Hurricane Henn Blew into Town, Part II

If you’re wondering about the wreckage from Hurricane Henn, consider how my Sunday morning started off.

Recovering from the previous night and our bar-hoping jaunt through New York City, I stumbled out of bed around 10 am, which wouldn’t have been so bad except that it was actually 9 am in body clock time. It was Daylight’s Savings that weekend, so we lost an hour, and as I’m sure you know after a hard night beering it up, that extra hour is vital to recovery.

Thankfully I didn’t have If you’re wondering about the wreckage from Hurricane Henn, consider how my Sunday morning started off.

Recovering from the previous night and our bar-hoping jaunt through New York City, I stumbled out of bed around 10 am, which wouldn’t have been so bad except that it was actually 9 am in body clock time. It was Daylight’s Savings that weekend, so we lost an hour, and as I’m sure you know after a hard night beering it up, that extra hour is vital to recovery.

Thankfully I didn’t have a hangover, but I was pretty wiped out, and, because of that nasty fall I took on the subway platform, my hip and elbow were pretty darn sore. And then I went into the bathroom and, expecting to see the obvious effects of the night on my face–powdered skin, black rings under my eyes–I also noticed that my face was, well, a mess.

I don’t know if it was an allergic reaction from something I ate, or some skank bar bathroom soap I washed with, but my face from my forehead to under my eyes was puffy and covered in red blotches. I still have no idea what it was. And on top of it looking like I had the Ebola virus, it ached. So, yeah … I had that going for me.

Ah-ha, but the fun continued.

That day Liz and I had to head out to Queens to pick up my grandmother, as my family was taking her out to lunch to celebrate her 88th birthday. Normally, Liz and I park our car in the lot across the street, but since Rich was coming into town we parked the car on the street, letting him park in our spot in the lot. We’ve done this before.

Only this time, when we went down around noon, we noticed that we’d been hit with a $65 ticket! Turns out that our registration expired–at midnight the night before–and by 9 am–on a Sunday–they already nailed us. What’s worse is that Liz and I had the new registration ticket in our apartment, but because we didn’t pay attention to the expiration date, just hadn’t gotten around to switching the sticker. And even worse again was that, if Rich hadn’t been in town, our car would have been in the lot, and we never would have gotten a ticket!

The freakin’ Henn Factor nailed me again!

I’d love to say there’s a lessen to be learned here, and there is: Beware the Henn. But if I haven’t learned my lesson after 20 years of this, it’s unlikely that I ever will.

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