I can get caught up on the industry news, which is my euphemism for reading my horoscope and the advice column.  But I quickly realize that without my phone, I am disconnected from The New York Times, AdAge, and Oprah.com.  I think the electric bill had some inserts on saving energy, which would surely be interesting reading.

By the time, the train pulls into my station, I have missed my bus.  But I am not frazzled, for in America, there are always taxis.  And of course, there is a mandatory Whole Foods across the street, watching over all of us.

But today, there aren’t any taxis.  Because it is snowing.   And when it’s snowing in Washington, D.C., people morph into helpless one-year olds, incapable of navigating the streets on foot or driving themselves.  It’s a good business day for taxis.

I pace on the sidewalk; I hate being late to the office, even if all I will do upon arrival is forage for coffee.  Thankfully, a black taxi pulls up, with a gold emblem on its side.  It looks strangely familiar.  I open the door exactly as I realize my suspicion is true.

“Hi, it’s lovely to see you again,” the voice inside gushes.

“You still don’t take credit cards, right?”  I stammer.

I step back onto the curb, and close the door, as the color drains from my face.   How is it possible, in the land of plenty, to run into the exact same taxi driver who hit on you a few days earlier?  The one who found my people to be “so smart, so good, so beautiful, and so many software engineers.”

More importantly, is the question of the train system’s performance.  Why does the train get to sit on the platform several times a week – while I would receive an official warning from Human Resources if I decided to stop moving in the hallway, a few feet from my desk?

I quickly slide into the backseat of the yellow cab that pulls in a few minutes later.  Within ten minutes, I have arrived at the heavy glass doors of my office building.  Considering how the morning has started, proper nutrition suddenly seems important.  I stop into my office for the last packet of oatmeal from my snack cabinet, and head into the company kitchen.

Bowl, water, oatmeal.  I open the microwave with my left hand, and proceed to topple all three items onto my right hand.  The liquid starts overflowing onto the counter top.  Happy Monday!