A young professional’s take on the trials and tribulations of everyday life in New York City.
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So, who got an emergency text message yesterday? And of those of you who did, how many forgot it was a test and momentarily freaked the funk out and bee-lined to the nearest bomb shelter? Be honest. No judgments.

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Now, who didn’t receive a test text yesterday?

This gal.

At first I figured it would come later in the day, since they were sending them out between 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. I kept checking my phone thinking, oh well, I must be on the later shift. But when 3 p.m. rolled around and all I got was a text from my father about dinner plans, I realized I was not to be among the chosen. I felt rejected.It hurt.

I know some people were all, “what about my privacy grumble grumble!” And I hear you, I do. Grumble grumble right back at ya. But I, for one, want my number on this urgent emergency text message code red super crisis alert list for the following reasons:

1. I tend to think an organized, far-reaching and efficient system of government-to-citizen communication in a time of crisis is a good thing, and desirable. In other words, I wanna know when stuff is going down. I search Twitter for an answer every time I hear a loud noise outside my window, for gosh sakes. (As an aside: try this sometime. The results are astoundingly helpful).

2. I like to feel included.

3. I hate to feel left out.

So this round of testing has failed me. Perhaps it was a random selection of recipients. Perhaps I’m not on the shortlist for species repopulation efforts in the event of a zombie attack or devastating outbreak of some “I Am Legend” disease. Perhaps I accidentally opted out of this program in some fleeting “what about my privacy grumble grumble!” moment.

Whatever the reason, I feel so uncool right now.

I could call my phone provider or the city or the Mayor or whatever, but I doubt it would do any good. Apparently, in the event of an emergency, I won’t be saved. Best to prepare myself however I must now, and hope that I’m good friends with someone who is on the list. This is precisely why I hate going to clubs, by the way. Well, among other reasons.

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Anyway, for the record, I’m taking this personally. NYC, you owe me one.

*Ten imaginary and meaningless points to the first person to identify the movie quote in the headline.

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Dear Readers: While I am rarely at a loss for words, I’m always grateful for column ideas. Please feel free to e-mail me your suggestions.

Nina Pajak is a writer and publishing professional living with her husband on the Upper West Side.

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