Manhattan Me

In the City That Never Sleeps, the clock is always ticking. It just takes two seconds passing by and you miss your chance to cross the street before oncoming traffic hits. You leave the house one minute late and you could be standing on the subway platform waiting for the R train for an eternity. Arriving 5 minutes too soon to your dinner date in the Theater District and you end up bombareded by a stampede of tourists dashing to their seats for their third viewing of Wicked. Timing is everything here. And I have what you would call, impeccable (read: imperfect) timing.

Last Friday night, after dragging myself home from work after what could quite possibly be a strong contender for Worst Week in The World, I battled with an invitation to a surprise party. To go, or not to go? To go would mean I would actually have to brush my hair and put some makeup on for the first time in a week and stop wandering around like a character from The Addams Family. To not go would mean to give into yet another hot date with my turquoise couch and flat screen. This was requiring more brain power than I could possibly devote to anything more than breathing and blinking. Around 10pm, I decided to just suck it up and go to the party.

I called the hostess and told her I'd be there within half an hour, and she told me the birthday girl whom the surprise party was for would be arriving at 10:30. I'd probably miss the surprise, but that was fine by me. So I rode the subway to Harlem (that ride in itself is a whole different post) and trekked to the party. I glanced at the time as I was arriving to her apartment building--10:48 PM. Surely, by the time I arrived, the surprise would be over. I briefly considered calling and letting her know I was almost there, and not to shout SURPRISE at me. But, as I tend to over think and worry unneccessarily, I left it alone and continued on. You know how they always say, the one time you don't think to do ________, you should have? It never fails. As I was coming up on the door, I noticed it was a little too quiet for a party, but in New York, everything is different. I knocked on the door and stood there for about a minute waiting for someone to open it. My friend and hostess opened the door, and as if things were happening in slow motion, I took in the following: dark apartment, crowd of people with smiles slapped on their faces..oh, no...birthday cake..crap, please let this not be happening...birthday candles, awkward silence...how much more frantically can I shake my head "No" before they stop? and finally...SURPRISE! Shit. A few minutes earlier, or just 5 minutes later, and this never would have happened. It's all about timing.

I quickly scurried to a corner in the room, my friend closed the door and within 2 minutes, the real birthday girl was there. She hadn't suspected a thing. No, really, the surprise was a sucess.

You may ask why, if I was among friends, did they mistake me for the birthday girl. At any given party in New York City, you will find a random group of people, from all walks of life, who have never met each other. It is just how things are done here. We were all looking at each other for the first time. I, however, just happened to make a more grandeur entrance than them. Another thing, besides my so called impeccable timing, that I just have a knack for.