Shivering from the chill of the air conditioning, I sat fuming with anger in an AT&T store near Wall Street late Friday afternoon. Frustrated with the store's lack of customer service and my limited funds to obtain the coveted iPhone 6, I began to feel a beautiful summer day slipping away.

Bored with “One Tree Hill" reruns and the reality that Nathan Scott isn't real, my friend and I decided to head to the city for the day. We had a mission—tackle New York's Subway system to map out our commuting routes to our summer internships.

It was hot and sticky. Despite the ripples of sweat dripping down our necks we were excited to explore the place we'll be calling home for the next three months.

For the first time our futures became our present-day. Our dreams of “making it," living and working in New York City were becoming real. We were making plans. “Happy hour here one night," my friend declared. “I'll probably eat a delicious street hot dog cooked in dirty water every day," I imagined out loud.

We could see it all—drinks after work with the gals, mad dashes to catch our trains, and wide eyes at bills that read $5.50 for a small cup of coffee.

I was feeling great. That is, until AT&T Manger Robert something or other said, “Oh your name is IVY! I shouldn't get too close—you're poisonous." Thank you, Robert for recalling a lame joke that was a favorite of my kindergarten classmates.

Almost two hours of my day was wasted in this frigid AT&T store. Disinterested sales associates ran back and forth to tell me that a screen protector would cost $40, the phone I wanted wasn't in stock and that my contacts, photos, videos and applications couldn't be saved.

After my unsuccessful rendezvous at AT&T my friend navigated us back to the nearest Subway station. I ranted in rage for about 20 minutes. “How am I supposed to know who's calling and texting me?" “Can you believe they forgot to give me a receipt?"

My rant continued as we waited for the train and even as we stood in it next to the tired, warm bodies of men in blue dress shirts.

My rant didn't cease until I noticed an elderly man next to us struggling to catch his breath. He could barely move or speak.

A fellow Subway rider helped the elderly man find a seat and made sure he could get out with ease when we hit his stop, 42^nd Street.

Once the elderly man and the good Samaritan who helped him left the train my friend turned to me and said, “Go ahead, I know you have more to say about AT&T." Embarrassed, I paused for a minute and replied, “I'm done."

As I watched the elderly man in pain, gasping for air I realized that a phone filled with numbers I rarely call, applications I use too much and a childhood taunt about my name didn't matter as much as the feeling I had as my friend and I walked through the sometimes strange sometimes amazing streets of a city I've dreamed of living in for as long as I can remember.