This Was All the Same Day
I forgot my headphones on a long trip to Staten Island. To get to Staten Island, I have to travel from the top of the island Manhattan down to the bottom, cross through the seven levels of the candy cane forest through the sea of swirly-twirly gum drops, journey to the real world with Tame Impala, and get on Pete Davidson’s boat with Spider Man.
This was a long trip to do without headphones, especially on the day that Ariana Grande’s new album came out. So, I committed to listening to the sounds of the world around me, mostly because I had no choice. This seemed really beautiful until the first sound I heard was “Sorry” by Justin Bieber but on steel drums.
But let’s go back. This commute actually started with a few errands I had to run, which included buying flowers, as I was seeing a Wagner College musical starring my boyfriend and choreographed by my best friend. The errands also included buying— wait hold on, my parents and my future in-laws read this. Ummmm, let’s just say I was buying… cookies.
I first bought the flowers from a shopping cart. Not from the shopping cart, from a man. I asked for one bouquet of roses and one bouquet of carnations. He sold me one bouquet of roses and two bouquets of carnations, and tied those together before I could correct him. They looked stupid as hell tied together, but oh well, Mikayla does deserve extra, I thought to myself.
Then, I walked into Duane Reade on a mission, knowing exactly where I was going and knowing for certain I will not spend more than three minutes in there nor attract any kind of attention to myself. I stopped for a pack of gum, knowing I was eating dinner on the way and seeing every friend I’ve ever had at the function after, before I made it to the cookie aisle. My boyfriend usually buys cookies for us, but he asked me to get them on the way to him because he’s gotten them the last few times, and cookies are unreasonably expensive. I get to the aisle, and I don’t see the classic cookies we usually get. In fact, they didn’t have ANY classic kind of any brand. They only had extra large cookies and extra small cookies, and extra thin, and extra ribbed, and non-latex, and all I wanted was VANILLA EXTRACT.
And so, there I was, looking at all of these cookies we’ve never tried, weighing my options alone, knowing that my boyfriend would be much more impacted by the type of cookie than I would be. I realized that I was in this aisle for far too long, because I absolutely failed my mission and attracted the unwanted company of a man, who was not in any kind of uniform that would solicit talking to strangers, but nonetheless asked me if I needed HELP.
No.
He says to me. HE ACTUALLY SAYS TO ME:
“I love a girl who knows what she needs.”
And so I grabbed a box of cookies (you do NOT need to know which one I went with; you and I are not that close), and walked up to the cashier. And it was right then, when I was making humiliating eye contact with the boy at the register, who was holding back acute, stinging, dagger-like laughter, that I realized I was holding: a bouquet of roses, a pack of gum, and a 12-pack box of cookies.
And that’s when I committed my first ever offense of shoplifting.
I got on the A train downtown and transitioned to peace. I looked around and named everyone on the train. There were three Lindas, one Shawn and one Sean, and a dog that was obviously named Groot by the look of its owners.
Then I noticed that the boy next to me was playing the Connections on the NYT Games app. I forgot to do it; what a great activity! But I couldn’t figure it out. So I did what any girl with a competitive relationship with her father would do and peaked at his phone. I started clicking and lighting my phone up with colorful categories, until he swiped out of the fucking game. I was pissed… until he opened up his texts. A new activity! Aw, he’s texting his MOM. He just wrote “LMAOOO” to his MOM. I love that. Oh great, he’s back on Connections. I make eye contact for a quick second with Sean, who knows I’m snooping. Give me a break, Sean, I know you dye your hair but tell everyone it’s natural.
And then, Boy himself noticed.
He looked up at me and said, “you’re doing the Connections?” I said yes and he rightfully accused me and said, “and you’re looking at mine?”
Instead of being bashful and charming and explaining that I’m just a sweet ol daddy’s girl who needed a little help, I looked him dead in the eye and said I was assaulted at a Duane Reade.
He, planning what he was going to say next, didn’t hear that comment luckily and said, “honestly I need help with today’s mini crossword. Did you do it?”
I hadn’t done it, but I proceeded to help him and use my well-practiced knowledge of the opposites of cardinal directions. He thanked me and said he has a leaderboard with his mom and that she always beats him.
And then. AND THEN:
He said, “this is my stop,” and GOT OFF THE TRAIN. No “what’s your name,” no “what’s your number,” NO “what’s your snap.” I didn’t have to tell him that I’m spoken for or that my phone is broken. What a beautiful restorative interaction! We exchanged absolutely nothing except game advice. We were symbiotic for a minute there!
Boy from subway who plays games, if you come across this somehow and recognize this story, I hope you beat your mom daily. Wait
Anyways, this may sound like I think I’m the fairest in the land, but seriously, I haven’t had an interaction with a man that didn’t have an ulterior motive in quite some time. A boy that I served at my restaurant last week showed back up two hours after he and his mother paid and said, “I walked all the way back here in the rain just to get your number.” And then I had no choice but to squash his dreams and kill his dog.
But for real, I was blown away by this genuine moment of humanism. No selfishness and no call for attention. So blown away, that when I walked into the ferry terminal and saw a cellist in a full tuxedo who was filling my headphone-less ears with music that was not Beliebered steel drums, I was compelled to give that extra bouquet of carnations to him. I untied them and placed the bouquet in his cello case along with $5. Sorry Mikayla, you don’t deserve shit.
I was so proud of myself for contributing to genuine moments of being human. To beautiful restorative interactions. With no ulterior motives, no selfishness, and no call for attention. I looked around and wondered— WHY IS NO ONE SAYING ANYTHING ABOUT ME? Did you all not find that BEAUTIFUL?! That REALLY didn’t restore your faith in HUMANITY?! WHY DID NONE OF YOU TAKE A VIDEO AND PUT IT ON TIK TOK? I WANT TO BE THE MYSTERIOUS GIRL IN THE FERRY TERMINAL. WHY DID I DO THAT THEN?
All in all, it turns out a lot can happen when you forget your headphones. And don’t even ask me about the return trip. That’s a story for another day… (cue “There She Goes” and zoom out).