Strange Day

I had a strange day.  Not bad, just strange.

It was so strange that I thought that it might be worth writing a book about, actually.  I, mean where else could you find a story about rooibos lattes, hari krishnas and playing Taxman in an empty church?

I told you.

Weird.

A homeless man in Union Square winked and smiled at me, while his hands were presumably covered in something that looked an awful lot like blood.

Weird.

Another homeless man yelled at me for giving him my apple, because I should have known that he had no teeth.

Weird.

I’ve learned a great many lessons in my few, short months of commuting to NYC.

Never give direct eye contact to anyone.

Always pretend to be looking at something at your phone, even when it is evident (particularly to the people sitting behind you) that your battery died about 5 minutes ago.

If you must sit next to someone on the train, never choose the young woman in retail or the middle aged man in the Wall Street tie.  They both will eat baked kale chips and scoff at your reading material.   (It’s Bossypants, by the way.  And it’s extremely funny.)

Never smile.  Ever.  People will think you are creepy.  Or even worse, you will attract the creepy to come to you.

Do things that are in direct opposition to strategically placed signs.  “Please Do Not Sit on Steps.”

A bag of Almonds will cost more than a car payment at the Hudson News.  Plan accordingly.

So, after my strange day I suppose I can add- avoid Union Square at rush hour.  You may bump into someone’s chess game and they may threaten to kill you and your future, unborn children.

It’s better to dance with the Hari Krishnas- it’s a faster method of transportation down the subway stairs.

And finally, when the flamboyant Barista at Starbucks calls you Darling and compliments your jacket, put a big, 2 dollar tip in the jar.  You’ll both have better days because of it.

I love this city.

I need to go to bed.

 

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