This morning I had to tell a police offer, “SHE STOLE MY SWIPE!”

Want the story?

Ok.

I was late for work. The subway station I enter doesn’t have a booth with a metro worker (i..e no one to help you) or a regular turn-style. It has one of this scary cheese-grater type entrances like this:

So the person in front of me was having trouble swiping her card. I didn’t wait long enough for her to swipe again (late for work) so when I swiped mine, it let her through and barred me from entering. I have a monthly card so I’d have had to wait 15 more minutes for my card to clear before I could use it again and actually get onto the subway.

Luckily, there was a police man walking away. This is one of those few occasions I was happy to see a cop.

I ran up to the grate and realized that I didn’t quite no what to say. She hadn’t stolen my card, per say, so in my saddest voice I tried to get the cop to turn around and help, “That lady accidentally stole my swipe and now I can’t get on the subway!” He gave me a look that was something like I-Never-Thought-These-Would-Be-The-Sort-of-Favors-I-Would-
Spend-My-Days-Granting,

and then he let me through.

***

Ok, there is a reason I don’t write memoir.

Oops, too late!

Cohen titles every post on her blog with a different almost-plausible name of a small press:

On the Lam and Eating Pie Press

When I Try and Turn Off My Phone It Calls My Dad’s Doctor Press

My Press Will Increase Your Adoring Fans Press

You get the idea.  If you live in New York City, $650 Apartment for $650 is pretty much the best place to get daily information on poetry readings and other nifty arts&culture stuff.