Trying to be more-than-punctual for an important meeting at a client’s office, you aim to get there fifteen minutes early.
You arrive and wait by yourself, sitting on a light alloid chair in front of a lightweight alloid table, outside of Pick A Bagel, staring at the mall across the street, in the financial district of Manhattan. Two fattish men in suits sit down at the table beside you, frowning from the early morning sun. You realize that you have not been awake at 7:45 AM since forever.
Now your fingers are green, dripping green.
The fattish men’s predictably loud (but not grand) voices are pinched with a skittish sort of insecurity. They are defensive, but not quite hostile. You suspect that this is because they are also visiting a client today. You eavesdrop just enough to hear that they are lawyers. If you had to pick, you’d say that they’re M&A guys, corporate something. They look prone to gregariousness. Litigators are more… tweedy, demonstrating a stringy resilience.
You feel a soft plop on the left side of your head. You stare with an open mouth at the fattish lawyer facing you, at the bagel in his hand. Did he just wave his bagel forcefully at you, causing a chunk of melting cream cheese to hit the crown of your head and slide down, so that now a little bit dripped onto your black (thank god) dress shirt? You look down and note that it is green.
It is not melting cream cheese.
It is bird poop.
You stare at your shirt and intuitively touch your hair with your fingers, pulling back quickly as they encounter a slimey substance, like marrow but not as delicious. Now your fingers are green, dripping green.
Walking out of the bathroom, you still sort of want to throw-up.
You fumble through your laptop bag with your hands below table level. Above table level, your face does not break from neutral, and you slowly rotate your body away from the fattish men. Because dignity is all about freaking out under the table while staying still above it.
You find one solitary napkin in your bag, and bring it to your head. The motion feels foreign. This has never happened to you before. You examine the napkin as if checking for blood after dabbing a stab wound.
It is bright green. Dripping green.
You slowly use up all surfaces of the solitary napkin until it too drips green.
A uniformed boy comes to wipe the table and offers to take your napkin when he sees you get up to leave. You blindly give it to him, sorry but not sorry enough to take it back. You gather your things and walk deliberately into the mall across the street.
Inside the mall, you feel an old familiarity, the call of the suburbs from your suburban childhood.
Like the mall veteran that you are, you quickly locate the bathrooms behind an empty Japanese food court stall. Inside the bathroom, you use copious amounts of cheap toilet paper (out of paper towels) to wipe the green out of your hair and your shirt. Little pieces of the tissue-thin toilet paper collect around the wet stains on your black shirt. A girl comes in and preens in front of the mirror next to you, pulling out high heels from her huge middle school-ish backpack, and stuffing a pair of Old Navy flip flops into it. You note that she is so into her preening that she has not snuck any glances at you. Hopefully, the client will also be as oblivious to your soggy state.
Walking out of the bathroom, you still sort of want to throw-up. You feel like you can still smell the bird poop on your person. They say that it’s good luck to have a bird poo on you. Now you suspect that the belief must have been spread by a snickering liar who has never felt the wrath of a winged beast.
In your wet shirt, the air conditioning in the mall is so cold, however, that you soon stop thinking and eagerly seek out an exit.
Back outside again, a forty year old woman walks by with a New York Post sticking out of her satchel.
Your fifteen minutes are up.
2 comments
Texas_lawyer says:
Jan 11, 2012
That’s why I always wear a Stetson hat with my suit and boots. If you get one made of certain material, the poop comes right off.
The Ying-A-Ling says:
Jan 11, 2012
Do you have to get different hats to match your suits?