So. Chloe (friend/roommate) and I just got back from a diner a couple of minutes away from her house. It was around 11:00 pm and I was feeling restless; Chloe's mom had a pair of really classy boots that were too small for her that she generously gave me. I took off my sweatshirt and put on my black scarf, because at this point we had committed to looking like classy New Yorkers, and we set off.
The thing is, New York City does sleep sometimes -- for instance, the Starbucks on the corner was out of commission for the night, as was the first diner we tried. On the way to the second diner, a car stopped on a one-way and yelled at us. The only word I caught was "shoes," and I dismissed it as another catcall Chloe said I'd come to ignore.
In the diner, we sat and recounted our days with decaf coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. I'd always thought that the first time I ordered decaf would be a low point - it would mean that I finally liked coffee enough to drink it without the true purpose of providing me with energy. Tonight it felt grown-up. It felt so grown up that Chloe and I thought we'd ask the waiter for two glasses of Pinot Grigio after - it sounded nice before bed, and we'd heard not all restaurants carded. I adopted what I considered to be a mature, poker face and asked. Chloe did not manage to keep her poker face, and snickered into the coffee. No, we didn't have identification, it was at Chloe's apartment a couple blocks away. I imagined it would be like if Chloe's apartment were hers and not her parents'. The waiter checked with his boss and apologized a couple of times. He would have liked to give us a glass, he said, and we assured him that we were just fine not spending $14 on two glasses of wine we weren't really sophisticated enough to enjoy. Instead, we posed and took pictures of each other. "They are so glad they didn't serve us alcohol," I said, and we laughed.
On the way home our second run-in occurred. A car pulled up next to us, the windows rolled down and a man shouted, "Stop! I have a question!" This time, I didn't look back and Chloe and I kept walking. "Please!" he called after us, "a question!" He kept shouting, "a question!" over and over, and it began a natural echo in our heads.
Chloe thought perhaps we should turn back and see what it was, but I was adamant that we should keep going. "He's a creep," I said with authority, but then we realized that his car looked very similar to the one that had stopped us earlier. Shit, we wondered, what if he just really wanted to ask us a question about my shoes? The ones Chloe's mom had just given me, with a less common-looking pointed toe?
Reality is so malleable. The first car could have been the second car, and the first person could have been making a comment about our butts or asking about our shoes, and the second person could have wanted directions or could have wanted to assault us outside a small deli. And we could have reacted to all of these actions in different ways, made worse choices (or better, more human ones). Maybe, the tiniest bit tipsy and courageous from a glass of Pinot Grigio a lenient manager allowed, we would have said, "Yeah, what?" to that man, and had a completely new end to our night.
Instead, we walked safely back to Chloe's (family's) apartment, and made conversation with the doorman (he has insomnia). Tomorrow has a lot of promise -- I can choose to work from here, or at QEJ, or at the CUNY, and I'm getting lunch on Union Street. Based on lessons learned about small decisions having interesting impacts, I think I'll go to bed now. Must be well rested for all those various possibilities.
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