After another calm day spent in my East Village, I walked home calmly. Summer was slowly fading away, the air was changing, I would have to soon dig out the thick comforter from my closet. Fall was on the way, and I was still unemployed and still undecided about what next step to take.
My head was a mess. I was two cappuccino's away from starting to talk to myself. Despite my mental state, I walked calmly, with trees and the noisy street to my right. Just to make my life a little more interesting, I decided to enter my building from the rear entrance on Avenue C. I usually used the entrance on the inner courtyard side off of Avenue B.
I entered the lobby, checked mail; a few advertisements, bills, more bills, and a postcard. I walked to the elevator calmly. There was an middle-aged man wearing sweatpants and a white t shirt waiting for the elevator. Pretty ordinary scene except for the fact that this man had this strange protrusion on his belly that stretched the t-shirt to the limit. He was overweight yes, but beyond the typical outline of a pot-belly, he had a further second teer of protrusion. It was bothersome. I did not want to even look at it --so I did what any other person would do --look down. Well on the way down to the floor, my eyes unfortunately caught yet another protrusion in the man's figure. I think he was not wearing any underwear or perhaps wearing boxers underneath his sweatpants. Anyhow, I could see his euphamism hanging down his leg like some alien creature was just in the process of exiting his body and running down his legs to its freedom in this brave new world.
Being a New Yorker in training, I assumed the best thing to do would be to just keep my eyes on the ground and pretend that I did not see anything. I had to remain calm. I did not want to offend him, and I did not want to have to talk to him because that would require me to look up which would make my pupils revisit the previously noted abnormalities.
The elevator, as usual, was taking forever to come down to the lobby. The minutes seemed like hours. In the meantime, the man was looking at me and breathing very heavily like he just came back from running five miles. I could not see how he could even run to the end of our block. By this time I was starting to figure out that he probably had a health condition of some sort. Something I just did not need to know about.
Then suddenly the double doors of the lobby flew open and a lady with her three year old in a stroller pulled in. They promptly checked their mail and then assumed their impatiently waiting for the elevator stance by the rest of us at the elevator door.
The silence was heavy, the silence was contagious, the silence at that moment was breathing down my neck and making all the hairs on my forearm stand up.
Then the silence was broken by the three year old: "Mom, I can see his cock." The mother bent down, saying "I can not hear you sweetie; what did you say??"
I could not accept the fact that a three year old would observe this and then report to his mother using the C word. Just when I was halfway in the process of persuading myself that I was utterly deaf and insane, the boy repeated the very same sentence one more time.
"I told you mom, I can see his cock."
This time the man started giggling to himself. The mother immediately turned the stroller around and went to the other end of the lobby and started whispering something to the boy. I figured they had much negotiating to do which meant I was going to be left alone with the man in the elevator. The elevator of course promptly arrived, the blue enamel door scrolled open and soon I was engulfed in the stale air of the elevator cabin filling up quickly with his stale breath as he continued on taking breaths like these next ten or twenty were his last.
Fourth floor, finally, I jumped out, literally. I no longer worried about offending anyone. I had to run. Silent hallway, with black linoleum tiles, walls painted green blue, my green door, apartment 4F. Unlocking the door, the door slams behind me and I am home. It is over.
Category :
I get a call from my mom one afternoon telling me that I had to call this number and make dinner arrangements with one of her good friends from Istanbul and her daughter. Even before I hung up the phone I knew that a trying evening was to follow but when you're laid off, and unemployed for month's on end, it becomes increasingly hard to come up with excuses for unwanted social engagements. It seemed I had used all the good excuses with my parents, and now I could not say no. I wrote down the number on a crowded piece of paper and hung up the phone.
I picked up the phone again and called the number right away; mostly because I knew if I hesitated I would find a perfectly reasonable activity to help me procrastinate. A familiar voice picked up on the other line. It was Mine Hanim, the mother, an opinionated but well-meaning lady in her late forties. Last time I saw her was when we had visited them at their hotel down in the south part of Turkey. I liked her, she did not seem to fear what other people thought. It seems that although everyone seems to be advocating free expression these days there are still relatively few people that have anything dramatic and worthy to say. Well she was interesting, unique, somewhat dramatic but overall a good host, and a caring wife. He was one of the most successful businessmen in Turkey but had recently lost his beloved first wife and found himself at the center of a void he alone could not fill. So against his own intuition and with the insistence of his friends he had agreed to meet and later go on dates with her. Apparently, they hit it off right away. Good for them I thought when I heard their story. They seemed to complement each other.
I was trying to focus on the positive. I liked Mine Hanim; spending a night with her and having dinner was hardly a burden really. It was more of my social inertia that was in the way. I have to ramp myself up to a certain level before I can comfortably interact with others. I know that many people have this issue, and most use alcohol for help; only in my case alcohol does not work. Drinks just make me tired and miserable.
She recognized my voice immediately. I guessed she had been waiting for my call a while. It made me feel bad, although I had not wasted any time before calling them. We made our plans quickly. She confirmed that Uftade, her daughter, was with her and she was going to come along to dinner with us.
I made reservations at VONG for a party of three, then jumped in the shower. I got ready in a hurry. It was almost dinner time. Soon I was on the street begging the taxi cab gods to grant me my wish. Finally a cab stopped in front of me and we headed our speed limit trying, nerves grinding, bumper scratching rush ride uptown. Vong is located at the corner of 54th street and Lexington.
I always found that it was easier to go uptown on the east side of Manhattan. West side always seemed to be such a mess; especially if you were planning switch from East to West side while also going uptown you were screwed. It was almost better to take the subway in that case.
The cab arrived at the restaurant within fifteen minutes and I was right on time. I stepped out of the vab to find Mine Hanim and Uftade waiting in front of the restaurant somewhat impatiently. This is the thing about Turkish women, even when you do things right, you are made to feel that you've done something wrong. I was on time but according to Turkish female central time I was fifteen minutes late.
Uftade, the daughter, took one look at me, and I could tell she was not at all impressed. The smile on her face dissolved into an expression that clearly said, ummm is this why I am not hanging out with my wild rocker boyfriend tonight??
Inside the restaurant, we were quickly seated and we were soon exploring the exotic menu while snacking on the special flat breads and the wonderful peanut butter based spread.
Uftade did not speak a word for the longest time. It was already a very awkward meal and we had not even hit the first course yet. Mine Hanim was trying to compensate for the silence. She kept starting her sentences saying "Uftade here, thinks..... Uftade here has, Uftade here is doing.... etc." Uftade on the otherhand had this strange smirk on her face like a Halloween pumpkin and it went from annoying to down right rude towards the middle of the meal.
Luckily by that point both the mother and daughter were getting slightly tipsy from their wine so Uftade started opening up and finally saying a word or two. Then suddenly she decided to give me the Uftade coolness test that comprised of several questions about my habits and my wildest moments in life. I failed miserably, having lived most of my life as safely and as ordinary as possible.
The night continued and by the time we hit the dessert I was wishing she had not opened up in the first place. She had already told me that I was living in a crappy part of town and that my apartment was probably not all that good considering the neighborhood. She also told me that I was a way boring person for not going skiing ever. It was weird, she was raging a free for all insulting war on me hidden in the skin of ordinary conversation and I could not even care to respond back to all the stabs.
I somehow felt above it all, although it hurt me still that a complete stranger could be so rash with my feelings.
The night ended with Mine Hanim insisting on paying the tab and getting us all into a cab for a ride back to our apartments. They also stayed downtown so sharing a cab somewhat made sense except it prolonged the torture I was in, and it was a bit of a false economy considering we had probably parted with $300 for dinner.
I stepped out of the cab on 14th street and 3rd Avenue then exhaled; it was over.
I picked up the phone again and called the number right away; mostly because I knew if I hesitated I would find a perfectly reasonable activity to help me procrastinate. A familiar voice picked up on the other line. It was Mine Hanim, the mother, an opinionated but well-meaning lady in her late forties. Last time I saw her was when we had visited them at their hotel down in the south part of Turkey. I liked her, she did not seem to fear what other people thought. It seems that although everyone seems to be advocating free expression these days there are still relatively few people that have anything dramatic and worthy to say. Well she was interesting, unique, somewhat dramatic but overall a good host, and a caring wife. He was one of the most successful businessmen in Turkey but had recently lost his beloved first wife and found himself at the center of a void he alone could not fill. So against his own intuition and with the insistence of his friends he had agreed to meet and later go on dates with her. Apparently, they hit it off right away. Good for them I thought when I heard their story. They seemed to complement each other.
I was trying to focus on the positive. I liked Mine Hanim; spending a night with her and having dinner was hardly a burden really. It was more of my social inertia that was in the way. I have to ramp myself up to a certain level before I can comfortably interact with others. I know that many people have this issue, and most use alcohol for help; only in my case alcohol does not work. Drinks just make me tired and miserable.
She recognized my voice immediately. I guessed she had been waiting for my call a while. It made me feel bad, although I had not wasted any time before calling them. We made our plans quickly. She confirmed that Uftade, her daughter, was with her and she was going to come along to dinner with us.
I made reservations at VONG for a party of three, then jumped in the shower. I got ready in a hurry. It was almost dinner time. Soon I was on the street begging the taxi cab gods to grant me my wish. Finally a cab stopped in front of me and we headed our speed limit trying, nerves grinding, bumper scratching rush ride uptown. Vong is located at the corner of 54th street and Lexington.
I always found that it was easier to go uptown on the east side of Manhattan. West side always seemed to be such a mess; especially if you were planning switch from East to West side while also going uptown you were screwed. It was almost better to take the subway in that case.
The cab arrived at the restaurant within fifteen minutes and I was right on time. I stepped out of the vab to find Mine Hanim and Uftade waiting in front of the restaurant somewhat impatiently. This is the thing about Turkish women, even when you do things right, you are made to feel that you've done something wrong. I was on time but according to Turkish female central time I was fifteen minutes late.
Uftade, the daughter, took one look at me, and I could tell she was not at all impressed. The smile on her face dissolved into an expression that clearly said, ummm is this why I am not hanging out with my wild rocker boyfriend tonight??
Inside the restaurant, we were quickly seated and we were soon exploring the exotic menu while snacking on the special flat breads and the wonderful peanut butter based spread.
Uftade did not speak a word for the longest time. It was already a very awkward meal and we had not even hit the first course yet. Mine Hanim was trying to compensate for the silence. She kept starting her sentences saying "Uftade here, thinks..... Uftade here has, Uftade here is doing.... etc." Uftade on the otherhand had this strange smirk on her face like a Halloween pumpkin and it went from annoying to down right rude towards the middle of the meal.
Luckily by that point both the mother and daughter were getting slightly tipsy from their wine so Uftade started opening up and finally saying a word or two. Then suddenly she decided to give me the Uftade coolness test that comprised of several questions about my habits and my wildest moments in life. I failed miserably, having lived most of my life as safely and as ordinary as possible.
The night continued and by the time we hit the dessert I was wishing she had not opened up in the first place. She had already told me that I was living in a crappy part of town and that my apartment was probably not all that good considering the neighborhood. She also told me that I was a way boring person for not going skiing ever. It was weird, she was raging a free for all insulting war on me hidden in the skin of ordinary conversation and I could not even care to respond back to all the stabs.
I somehow felt above it all, although it hurt me still that a complete stranger could be so rash with my feelings.
The night ended with Mine Hanim insisting on paying the tab and getting us all into a cab for a ride back to our apartments. They also stayed downtown so sharing a cab somewhat made sense except it prolonged the torture I was in, and it was a bit of a false economy considering we had probably parted with $300 for dinner.
I stepped out of the cab on 14th street and 3rd Avenue then exhaled; it was over.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)