As I’ve mentioned before, and as pop culture has probably informed you by this time, crazy stuff goes down in New York all the time. All sorts of crazy. Actual crazy, meaning the kind that you give a wide berth to on the sidewalk, stuff that’s crazy awesome, crazy expensive, and then there’s the crazy unbelievable shit. The things that after seeing a grown man in a tutu riding a children’s bike and high fiving strangers will still make you go WTF? I’m talking about coincidences so insane you simply wouldn’t think them possible in a city with 20 million people living in the greater metropolitan area. I’ve heard a lot of these stories, and New Yorkers are all too familiar with this magic, but I’ve only recently started having tales of my own. I figured I would share these stories as I slowly begin to experience the weird Twilight Zone/Outer Limits voodoo that is New York City.
Episode One: Door-to-Door
I live in Brooklyn with my great-aunt. I was relocating from the south for my new job, so I moved in at the end of June in order to save up until I could move out on my own. My aunt is around most of the time when I get home in the evenings, and usually answers the door when someone knocks, which is extremely seldom. Most people who need to speak with her have a key and are related to her. So it was already a bit random that the one night out of the week that she’s not home, someone would knock on the door who I’m completely unfamiliar with.
Let me just preface this by saying I was experiencing what is called a “raggedy as shit day.” You know, one of those days where you don’t take a shower, throw on the most comfortable clothes you own that are (somewhat) work acceptable and don’t bother with make-up. Every time you catch sight of yourself in a mirror you roll your eyes and say “whatever” and the only thing on your mind is getting home, getting take out and getting into your pajamas.
Anyway, it was a guy (who looked like Chris Brown, btw) who worked for the power company, or something. He was one of those door-to-door guys who finds people looking for work. He does his little spiel, asks me if I’m over 18 and if anyone in the house is looking for work before giving me an information sheet with the company contact on it. I’m walking away, remarking to myself out loud how that was the cutest door-to-door guy I’ve ever seen when the doorbell rings again. It’s door-to-door guy, and he promptly gives me his card, and tells me he’s in a rush but I should give him a call sometime (!!!). Talk about a major win; I answer the door in my pajamas at 7pm, mouth half full of Raisinets and a cute guy decides to give me his card.
Anyway none of that shit mattered because he never answered his phone or responded to my voicemail. It was a cool confidence booster at the time though. The fun part happens about 3 weeks later. This past weekend was the NYC Marathon, meaning the subways were PACKED. I was heading into Manhattan to meet up with a friend on quite possibly the most crowded train of life. I spend the ride wedged right by the door.
The train is stopped at the Brooklyn Bridge stop in Manhattan and the doors are about to close when some guy fucking jets onto the train and crams himself in the last available space on the train, which happens to be on me. Not beside me, on me. This guy is practically holding me like I’m his girlfriend. No seriously, his arm is holding the pole behind me, and since there wasn’t any space to begin with I’m leaning against his chest. He smells good. I look up and why is this the fucking door-to-door guy?! I stare at him for a minute, which is awkward since I’m already in his face, before I start laughing.
I suppose I should have said something to him, since judging by his body language (not a euphemism) he obviously recognized me, but fuck that. I got off at the next stop and went on with my damn life. Thanks for the laugh, New York City.