Lightbulbs, But No New Ideas

When I flipped on the bathroom light switch at 5:30 on Wednesday morning, I heard the tiniest tink above me, and found myself standing in darkness. For some reason I continued standing there, flipping the switch a few more times, you know, just to make sure. Then I slowly headed for the kitchen.

No fucking way to start the day, I thought, as I carefully felt my way through the doorway that had nearly removed a little toe the previous weekend, then around to the shelf where I kept the lightbulbs, hoping I still had a few left. I did.

I carried them back into the bathroom and pulled one from the corrugated cardboard slipcase, praying it wouldn't explode in my hand.

Changing lightbulbs in the bathroom is always a tricky and death-defying bit of business. I'm not tall enough to simply reach up and unscrew the dead bulb from the fixture, so instead I have to pull myself up on the edge of the bathtub in such a way that I don't yank the shower curtain rod down (and that I don't die). Then, balanced precariously up there, I need to unscrew the spent bulb, replace it with a new one, then lower myself back to the relative safety of the bathroom floor without dropping anything (or dying).

Complicating matters that morning was the fact that both bulbs had blown out at the same time. Usually I had at least the dim light from one bulb to work with. This time I had to do everything by touch.

I stepped into the tub first to give myself a few extra inches and found myself standing in a puddle. No matter, I figured. How well could porcelain conduct electricity? I hoisted myself up to the edge of the tub and felt for the first lightbulb.

No fucking way to start the day.

Once it was out, I was confronted with the problem of finding the socket again in the dark. I'd have to move slowly. As luck would have it, my now-damp feet clung to the porcelain rather securely, so slipping wasn't as much of a concern as it usually is.

If I were a smarter man, I'd probably do things differently. Put on the pair of rubber gloves that were in the scrub bucket right there next to the tub, for instance. Or use a chair. Maybe even a flashlight in cases like this.

But I guess I'm not a smarter man.

Three mild shocks later (still maintaining my damp footing throughout!), the first bulb was in. That made the second bulb a snap, and I was able to lower myself once again in a bright room (having neglected to turn the switch off before I started all this nonsense) without stepping into a field of glass shards.

Regardless of this glorious victory, I went about my business with the quiet suspicion that the day was already going in a southerly direction.

The rain outside was coming down hard, and the wind was cold. It was 6:35 when I left the apartment, which is later than I would've liked. Being obsessive about a few small things in this world, I knew that I had a five-minute window of opportunity to catch a train that wouldn't be packed. If I missed that window, I was screwed until at least 10 o'clock. The window passed as I turned the corner, with still a long block in front of me before I even reached the station.

I sighed a lot?and ruefully?during the trip into Manhattan. Here we go.

As I trudged up the stairs at 23rd St., the first thing I heard was the wind and the still-falling rain, followed by the ka-chink fwump of a hundred umbrellas being opened, followed by the sirens. Lots and lots of sirens.

Aw hell, I thought, what now?

As I reached the top of the stairs, I saw them?dozens of them?police cars, EMS vehicles, fire trucks?all heading north on 6th Ave., all their lights flashing and sirens wailing.

The reaction was immediate and reflexive. I've been reasonably calm, I think, these past months?not giving in to the enforced paranoia that seems to be expected of us. Yet here, confronted with 30 or 40 emergency vehicles all going in the same direction together, my first thought was, "Oh man, they hit the Empire State Bldg." Now that would really piss me off.

I strained my eyes to the north, but with the buildings and the rain and the fog I couldn't tell if it was still standing or not. I didn't see any massive clouds of dust and smoke. That was a good sign, I suppose. I looked at the people around me. They seemed pretty calm too. Not screaming, not staring, not crying or running about the way they had been that last time. They were simply going about their business, heading for offices and trains and delis and newsstands, not paying the least bit of attention to this mass of squad cars streaming past them.

Still, though, I felt in my guts that something was going on, that something bad had happened. My pace quickened as I made my way to the office, head down against the rain.

Nope, nobody else seemed concerned about this at all. Maybe they simply hadn't heard anything yet.

Damn that John Prine and those catchy country tunes of his! If I'd been listening to the news instead of one of his musical record albums before I left the apartment, I might very well have known what the deal was now. Maybe I would've known enough not to go into Manhattan. I get so frustrated not knowing things sometimes.

I got my coffee, went upstairs and turned the computer on. A moment later, I was scanning the news wires?any wires I could think of. I avoided newspapers?they wouldn't be any help right now. I needed something immediate. I reminded myself again that I should get a small radio and keep it on my desk.

There was nothing I could find. Nothing at all.

Maybe it's too soon, I thought. Maybe it just happened, whatever it was. So recently that it's not been reported anywhere yet. But as the minutes, then the hours, passed, nothing came up. Nothing that would have generated a response like that, anyway.

Then I began to think back on the scene. Yes, there were a lot of them, and yes, their sirens were blaring and their lights were flashing, but they just didn't seem to be in that big of a hurry. Maybe it was a funeral. But at 7:15? Hell if I know how these things work.

After a while the scene faded, and I all but forgot about it. Then the phone started to ring with calls from people I mostly didn't want to hear from, and the e-mail system kept delivering messages that were rude, abrupt, accusatory, demanding and rejecting. Outside, the rain continued to fall.

It was still falling several hours later when I finally left the office and headed toward Morgan's place. Beginning at 5:30 that morning, the day had effectively erased any hints of a good mood I might've clung to in desperation.

Those earliest portents are always accurate.