The Argument in Favor of Having A Bad Week

A few weeks ago I had a bad week.

Now, I’ve had a few “bad weeks” before (like in November 2013 when my ex roommates at the time told me I had to move out and find a new place in a few weeks, after having just assembled my brand new IKEA furniture), but this was a real, bad week.

One Tuesday night I had skipped the gym and had dinner with a friend. I hadn’t been feeling good for a few days, so after we paid the check, I quickly left and headed home. It was about 9:30 p.m. (watching Law and Order SVU and listening to Serial makes you acutely aware of your timing / surroundings, TRUST ME) and I was walking home at the usual time I typically head home from the gym at. Except, I could feel someone following me. This is typical, however, since a lot of people live in my area / apartment complex, so nothing at the time was particularly alarming. I decided just to be hyper-vigilant about it and made sure I had my keys in hand.

I finally turned into my building and noticed someone still following me. I entered the security door, and the person pushed their way through, off of my card scan. Fine. Residents do this a lot, and besides I thought this person was a delivery man. It was still off to me and had felt weird, so I slowed down and avoided walking to my apartment door and checked my mail instead. The guy still stood there. I started to get really nervous, hoping someone would walk in, or he would leave… whichever. And then I went into panic mode. At the time I had two options, I thought. I could go into the elevator and go to the next floor up, or I could walk the next floor up in the closed off staircase. The latter seemed sketchier, so I opted to take the elevator. In retrospect, I should have left the building and walked outside… I know. I got into the elevator and so did he. He pushed me against the wall, trying to grab at me. Thank god I had pressed the next level up, and the elevator had stopped. I kicked him (rather, I knee-d him in the crotch), and he ran out and past other residents on the floor who came and helped me / called security and the police.

One elderly lady who was waiting for said elevator said called me “bold”. To be honest, I wasn’t too shaken up, so I was able to laugh it off with her. However, in retrospect, I think her calling me “bold” was more of her saying that trying to fight him was just really “stupid”. What scared me, and still scares me, are all of the what-ifs. I will say that I felt as prepared as ever when I had to give statements and look at security tapes of the local security as well as the NYPD. I know it sounds insane, but watching Law and Order: SVU reruns does a lot to you.

Needless to say, that was the highlight of my week. However, it didn’t end there.

That Friday – so only three days after the assault – I got a call from my bank wanting to verify a few purchases. “Did you spend $3000 in Prada, Soho this afternoon?” I laughed, but said, no I didn’t. “What about $7000 in Fendi?” Nope. “and $5000 in Moncler Soho?” No. It was apparent someone had somehow stolen my credit card information and went on a Soho shopping spree. My bank knew me well enough, apparently, to know that wasn’t my M.O. What was even more intrusive, than maybe even the assault was, was the fact that I had my card in hand, and someone had stolen the information somehow, without me knowing.

So there I was, having been attacked in an elevator a few days ago, a credit card fraud victim… so I did what most people would do. Passed out with a bottle of wine.

Sunday afternoon rolls around. My roommate is knocking on my door, trying to wake me up to show my room to a potential Craigslister that may be interested in subletting. Its 2 p.m. and I am only wearing a towel. I’m confused. “Do you really want to know what you did last night?” he asks. No, but I obliged because, of course. Apparently, the week caught up to me and my Saturday night drinking, with my favorite bar and bartender involved, got crazy. That night I apparently had walked into my male roommates bedroom in my intimates, where he and his girlfriend were sleeping, rearranged his bedroom furniture, slept on his floor, then woke up and toppled his book cases over. Terrifying.

But alas, it being Sunday, my wretched, hellish week finally came to an end. But then later my Fantasy football team lost, thus knocking us out of playoffs.

You can bet that I’ll be thinking twice, no… thrice if I ever mutter the words “this is a bad week” again.

Times like these really put things in perspective and make you think, is it REALLY  THAT bad?!


Could be worse. Am I right?


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