A New York City Day

by Gigi Krop

             My New York City day begins at 6:30 AM in Forest Hills, Queens. The alarm clock goes on with a screech.  In my sleep, I reach out to press the snooze button and knock over a favorite vase. Five minutes later, the alarm goes on again. I press the snooze button again. This little ceremony continues every 5 minutes until 7 AM. Finally, I admit defeat. The alarm clock battle is lost.

     It’s time to get up and drag my body into the bathroom for the morning routine. I’m running late, so I throw on a light leather jacket and rush out the door of my apartment and down the hall. I step outside into the freezing air and a sleet storm of icy cold rain. It’s a cold, wet three - block walk to the corner subway station. I dash down the subway steps but I’m 10 seconds too late. Just as I arrive at the platform, the train is leaving the station. Ten chilly minutes later, a local train chugs up to the Station. I step into the train, find an empty seat, settle down and fall asleep.

The next thing I know, the train is pulling into the Canal Street Station. Yes, my worst nightmare is realized. One glance out the window confirms the desperation of the situation.  I don’t recognize the station.  It’s 9:05 AM and I have gone past my stop. So I run off the train, out into the cold, buy an umbrella from a street vendor, cross the street, and run down the steps to the uptown train platform. I wait 10 minutes at Canal Street Station. Finally a train arrives. The E-train is half empty, but I resist the urge to sit down. I decide to stand to make sure that I do not pass my stop again.  The train finally arrives at 23^rd Street. I run up the station stairs and out into the freezing cold and sleet. I grab a bagel and coffee from the street vendor and try to sneak into the office 25 minutes late. Luckily, my lateness goes unnoticed. Everyone is in a coma on Monday morning.  

Now, its lunchtime and the weather has cleared up. I go outside to catch a bite to eat. I walk up to the corner and see a man, about 35 years old, exquisitely dressed in a three piece pin-stripped Italian suit, silk tie, custom - made shirt and Gucci loafers. Every hair is in place. He looks like a cover for GQ magazine except that he’s on all fours, crawling around on the sidewalk with his expensive leather brief case tossed ascender.

“Lose somethin,” I asked.

“My contact lens, and I don’t have a replacement”, he replies. 

Just then a construction worker in combat boots and jeans walks by, looks down at the sidewalk, picks up the contact lens and hands it to Mr. Executive.

“This what you’re looking for?”

 “Yeah - thanks”, says Mr. GQ as he gets up and walks away. I shrug my shoulders and try to continue to the coffee shop.  The sidewalk is very congested because a giant copy machine is parked in the middle of the walkway that is already blocked by a sidewalk construction bridge. So, like a quarterback going for a touchdown, I fight through the bodies to the street. Woops, almost crashed into a guy in a suit and sneakers. He’s talking on a cellular phone and cruising down the street on a motorized skateboard.

Now, I’m in the coffee shop, eating tuna on whole wheat. The longhaired, funky dude sitting next to me asks,

“Do you like rock music?”

“Sure”, I reply. We get into a conversation – seems that he was the manager of the rock group Genesis before they broke up. After lunch, I depart the coffee shop and step out onto the street.

I get halfway back to the office, when the sleet starts to fall.  My umbrella is missing so I rush back to the coffee shop and retrieve it.

In the lobby of the small elegant building, I wait five minutes for the elevator to arrive.  It takes me to the company floor in the nick of time because my boss is waiting for me in front of the elevator.

 “Bad weather”, she says.

“Yeah, miserable”, I answer.

 It’s been a long day, but 5:30 PM finally arrives. I stay at my desk an extra 15 minutes to look good. Go to the bathroom, grab my briefcase/gym bag, don’t forget the umbrella, and jog out into the wet, cold air.

My eyes itch and tear and nasal drip clogs my throat.  I say hello to the boss’s limo driver.

“Stay and talk,” he says.

“Can’t, got to rush to my 6:15 aerobics class, see you tomorrow.”  I run down the stairs into the bowels of the NYC subway, only to wait 15 minutes on the platform. 

The train arrives and I get on. There are 2 empty seats: one is next to a man in a dirty turban. He smells like yesterday’s curried chicken. The other seat is by a 400-pound bald man wearing headphones, sporting a long ponytail and a suitcase on wheels. Despite the cold, he is wearing aHawaiian shirt and baggy shorts. Next to him is a tall, slender gorgeous blond in skintight jeans and a leather jacket. She’s holding a large black portfolio. So I sit between Mr. Hawaii and the model. After two stops the train comes to a screeching stop. A 300 - pound woman with 4 shopping bags falls into my lap seriously denting my calcium-starved frame.

“Congestion Ahead”, the loudspeaker announces in crackling rasping tones. The train is delayed for 20 minutes but finally arrives at 51^st Street. It’s a one - block walk up Fifth Avenue past St. Patrick’s Cathedral to the designer health club.

     The doorman holds the large brass and glass door open as I step into the plush carpeted and mirrored environment. I flash my membership card at the magnificent guy behind the desk and walk through the double doors to the woman’s locker room.

I heave a sigh of relief and strip off my soggy panty hose, high heels and business suit and pull on tights and leotards. I grab a rubber band and tie back my hair. Voila, I’m ready to work out. The aerobics class has already started, so I sneak in the back and begin to stretch. I glance around the room and notice that all the girls are dressed in perfectly coordinated designer exercise outfits. Then I look down at my black socks, black sneakers black tights…well, you get the picture. The exercise instructor is a triathlon athlete, but I’m in good shape and the class is invigorating. After it’s over I walk up the stairs to the gym area.

“Hello, Molly”, says one of the gym instructors.

“Hi, David, how are you doing?” But what I’m really thinking is,  “Why doesn’t he ask me out? He’s so cute and I know he likes me. Must be a money problem”. I saunter over to the nautilus machine and commence my exercise routine. Today is Monday so it’s upper body day.

After the exercise I return to the locker room and sit in the sauna for a few minutes. The dry heat feels really good after the cold and the rain, almost a mini-vacation. Unfortunately all vacations must come to an end so I drag my body out of the sauna and into the shower.  I throw on my sweatshirt and leggings, grab my gym bag and jacket and trot over to the exit. I dash out the locker room door and crash into a wall of denim and muscle. It’s David.

 His blue eyes twinkle with amusement,  “Molly, put on your jacket, it’s miserable outside. He sees the flustered look on my face and breaks into a big grin,  “See ya later.”

“Yeah, see ya.”  I wonder what’s going on with him. Then the damp air penetrates my bones and all I can think about is my nice dry apartment.  It’s 9:00 PM and I don’t want to travel on the subways too late.

Back down into the bowels of the earth and the subway system. The platform is crowded with people and there’s a music student playing the violin. He’s playing a beautiful melody and everyone is standing around listening to him. The music makes me smile. I look down onto the tracks and notice the rats running around. But I’m so tired from my workout that I don’t even think about the rodents. The train arrives. I put a dollar in the violinist’s tip basket and hop on board.  

 Forty minutes later the train arrives in Forest Hills, Queens. I walk up the stairs of the station at Queens Boulevard and think, “What do I feel like eating?” Then the cold blast of air hits me, and the decision is made.

“I’ll have egg drop soup and spare ribs,”

I walk by the pizza restaurant, stop in the pharmacy for some aspirin.  In the grocery store I buy a quart of orange juice and some toilet paper.

The service in the Chinese take-out restaurant is very fast and the food is ready in five minutes. The last stop is the video store.  

“Hi Molly, the video you’ve been waiting for just arrived, Dances with Wolves – right? ”. 

“Yeah, one Kevin Costner to go, please”. I juggle my pocketbook, the gym bag, the Kevin Costner video, the bag of groceries and the warm Chinese food as I walk the final three blocks to my apartment building.

“Almost home”, I say to myself.

I say hello to the doorman and walk down the hall into my first floor apartment. The living room is decorated in quiet tones of beige and sea foam green.

I put the supplies away in the tiny kitchen and walk into the bedroom.

“At last I can relax.” I turn on the ancient 19-inch TV, pop the video into the VCR, and open the soup container. The soup tastes delicious. It feels so good as the warm liquid goes into my mouth and down my throat.

Just as I’m savoring my dinner and the movie titles appear on the TV, the telephone rings. It’s Eileen.

She just broke off her engagement and is very upset. Eileen needs someone to talk to. So, I ask her to hold on while I turn off the TV.  I proceed to eat the soup and ribs while I listen to her sad tale of woe.

In between bites I respond with:

“Wow”, “What a drag!” and “How could he do that to you?”

She keeps me on the telephone for two more hours.

Finally I say,” I got to go now” and hang-up. I clean up the mess from dinner and the telephone rings again.

“Hello Molly. I’m glad you had a safe trip home.”

“Who is this?”

“Do you recognize my voice?”

“Sorry, but no.”

“It’s David from the gym. I found your telephone number on the computer. Guess what? I got promoted to manager today. Do you want to go out on Wednesday night to celebrate?”

“David, what a pleasant surprise. I’d love to get together and celebrate with you.” The arrangements are made and we say our good-byes. 

I walk over to the overstuffed closet,  “I have nothing to wear. I’ll buy a sexy new dress tomorrow.”

The phone rings again.  It’s Eileen again. “I can’t sleep, talk to me”. We talk for another hour. More accurately, she talks and I listen.  It’s midnight; I hang up the telephone and disconnect the handset.  I take a turtleneck sweater and wool pantsuit out of the closet to wear to work on Tuesday.  Don’t forget to set the alarm clock.  I drag my exhausted body over to the bedroom and climb into bed.

 “I think I need a real vacation”, I say to myself as I drift off to sleep.

I dream about palm trees swaying in the breeze. I’m wearing a bikini, lying on a chaise lounge. The sun is warming my skin, as the ocean waves lap up against my bare feet. I look out onto the expansive blue ocean and watch a sailboat glide by. A slender woman and attractive man walk along the water’s edge, leaving footprints in the sand.  They are talking about a wonderful new seafood restaurant that overlooks the intercostals waterway. Am I watching a TV movie? No, I’m dreaming about balmy days in Miami Beach, Florida.                      

 The End
 copyright 1999 - Library of Congress