The Best Day All Week

In which we recount my favorite day on my family's trip to The Big Apple. An amazing trip overall, but largely planned by and for my loved ones. Their ideas of fun were great, but my ideas of adventure are usually things I can only do by myself. Which is what happened on Saturday in The City that Never Sleeps.

Best day yet. I woke at 2:30 EDT, knowing that my sleep schedule was decimated from sharing a room with three other loud sleepers since Tuesday, while also trying to squeeze in work activities in the downtime. But today being Saturday, there was no risk to failure other than missing some optional activities due to being tired. That was fine, so I felt great.

I took my work to the lobby (I had nothing better to do, after all), but the lobby continued its week of being awful for working. The hotel's coffee was available but not complementary at its in-lobby franchise coffee shop, but it was closed. So I went outside and sat on the sidewalk. I got more work done than I had the whole previous day.

Eventually I overheard a parked airport cabdriver asking a hotel staff member when coffee would be available. I proffered "it opens at 6", and he challenged back "that's late, isn't it?". I said "yeah". Since I was also looking for coffee, I continued talking to the driver as the hotel staff walked away. It hadn't occurred to me that they weren't having a friendly conversation.

But the driver seemed friendly to me. I offered to walk for coffee with him, and he agreed. We only went far enough to confirm that a different franchise coffee and donuts place was not yet open. He almost got hit by another cab while trying to find info on his phone. He was jaywalking, so he said "sorry", and I said "don't worry, they saw you." He said "yeah, they're the one with the horn, not me." I liked that line.

When we got back to the hotel's ride service staging area, my friend's colleague suggested a coffee place within a few blocks that was open. My new friend didn't want to walk, so I took his order and left by myself.

I got lost but learned some interesting historical geography of times square. I stopped in an open franchise chicken restaurant, but they didn't serve coffee. A man asked me for a few dollars. I apologized that I had none, but asked for directions to coffee, and he graciously helped me out. I clapped him on the shoulder and told him I appreciated him. If he had followed me we could have both gotten something.

I did find the coffee, even though I'm not sure it was the one suggested by the drivers. The staff was nearly asleep, which made sense because there were zero other customers anywhere in sight of the whole corner. They rapidly woke, and were extremely friendly especially given their disturbed rest. They spoke two distinct kinds of English as a second language. Between the three of us I was able to place my order and even learned that my friend's coffee order was known as a "red eye". I tried and was refused the option to tip three times. It was tough to carry the coffees and my work tools, but it was only a few blocks.

My friend was extremely grateful when I got back with his order; he also didn't know the name for it. We talked a lot about the city and how it had changed. He cited "technology" and the lack of pornography on every storefront. Also about how the police no longer enforce subway fare collection from people who could never pay it anyway. I mentioned that that is correct given the goal of public transportation not being to make a profit, but rather to help people go find the dollars they are lacking. He left to go find a replacement passenger (he had been ghosted by the flight crew he meant to drive, hence his idle search for coffee).

I tried to resume work. I saw a person with male features presenting femme. Actually I noticed those details in reverse order. I didn't assume they were a prostitute until they leisurely walked by a second time in the opposite direction. Their outfit definitely evoked the first act scenes of Pretty Woman. I hope they eventually lived out the second act's social victory over the high-fashion boutique snobs who reject them for lack of appearance of being a good customer. Or at least I hope they overcome whatever other aspect of society has wronged them. I wanted to make friends with them as well and learn their story. But they were busy working, and I had no cash to pay for their time nor ability to accept a freebie. I went back to trying to work.

A large older man with a cane walked by, greeted me, and came over. He asked for a few dollars for coffee. I told him I had no cash but that I'd be happy to buy him a coffee. He repeated, so I invited him to walk to my new favorite New York coffee shop. He indicated his cane, and I apologized for being inconsiderate. He again said he was hoping for a few dollars, so I showed him my empty wallet and apologized for being dry. "If you're dry you're dry" he said as he left. That same member of the hotel staff stared my way with no expression. I smiled and went back to working.

A more energetic man named Peter came by and asked for a few dollars for the taco stand across the street. I said that of course I would buy him a taco, and off we went. He said it was his 50th birthday, and he was hoping for a few dollars to get some ice cream at times square. I had hopped to my feet to go for those tacos. He needed to fix his belt, which was only a sweatshirt, and he apologized for the delay. I said no problem; I only had to carry my work stuff, but it was easier with only one coffee cup. He said he was tired from walking all the way to Trump Tower that day, and I felt sympathetic because I had spent a lot of time walking that week.

When we reached the taco stand, the vendor said "finished", and Peter didn't understand that reply. I translated from ESL to mean "he's closing", which Peter accepted instantly and continued on for that birthday ice cream. Remembering my manners, I shouted "Buenos Dias" over my shoulder as I caught up. The operator replied in kind, in a much friendlier voice than the one he had offered Peter, who said again that he was looking for a few dollars. I said "maybe". I think I meant it, but I wasn't sure how because I didn't want to withdraw cash.

We talked about how, in Peter's words, "some crack head" had asked him for money, and he had refused. We laughed a little at how funny that was; someone asking him for money. He said he definitely does not smoke crack any more. Not since he went to prison for it for five years. He had an ex-wife that was also related to that story, but he paused himself from saying more about her.

He said his prisoner number as a thing that he would never forget, though I only recall that it started with FF808 and had two or three more digits. "Just a number" was his implication about being a prisoner. I commented that prisons are made to remove your rights but also your humanity. If I had had more time to consider my words, I might have added, "and that is horrific and wrong." But he was already describing the more specific horrors of prison life.

For example Peter described how, when allowed outside, they were searched for things like weapons. If caught, more criminal charges could be added to your sentence. I was reminded that some of those lost rights include legal rights, because I'm quite sure a prison is not a law-making institution, let alone a court of law. I have seen "DOC" listed as another stripe on a bastardized rainbow flag alongside a blue line. I pity the firefighters who are involuntarily grouped onto that same flag as a red stripe, though not as much as I pity the ones who like that association.

He said that he had been charged, though for the manufactur not of weapons but rather of alcohol. I asked about the recipe, which he gave concisely and vouched for its effectiveness. I don't drink much, but I might want to in that context. His recipe sounded horrible in itself, but the biochemistry seemed plausible. I thought I might try it among my friend's regular Sunday beer brewing get-together. I don't typically go, but I might want to see those friends and contribute my new knowledge of making alcohol. I thanked him for his gift of knowledge, which he had paid for in prison time.

I'm ashamed to admit the idea of recounting to my friends was the trigger that reminded me to ask Peter his name. Not when he lamented how it was taken away. I gave him my name, and he correctly ignored my much less valuable contribution. He said he was looking for a few dollars. I said I didn't have any, and that was when he first mentioned "cash back" as an option. I said "we can ask", and I hoped it would work. If nothing else he was now my teacher; he certainly deserved payment for it.

As Peter and I walked through times square at 4:30am, my awe compelled me to comment about it being amazing. I said I know it's artificial and not really New York in spirit except tourism and commerce and mass media. Peter agreed and added that he was looking for a few dollars. I assumed he was still thinking of the needs of his pregnant girlfriend back at "the camp", the return to which was his repeatedly-stated post-ice-cream plan. He wasn't changing the subject, but rather completing the statement I had interrupted earlier when I learned about his child-to-be. I interjected "Jesus Christ, what were you thinking?" in the most kind-hearted teasing that I could muster. The same tone I might use with a co-worker who was apologizing for the burden they were imposing as they announced their paternity leave.

At the time, Peter forgot that he was looking for a few dollars, and leveled with my tone by pantomiming exactly what he was thinking at the time, especially that he was not using his brain to do so. He described the specific place at the camp, and the presence of bystanders and traffic. It was my turn to be shocked, so I could only concede, "we tourists can't be upset for seeing things we didn't expect to see." Peter said he was looking for a few dollars, and the care of an unborn child is certainly a good reason.

I noticed a lot of looks of pity toward Peter in the awesome and beautiful light of times square's digital billboards and marquees. (The reference to "technology" finally made sense; times square was far more enticing than lurid posters.) Peter didn't notice the looks; I might have only noticed because I wasn't the recipient. Some were better concealed than others. I wasn't sure Peter would have been welcome in that beautiful place if he wasn't in my company. The police definitely concealed their pity as they looked from Peter to me and back. But I knew I belonged there, and I was glad to bring Peter.

The ice cream cart vendor didn't conceal it, but he also didn't seem to believe Peter was buying ice cream. I said I was buying. He quoted Peter $10. I said sure. Peter asked about cash back, and the response was "no". It might have been an ESL thing; he seemed to understand when I repeated the question. He offered several places where Peter might be able to get cash back. He only charged me $4.90. I thought of the joke of the $10,000 haircut for the man who came in to astronomical wealth. In an ironic reversal, he was ostracized from his community for having found too many dollars in too public a way. When asking about the sign with prices, the barber simply said "that's the old price" and indicated his gun. That joke's author fled the continent and surrendered his recent giant contract shortly after that. I gave the ice cream vendor my best forced smile, and then the pity was obvious.

I chose pizza as the cash-back opportunity, because I love pizza even more than I love tacos. Peter was also excited for pizza, and for getting a few dollars. Peter ate his vanilla waffle cone with pineapple while we walked. I might have ordered the exact same, but the vendor forgot to take my order. Peter was worried about getting his beard messy, which I hadn't considered, but it almost certainly would have affected me even more so as my beard was less well groomed than his. But it was more white, even without vanilla ice cream drops in it. We both wore non-new t-shirts and shorts with beat-up sneakers. Peter had a much better tan and wasn't quite so bald as I was. I am almost ten years younger. I didn't get looks of pity though; I don't know exactly why.

Peter finished his ice cream, so I wished him a happy birthday, and he thanked me. I suggested we meet again for his next 50th, on Jul 29th 2073. He agreed, "if i make it". I produced optimism that he would make it. He pointed that we had arrived at the place for cash back.

We were greeted with zero pity from the pizza kitchen. Peter pointed at the ATM, but I went to the counter. I asked for cheese, Peter asked for cash back. I asked if he wanted one, and he chose cheese as well. Peter asked them for cash back, and they said no. It might have been an ESL misunderstanding, the 5th of the night. Peter wanted to go to the ATM, and I said no. He walked away, so I reduced our order to just one slice. It tasted great, but I was by myself when I ate it. The shop was hot so I folded the slice between its two paper plates and tried to stand under fans. I bought a cold drink, and they didn't ask me to sign the charge receipt the second time.

A quartet of young men in clothes nicer than mine walked in. They didn't buy anything, but the shop owners didn't seem upset. They were looking for ice cream, so I told them it was available across the street at a cart. Another man walked in and said he was looking for a few dollars. The kitchen staff yelled at him in ESL, and he left. The pitiless pizza cook shook his head widely when I looked at him. I overheard one young man explaining to another that if he simply smoked more and stopped looking at his phone, he would no longer feel too-high. They hadn't bought anything, they were just sitting. The cook didn't seem upset at them. I finished my pizza. We all left at the same time.

Peter had eaten his ice cream quickly, but not so quickly that we had only walked across the street. So I amended my ice cream directions to the young men to include "a block away". We were forking our paths around a hot dog cart at that moment; me along the sidewalk, them jaywalking back toward ice cream. The tallest young man, who had hair the same beige as his polo, said "at your mom's house?" I was surprised that young people still say that, and very disappointed that I had didn't have a good reply at the ready. And I was alone.

I doubled back around the cart to watch them leave. Tall Beigey said "it was a joke". That was a line I'm much more accustomed to, so I asked "that was a joke?" instantly. Written out it seems like a poor response, but I might have said it in such a way that it seemed stronger. The other three young men with more natural hair and brighter polos apologized profusely as they ushered away their friend to cure his inebriation with more weed. I stared like a cop watching Peter. I felt like a true New Yorker.

As I walked back to the hotel, I realized that I just experienced the single most dangerous instant of my entire trip. Including when I was lost and alone searching for coffee on vague instructions from natives who wander into intersections. I knew then that being alone was a bad move, and that being around people was to be practically immune from any fate that might befall me. But when I was alone with four drunk++ young men, and in no mood to deescalate...yes that was probably even more dangerous. As a contingency I did not calculate ahead of time, I thought maybe I could have fled back to the pizza shop. But then I would be the same as Peter, bringing trouble rather than business. They sell pizza there, not refuge. Except to polos.

The rest of the walk back was peopleless but safe. Peter had utterly vanished as I ordered pizza. I saw a cockroach, exactly one, the very first of the whole trip. It wasn't running away from me, but it was running fast. You would think there would be more. Maybe I hadn't been looking.

The hotel lobby coffee shop still wasn't open. The airline pilots waiting were in no mood to talk. The hotel staff stared at me as the sweaty unkempt man who had just wandered in off the street, but they didn't demand to see my room key. Maybe he remembered me from when I was working on the sidewalk. I went up to our room to shower; my family was still asleep. I pondered whether the four-star hotel had deliberately installed a tub that drains slowly as a water conservation technique. I left my work stuff in the four-star safety of the lockable room.

The lobby coffeehouse was finally open. Half an hour early! I paid for a seat by buying a cup. Actually I wrote down my room number and they trusted that the dollars would find themselves. Then I started writing this.