Sharon
I sent her a response right away.
Sharon!
So sorry your filling fell out. I'll be there at 1:30 sharp.
I'm really glad to be working with you.
Ella
So there I was, having arrived downtown for my first day of work, and I had the morning to kill. I stood in Grand Central and glanced around, admiring the beautiful art deco building. Just then, a nice little old lady wearing a polka-dot kerchief over her grey hair stood beside me.
"Excuse," she said in a thick Eastern European accent. "Could you please to help me find?"
"Sure," I said and leaned closer, checking out the address scrawled on a piece of paper. Then I examined the large transit map she opened, trying to help her find a specific stop on the subway that would take her to an address in Brighton Beach.
That was my first mistake.
I mean, who was I to think I should be helping someone else find their way around the city when I had only just arrived? But I was sure I could read a map... Besides, she was such a sweet old lady.
Suddenly the old lady folded the map up. "Thank you," she said. "Now I go."
Then she sped off, suddenly and amazingly agile. The thing was, she left the station instead of going down to the platform and taking the train I'd suggested.
"Hey!" I called out. "You're going the wrong way!" I gestured to the escalator leading down to the platform she was supposed to be taking, but she disappeared out the door and into the morass of pedestrians. I shrugged to myself, figuring she must have her reasons, and leaned over to grab my backpack.
In a completely comedic fashion, I reached into thin air where my backpack had once been, only to find it was gone. Unbeknownst to me, while I was so kindly and naively studying the map to figure out how the little old lady could get to her destination, her accomplice was busy snagging my backpack. The super-fantastic backpack specially designed to contain all my most valuable possessions.
My laptop. My cell. My wallet. My passport. My freaking money order for the apartment in Chelsea – the real apartment, with the real exposed brick and private bathroom.
I turned and saw a person rushing out another door, my backpack in hand.
"Hey, you! Stop!"
I chased after the middle-aged woman, my black heels clattering on the stairs, but before I could get to the street, she disappeared into a wall of people.
Feeling helpless, I went back into the station and stood there speechless, at a loss for what to do next. I had to take a train to Fifth Avenue, for my first day as an intern. I should never have put my backpack down and let my attention be distracted elsewhere, but I was trying to be nice. The poor little old Slavic lady had looked confused and helpless. My instincts were to help her.
I was freaking out internally that I'd just lost all my ID, not to mention the cashier's check for my first and last month's rent, which represented months of savings. I was supposed to give the landlord the check when I went to pick up the keys to my new apartment on Monday after work.
I'd have to go to my bank and get another check, but of course, since I didn't have my ID, how would they know it was me?
Oh. My. God...
Now, what the hell was I going to do? I'd be homeless unless I could somehow get a new cashier's check. Without it, I'd have no apartment.
As it was I had no cellphone. No laptop. Worst of all, no wallet. Even my damn keys to the Airbnb were gone. I'd have to call the landlord to get her to let me in.
But... my cell was in my damn backpack!
I went to a payphone and called Steph, my best friend in all the world, who was going to join me in Ma
nhattan as soon as her exams were finished at Christmas.
I called collect.
As soon as she answered, the words just spilled out of me.