The Hoarse Whisperer

We've all heard of Murphy's Law, but I'm pretty sure it was incorrectly named. I know a Murphy. He's got ok luck. I, on the other hand, do not. Take a stroll through my day and see if you would sign a petition to rename Murphy's Law after me.

7:30 pm last night: It's snowing! Now that I am inside, I have a child-like hope that the night will bring lots of snow and that impossible dream--a snow day for NYC public schools.

8:00 pm last night: the rain starts. Good-bye snow day.

5:30 am: Wake up intent on preserving my voice, which I lost alarmingly on Monday. It hasn't been back since. Fortunately, nobody on the planet is awake yet, so I have nobody to talk to as I drag myself to the shower, semi-aware of the intense rainstorm hitting my bedroom window.

6:30 am: My mental grumblings (because I'm attempting to save my vocal cords) about the mayor begin. It's raining really, really hard. Also, there is still snow and ice on the ground. Not ideal conditions to be trudging through in the dark when you're sick and it's cold. Sure, Bloomberg professes his "man of the people-ness" by taking the subway to work with us working folk, but I bet he's not walking from 1st to Lexington carting a tote bag full of mediocre essays and hot tea.

7:35 am: It's on, Bloomberg. How many times do you ride the subway to the projects? Next time you don't call a snow day, you can walk with me to work. Trust me, the walk from the York St. stop through the Farragut Housing Projects is decidedly un-plowed/shoveled/salted. The rain only adds to the appeal of walking through slush, as the slush is, in fact, floating on top of 2-3 inches of rainwater along my path to work. My waterproof boots are soaked through and already my feet are wet. How about you bring a little public school slush to your mayorial shoes/suit/coat? Or maybe consider moving City Hall to the Navy Yards?

8:30 am: Nope. No voice. The first of 3 meetings serves as the setting in which I realize I cannot, in fact, even make noise. It's not just that I can't speak, I can't form any sounds. I feel 1 part paranoia, 2 parts awkwardness for being the only person at the meeting (out of the total of 5 of us) who said absolutely nothing.

9:28 am: It's really annoying to sit in a meeting during which you have comments, totally unable to speak. What makes that better? Teaching 60 kids over the next two hours, totally unable to speak.

11:34 am: Okay. So that was kind of awesome. Kids can be so nice to you when it appears that you may be dying from an illness. I worked it OUT with my non-voice, and let the kids run a class all about communism (in an organized way, guided by my super-high tech smart board). I think they might have been more productive today than they have been all year long. Equally productive according to their needs and abilities, obviously.

11: 45 am: Am forced to deal with the fact that I should probably reschedule my night of catching up and sampling tasty wines with two of my favorite new york people, seeing as I can't catch up (aka "speak") and probably wouldn't be aided in my quest for a working voice with wine. They are understanding. I feel grateful and slightly terrible as we have rescheduled catching up probably 10 times in the past 18 months. FYI: I am a terrible friend.

1:30 pm: Time to lead the 11th grade meeting. After about 90 minutes of not teaching, and therefore, not speaking, I have the husky speech of a woman seriously sick. It is deemed "sexier than Scarlett Johansson" by the one male on the 11th grade team. Color me awkward.

1:40 pm: The husky sexpot voice is gone for good. Someone's taking a sick day Thursday.

1:41 pm: Check my messages. I have to be home by 5:30 to show the super the leak in the bathroom that apparently made itself evident during this morning's little monsoon.

4:30 pm: Why am I still at school? I talked (stupidly) through 3 hours of meetings and am now attempting to pull together materials for tomorrow.

4:34 pm: The general annoyance of putting together materials that you have a suspicion may not get done tomorrow turns to the cold sweat of fear when I realize I cannot login to the website to request a sub for tomorrow's class. I would call the help line...but I can't actually speak to anyone. Hmm.

4:45 pm: Let's set aside the panic of the sub-mess to get my lessons set for tomorrow. Why can't I just leave pages for kids to do in the textbook? Because I only have 14 textbooks and each class (4 of them) has about twice as many kids. And these kids didn't learn to share in kindergarten. Sigh.

5:00 pm: Time to make the copies. WHAT?! the copier is out of paper and there is literally NONE to be found? Why don't I freak out really loudly? Oh wait, why don't I freak out really silently but equally freakishly. I realize there is another teacher in the room. Awkward. Why don't I go find some paper...in another borough?

5:15 pm: Okay, so I made the copies, why don't i freak out again about not being able to request a sub? What's with these websites that force you to use a pin, but then have no tool to help you recall the pin you made up on the spot and didn't write down? Why don't I try every pin I've ever used in my life 18 times and realize that I still have NO idea what my pin is? Thanks.

5:15 pm: Realize that it takes 1 hour (read: not 15 minutes) to get from Brooklyn to home. I suppose I should call the super...with my awesomely husky voice...to beg him to come later. Only, when I dial and he answers, I open my mouth to speak, and nothing but cracking bleats emerge. Mortified, I speak from my diaphragm like a real opera star, to bark out my request. I don't think he really understands me, but he says he'll be there at 6:30. I am exhausted.

5:25 pm: Attempt to go home #1. Make the fatal mistake of saying goodbye to a colleague that I actually like talking to.

5:30 pm: Still talking to said colleague. Another one joins in. Outlook not good for Operation Get home by 6:30.

5:30-5:55 pm: Several, futile attempts made at exiting the conversation, none made easier by the fact that I still don't really have the ability to use my voice. Finally at 5:55, I force myself to walk down the hall.

6:10 pm: at the train station, 1 train passes by the station without stopping. because why stop when you don't have to train?

6:14 pm: get on the proper train. It dutifully treks to Manhattan, but encounters several unnecessary "we are being held momentarily while another train is in the station" moments.

6:42 pm: emerge at my stop only to realize that in my tired, silent, bad-lucked stupor, I got on the wrong end of the train and have to walk ALL THE WAY down to get out of the station. sigh.

6:45 pm: call my dad to check and see if my voice is working enough to then call the super and beg him not to leave the building before I get there. My dad can't really understand everything I'm saying. Not a good sign. I attempt the call anyway, the super will wait.

6:55 pm: The super meets me and we attempt to find the leak in the apartment. We finally see it. Apparently it will require the handiwork of a "roofer." I bet roofers didn't have to go to work today...

7:00 pm: How is it already 7pm?