There are times I feel quite sorry for myself because every week I have a workday that begins at 7 in the morning. That means I get up at 5, which means I have to go to bed at 9 if I want to get eight hours of sleep (which never, ever happens, because I'm addicted to "The Biggest Loser" and because I have insomnia every day of the week). It takes me just 15 minutes to get to work, but I need time to drink coffee, do the crossword and watch the dawn with my cats.
I've always felt morally upright for not whining about this workday more than I do. But yesterday (not the workday in question) I decided I couldn't stand my wisps of hair another moment and waited impatiently for Astor Hair to open so I could get them snipped. When I got to the door at 8, which according to the website was the opening hour, it was clear that Lenny, my haircutter, had been at work for quite a while. In fact, I had to wait for him to finish with a customer.
Lenny, it turns out, opens Astor at 4:30 a.m.—and works till 11 p.m.! AND he lives an hour away in Brooklyn. So if you back that up, and I did, it means he gets home at midnight, then leaves the house at 3:30 a.m. to get to work. Every day? I asked. Well, he demurred, once in a while he takes Mondays off so he can get stuff done. He loves the early morning because it's not so busy and he can watch free movies on his laptop, which he keeps at work. Aren't you exhausted? I asked. He shrugged. Not a drop of self-pity.