When I first unleashed myself during lunch hour in the gay community

Let me start off with the most recent of my "this cannot be happening" moments. I have an internship in manhattan in an ad agency on gay avenue. As safe as it is with the men in their hot pants and roller blades.. friendly it is not. Taking the worst commuters train ever,I was of course running to the 7:04 am with a cup of iced coffee my mother lovingly made for me before dropping me off and sending me to the wolves of the city. After I got situated sitting next to a fat european man who had what I can only describe as a smell so horrible that I think his burrito from last wednesday got stuck under his FUPA and hasn't found it since -and when he does I'm positive he will dip it in sour cream and go to town. But, anyway I get myself together, and what do i do but spill my whole "from mother with love" iced coffee INTO my bag as the conductor sweetly shouts "TIC-ATS!".. not that I had anything of importance in my bag, just your standard intern weekly planner with nothing written in it besides what tv shows are on and last menstrual cycle. But, I now smelt like old half and half- which was surprisingly worse than "Mitch" the homeless guy who talks to me on 3rd ave.
After a few days, I finally realized everyone ignored my "good morning"s and my sweet smiles, I quickly became just as bitter and stoppped telling my boss when I was "running out for a sandwich" but then started just taking 2 hour lunches.
During one of these 2 hour lunches, I had tucked a table cloth into my pants.. getting up after paying the check I took the whole cloth and various ecoutrement with me. Thus, creating an absolute scene with my awkward mumbled "Omg, I hate myself.. oh it's tucked in. gah, gotta get back to the office" (when I get into these jams, I usually just talk myself off the ledge if you will.. and literally speak to myself to calm down.. it works like a charm, but really makes it worse because I'm now adding the fact that I talk to myself to the mix)
Note: The hottest group of gay men were at the table next to me shaking their heads, I imagine saying something to the effect of "There goes another chubby 20 something without a clue.. I should sweep her under my big gay wing"
I tore out of there.. obv. So there I was, speed walking down the streets of chelsea. when I drop my phone, "oh shit, I dropped my phone, let me just quickly bend down to get it! what was that noise? Sounded like a cat's meow.. hmm I don't see any cats.. ohhhhh it was my pants.. my pants split" MY PANTS SPLIT! what am I a black and white 40's sitcom meant to keep morale high? Next I'll have a burn on my face in the shape of an iron- that'll keep the world in stitches.

That was it.. I thought. "forget about your pants splitting and smelling like a dunkin donuts refrigerator that the new guy unplugged by accident.. just head back to the office.. sit down and get ur gchat on"
everything was peachy until I waited on the corner and a truck drove by at lightning speed and splashed mud all over me.. covering my freshly torn pants and old navy top I was passing off as "business casual". Good thing the entire office ignored me, because I was ready to get back on the train by 4:45, pop open a few bud light pints and wait for my parents to get to the train station to find me buzzed, muddy a lot more of a basket case than when I left the house in a mad dash at 7 am.