I woke up with the same dread that I had fallen asleep with the night before.
An entire day to myself. Not a damn soul around.
My mind alternated between All by Myself, One is the Loneliest Number, and On My Own for hours.
I had off on a Saturday. A beautiful Saturday. The kind of Saturday that renews your hope in mankind, and I had been dreading it for days.
The extrovert in me cannot be alone. I can be alone, if I choose to do so, but if being alone is thrust upon me without my consent, I feel like I am trapped in a closet with no way out. Or, I guess I should say a city of 8 million people that I don't know.
But, for once in my exceptionally whiny life, I decided to have a good attitude.
Around 1:30 pm (after staying up until 5:30 am watching OITNB, which is fantastic), I finally decided to leave the house and take the hour ride to the beach. Two hours and 4 transfers later, I called my dad crying.
My boss had just informed me that I would be recieving the following Sunday off. Working retail, getting a full weekend off is like when you buy a special treat and open the bag and realized you got two, it is special enough to get the one, and the two is just a miracle. Except without the advanced notice, my very special full weekend off is being wasted with a 2 hour train ride in which I am doing my very very best to not have a full on panic attack.
I asked her to please give me a different Sunday, one in which I would be able to prepare and make actual plans. The truth was that although I wanted that, I did not want to have to spend an entire extra day in this very tiny, very large city all by myself. The thought of that nearly made me nauseous. I wanted to be at work, at a place where I had a purpose, where it didn't really matter that I didn't have anyone to call up because I was busy and doing something productive.
She responded by giving me Sunday AND Monday off. I knew that she thought that she was doing my a kindness, but it was enough to send me into spirals.
Typing it out now, it seems to sad and little and stupid, but in that moment, publicly sobbing on the train, it was choking the life out of me. And so I called my dad to let him know.
What is wrong with me!? Why does this always happen, again and again? Why am I always so alone?
I guess at this point, I have to add that I am single and that obviously makes it worse. This post isn't at all about being broken up, but it sure didn't help the situation.
Why can't I just be a normal person?!
My dad said all of the things dads say and I finally calmed down and found my way to a spot on the beach. I took a deep breath and opened my book. (Just a note, I read The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls and it was fantastic, I really loved it, everyone should read it. ALSO I just read that it is going to become a film with J.Law?! Be still my heart!)
I told myself that it would all be fine. I had bought 10 books the day before and had a fridge full of food, how bad could life be? I could finish OITNB, reorganize my room, bake cookies, sit in the park, it would all be just fine.
It started to get hot on the beach, despite it being 4 pm and so I shoved all of my stuff into my bag, put my towel over it and sprinted into the water and sprinted back. I checked my bag and all was well, my things were all accounted for. I ate about a half lb of brie, read 5 or 6 more chapters and decided that it was naptime. I again shoved my belongings into my bag, looped the handle through my arm and snoozed away under the westward sun. I woke up, everything was all accounted for and I was feeling lovely. The sand in my hair felt comforting, the smell of the sea breeze felt familiar. I was going to be fine, I was being such a baby before. There is nothing wrong with being alone, I am an adult and it will all be fine.
At about 5:15 I turned my body toward the sun and wrapped my towel around my back and turned my attention fully to my book. I read until it really began to get chilly and I realized I should save the last 30 pages or so for the train ride home. I dog-eared the page (don't start with me, it makes my books feel like old friends when I see places I've left off in the past), and started to get dressed. I reached into my bag to check the time and realized I couldn't find my phone.
Panicking, as I usually do, I dumped my stuff out over the blanket and began to search. It wasn't there. I tore through the sand, shook everything out, dug deeper in the sand. Still no phone. I felt the tears quickly approaching.
Not now. Not today. I just want to have a nice day in this damned city.
I approach a couple and ask them to please call my phone as I am unable to find it. They look at each other, then back at me. The women speaks in broken English,
"Call... your mobile?"
They call for me and it rings twice and then goes to voicemail. I turn back with tears in my eyes and expletives leaving my mouth. They quickly pack up their belongings and move further down the beach.
I approach a group of people my age and tearfully ask them to please call my phone, it has been stolen.
They were sympathetic and let me call. I left a voicemail, I know you stole my phone!
I later realized they won't know my passcode to access the voicemail...
I go back to my spot to go through the sand, though I know it isn't worth it and start to cry. Not tiny little tears I had been holding back before, but just wail. I have a lot of things, shame isn't one of them.
It was not my phone that I was crying for. That stupid thing had 3 separate screen cracks and was probably going to stop working any day now. I felt so stupid. I felt so violated. Someone had snuck up behind me and reached their hand into my bag. I felt so angry. If I had any damn friends, this wouldn't have happened! If I still had a stupid boyfriend, this wouldn't have happened! If I hadn't been so forceful with myself, if I hadn't tried so freaking hard to have a nice day, this wouldn't have happened!
I let my misery swallow me as the sand had (hopefully) swallowed me phone.
Hon, you ok?
I didn't think through that a young woman crying all alone on the beach would attract a bit of attention.
Yeah, it's just... I mean it's stupid, someone stole my phone.
A look of relief crosses her face,
Damn girl, I thought you were gonna say it was aboutcha boyfriend. Cuz I was gonna say, f*ck your boyfriend.
I can't help but laugh and the tears subside.
Well, no, although I do have an ex I am a bit annoyed with at the moment, but no, I am just having a day of misery and this didn't help.
Hon, you can't trust these people. You look like a girl with money, you can't be lookin like that. Did they take your wallet? Do you need money to get home?
I do? Well, that's not too true. My phone had 3 cracks in it and is two models old. I don't know how that looks like money. But no, they didn't take my wallet, thank you though.
At this point, I am near crying again because I am so relieved that beautiful people still exist.
These people are stupid. They don't know that.
They are stupid.
You gotta watch out for these people. You can't just be trusting anyone. You gotta know who to trust. You gotta know who to value. Like, you can't just break up witchya girlfriend because she found outcha man is runnin' around on you and tells it like it is. You can't be gettin' mad at her for that. She tryna tell you the truth. F*ck ya man if he runnin around on you, don't break up with your girlfriend!
I am not sure what to do with all of this information, but I can't disagree with any of it. I respond affirmatively. And thank her for her sweetness and kindness for a stranger.
Honey, I ain't sweet. I just love God and I can't see a girl crying all alone. I am 63 years old and you wanna know what the secret of life is? I'll tell you. The secret of life is don't give it away.
(I have no idea what this means, but she keeps going)
Don't give anything away. Don't do shit for people who don't value you. Where does that get you? How does that help you? Like, you gotta man who wants a guitar so he can be a rockstar or some shit. So what, you gotta buy him a guitar? Man, f*ck ya boyfriend and f*ck his guitar.
I am entirely lost at this point, but I love everything the woman has to say. We chat for a while longer, I find out that her name is Norma and she is with her adorable grandchildren today. She reminds me to be thankful that they didn't take my wallet, or my life (!?) and to be kind to myself.
New York, you are awful, but you have redeemable qualities.
I rush to the train (no idea how to find a train without Google Maps, mind you) and head to the only Verizon store that I can pinpoint to its exact location. About 5 minutes from my ex-boyfriend's apartment. I have no problem seeing him, everything is amicable, but at this point I am tired, hungry, dirty, tear streaked and slightly sunburned. The last person I need to run into is an ex. I find my way to the train, and 40 minutes later arrive at Canal street and sprint to the store, only to find it locked and the men waving me away to let me know it is closed. I look at the hours sign on the door and it says they close at 8 pm.
I can feel the panic arising again. It is bad enough that my phone is gone, but what if they crack my passcode? I've used banking information on there, personal contacts, my email, etc. They don't open until 11 am the following morning, meaning the asshole thief will have been able to access my stuff for over 12 hours! I knock again and they give my the same blank look. Feeling very alone and defeated, I did what I do best. I slumped along the side of the store and began to cry. In public. Again.
A girl approaches me and asks if I am ok and if I need a phone. I assume she is peddling some stolen goods (it is Canal street after all) and tell her that I am fine. She pulls her own phone out of her pocket and offers it to me, if I need someone to call. I thank her for her kindness but tell her that I just need to get my phone turned off and the damn store is closed. I ask her the time. It is 8:02 pm.
She walks away and I stand in front of the door, trying to loudly whisper through the half inch crack between the doors.
I just need to get my phone turned off! Please! It was stolen!
Whether they can hear me or not, they don't turn around. I don't know what to do. I have to get this issue resolved! I lean against the door, fighting the tears for the 4th time when someone approaches from behind the locked doors. I wipe them away, fully aware of the black streaks and explain my situation. He looks at me blankly and walks away. I stand there again, not sure what emotion to feel when a younger man appears. He opens the door for me and says he will help me. I must've looked manic when I loudly exclaimed my gratefulness and thanks because he began to look very afraid. Nonetheless he disconnected my phone, flagged it as stolen and wrote down the number for me to have a replacement phone in about 5 minutes. His name was Norman.
I get back on the train to head home. I've got about 40 minutes to go and my book is finished. I reach into my bag to grab my phone and smile to myself at my mistake. Then I realize the worst part of it all. I was on level 351 in Candy Crush. I will not be re-downloading the app.
It takes me a while to realized the coincidence, a woman named Norma and a man named Norman, two kind souls who took pity on my pathetic self. I go home, exhausted. I tell my roommates about the day and find that I am able to laugh about the ridiculousness of it all. We re-enact the scene of the crime and I realized that the person truly snuck up behind me, just an inch away while I was reading and grabbed my phone. My stupid, cracked screen, 2 models old phone. I contacted my parents who were terrified that I was kidnapped by the Russians and tell them I am coming home. I find the first bus leaving the city that morning and escape to suburbia for 2 days.
I am alive. I have my wallet. I have my family. I do have friends. I have a job that allows me to have the money to replace my phone. For every miserable SOB in the world there are 3 or 4 kind ones who make up for it. I am alive and wasn't kidnapped by the Russians. I have friends who at a moment's notice make plans to see me. I have a family who endures my ridiculous antics. I have roommates who I can come home and tell my stories to. And somewhere out there, some asshole has a 2 models old phone with a cracked screen that is disconnected and is unable to be used for anything other than playing candy crush.
