Episode 11 – To Macy’s with Bums

I had hoped for an untypical quiet day but know better than to pray since most mornings start off with no less than five calls in the first hour of my boyfriend’s awakening.  It’s not that he calls back because he has forgotten to mention something (in part ‘cause he’s unaware he repeats himself), but mainly to give me a blow by blow account of his theoretically complicated life.  I am not sure why I need to know he’s: spoken with his gardener unless it’s because he’s afraid I might get angry should he forget to convey some plant life or death matter which truthfully is not my business, had his coffee but did not drink it because he forgot to buy milk, is dressing for the gym and needs my opinion on which warm up suit or finally leaving.  It really doesn’t matter anyway, when he leaves, I’ll get a call while he’s driving on his way usually to let me know he’ll call me soon as he’s done.  I get an hour to dress myself and resume my morning rituals.  If I want to avoid his calls, I go to my building’s gym because cell phones don’t work there.  Actually they don’t work well in my apartment either, a fact no one seems to get no matter how often the call gets cut off.  My rule is that I am not calling back if I am home since the caller should have known better in the first place.

It’s only a quarter to eight, a bit earlier than my usual wake up call. Alarmed at the hour I rush to grab the phone on my desk and stub my toe as I reach over the mess on my floor.  “Hello!” I nearly cry into the phone.  “Has some one made a mess on your rugs? Is it unsightly or smells?  By pressing 3 on your dial pad, Clean It Up, the very best in at home rug cleaning service will…” That’s enough I am not going to tolerate automated sales calls.  What’s even more frustrating is that there isn’t anyone on the other end of the line to curse at and demand the satisfaction of being taken off their phone list.  I hang up and hobble over to the bathroom sink so I can place my toe under some cold water.  Of course it’s not more than a few seconds of relief before the phone rings again.

It’s Wolf, that’s his name, wanting to know if he can take me to lunch.  He’s so sweet, I have to recall despite the bad timing.  I explain I’d like to but that I can not walk far since I believe I may have again broken another toe (I do that about three times a year). I mention I have to get to Macy’s for a return since it’s the last day I can get a full refund.  He doesn’t offer to take me mentioning that there is some sort of parade in midtown and asks me how I will get there. “The bus,” I answer somewhat disappointed. “It stops in front of my building and Macy’s so I don’t have to walk much.”  Oh well, so much for lunch.  He then asks if we can get together for dinner.  That sounds fine and somewhat of a consolation.

On the way to Macy’s, the bus is very crowded but not near the homeless man who has surrounded himself with an island of plastic within plastic bags.  He is also holding onto a dress suit in a dry cleaner’s bag. I haven’t figured that one out except to think that maybe he’s got a job and is just somewhat mentally challenged.  No matter, it’s too questionable to take a chance. I grab hold of a pole a few steps away.  

The bus jolts and I bang my already sore toe into someone’s package.  Too bad I didn’t run into the bum’s bags.  “Ouch,” I can not hold in the pain.  “Sorry,” replies the bag’s owner.  “It’s not your bag which is the problem,” I mumble, “but if the bum used only one seat for his one tooshie that might have helped.” “Those are my bags you were going to steal,” I hear the bum reply.  It’s going to be a long, stinky ride.

I finally finish my return and head home when the phone rings. “Hi. I’m at your lobby,” Wolf informs me.  “What are you doing there? You asked me to dinner, and I am only now on my way back from Macy’s,” I inform him.  “I’ll wait for you,” he answers as if that’s really good news.  “Why can’t you come get me? You have your car and I have a bad toe?” I have to ask and somewhat annoyed that I have had to. “Oh, I guess I could do that.  There’s traffic over there. Where is Macy’s?” I am still stunned when I reply, “34th Street,” thinking hasn’t everyone heard of the classic film, Miracle on 34th Street or watched the Thanksgiving Day parade?  Anyway he has agreed to come get me which means I have time to pamper myself with a coffee.  

It’s a nice day so I get a cup of coffee from the street vendor and sit on a bench while I wait.  “You are pretty,” the street vendor informs me as if I don’t already know it. “You have a boyfriend?” he continues to pry.  I decide its best not to answer so I get up and hobble down the street until out of no where I feel a very hard squeeze to my breast. It happened very fast, but I spot the perpetrator who has quickly walked off towards a payphone where he proceeds to look for some change.  “Hey you, you asshole,” I scream out in his direction. “How would you like it if I came over there and kicked you in your balls?”  “Be glad that’s all he did,” interrupts a passerby.  Great, I am supposed to be glad that all that I suffered was an assault too trite for the general public to be concerned with.  I understand the concept, but can not forgive the injustice.  I am so annoyed I call Wolf.  “Hurry as best you can. You won’t believe what just happened.” I should have known better, he did not believe me.