Amber & Emergency Evacuation

My commute was two hours long this morning.  WTF, MTA?  I switched to the F at 49-50th Street only to have it stop in the tunnel.  For 30 minutes.  The automated robot voice kept saying we were stopped "while the train crew is investigating track debris."  But then the real live conductor came on and told us that there was a problem with the emergency brake.  I didn't pull it.  I swear.

Anyway, about 20 minutes into the stall, they announced we could leave the train through the front car and walk along a little ledge onto the platform at 42nd Street.  This was a scenario I had not planned for. I mean, I am ready if the Cloverfield monster comes, but I am not ready to go meet those little bug guys on their turf.

Luckily, after this traumatic experience, which also involved me discovering one of my significantly-located shirt-button-holes was too large and was venting my chest on its own, I had my new Eileen Fisher catalog to comfort me.  It's 72 pages on lovely over-sized paper with close ups of fabric.

Thank you, catalog porn.