This evening, whilst engrossed in a particularly challenging session of my hip-hop dance class[1], my fellow classmates and I were hastily interrupted by a harried Palladium gym keeper who spastically sputtered at us to evacuate the building poste haste.

Out I trotted, clad only in a tank top and sweatpants, and saddened by the fact that I was breaking one of my personal rules of stylistic responsibility…namely, to never exit the building in which I reside clad in sweatpants that are not of designer make.
Despite aforementioned upset, I emerged onto the street, along with the rest of Palladium, all of us wondering exactly what had caused our immediate expulsion from our beloved building.
Just as I was begining to feel cold and worried, my good fortune brought out onto Thirteenth Street my radiant roommate.

Reunited, we quickly deduced that the aforementioned “to do” was the result of a large chunk of steel that had fallen from a crane in our “backyard” (third avenue) landing on a taxi cab and squashing it. Thank the Lordy nobody was seriously injured but the debacle has left us with one rather unstable crane now threatening collapse.

Not knowing how long we would be out in the cold (and today really was quite cold) Richa and I decided to make the most of our evacuated hours and promptly resolved to do what any self respecting New York women would do in such a situation. That’s right, we persevered despite my unfortunate attire, the various blockaded streets, and the freezing cold and set out for our neighborhood nail salon.
An hour and a half later, with tips tinted pink and velvet red respectively (I shall leave it to the reader to wonder who chose the bottle labeled “bubblegum” and who picked “red wine”) we emerged onto the street.
I about blew a gasket when we found ourselves unable still to enter our home. Again, Richa and I did what us Manhattan mavens do in the face of adversity; we went to coffee.
When we were finally allowed back into our humble abode, we collapsed, exhausted after hours of upset and evacuation drama.
The crane still stands, five hours later, and the inhabitants of coral towers are homeless still, sleeping on cots in our basement. Outside my window are various and sundry fire trucks, police cars and what looks like official vehicles with reels of wire and ladder affixed to their backsides.
And here I sit, tapping away on my dilapidated keyboard, grateful for my cozy bedroom, my roommate and my pretty pink fingertips…in case you couldn’t guess that the pink ones were mine.

[1] Yes, I take hip hop dance because I am a fabulous and oh so cool skinny white chick