The Commute

The alarm buzzes. I swat at it till it stops. I swat about for my glasses. I swat the sleepy goo out of my eyes. Then, warm in my sheets, I say to myself, I won't go to work today, I'll call in sick today, don't I feel bad anyways, I just woke up with the sun blaring in my face and the alarm cheerlesssly chirping.
I roll over.
The alarm buzzes.
I get up.

I'm so happy I laid out a dress last night so I don't have to make any last-minute wardrobe decisions. It's so nice how easily a dress just gets pulled over your head and that's it. I brush my teeth, throw on some deodorant, and luckily don't have to re-straighten my hair this morning, so I leave on time.

I can walk east to the green line. Men throw these stupid loving faces in my direction, the ones where it looks like half their face has melted downwards. The polite ones greet me with a buen dia. The majority say holalindahermosabonitahuachitasenoritamericablanquita or, perplexingly, negrita.

The metro is stuffy. I walk down to the far end of the platform to try and push my way into the packed car. An old woman cuts me and there is no more room. I must wait for the next train.

Grr.

Packed car, arm in face, shoved about, pushed out, climb stairs, take escalator, cross bridge, descend stairs, packed car, arm in face, face in face, sit down, scamper out at Estacion Central, packed staircase, swing my backpack to my front to avoid getting pickpocketed, up stairs, up more stairs, up more stairs, packed Estacion Central, dodging slow walkers, dodging baby strollers, dodging men offering me cell phones, dodging men just offering, up escalator, run to bus, bus pulling away, jump for bus door, hang half out half in the door as the conductor simultaneously whizzes us around the curve and hands me a ticket, swung by the bus into the nearest seat.

Close eyes.

Annoying bus-riding clown tells jokes, pokes me awake so I can give him change.

Close eyes.

Get off, up stairs, cross bridge, down stairs, say hi to security men, even the cute shy one who won't let me leave until he comes to give me a kiss on the cheek, up four flights of stairs, and all I want is a cup. of. coffee.

Cesar greets me at Coordinacion Docente. I've been working on conditional "if" clauses in my English classes, and so have decided to try to remember them in Spanish. I try one out on sleepy, unassuming Cesar:

Si tu polola cocina para ti, y no te gusta la cosa, que le dirias?

Que tengo dolor de estomago. He gives me a shy smirk.

En SERIO, Cesar.

Que igual es rico, y que me lo agradezco, he says, and I nod in approval.

Boletas para el cafe? I smile hopefully.

No todavia, chica. Thwarted out of a free coffee, I reach into my bag for a packet of Nescafe and my mug. I brew the delicious sugary stuff using the hot water from the bubbler.

I give my students fifteen minutes of written exercises on the board. It takes them twenty.

This is the best part: pure silence as I sip my mokaccino and begin my day.