Near the top of my favorite things about New York, aside from the randomosity, are the happenstance instances where you meet strangers. People that you have never seen in your life that approach another with casual fearlessness for the sake of a two or twenty-minute exchange.
I have never experienced this perplexing proximity as much I have in this city. Maybe it’s due to the densely-populated area, or maybe I just look friendly enough to talk to. On multiple occasions, and especially at coffee shops, unfamiliar faces have taken a seat across from me and struck up a conversation about anything from iPad cases to the US Postal Service. It’s fascinating.
A few weeks ago, I was sitting at a coveted two-top table at Starbucks on Astor. The place was packed, and it took me a good ten minutes of hovering before I moved in. I turned on my electronic devices and tuned out — momentarily. Several minutes later, someone had spotted the empty chair across from me and envisioned a big “FOR RENT” sign taped to it.
I looked up. A well-groomed woman, probably in her 60s, was mouthing something to me. CAN I SIT HERE? I nodded in agreement, too polite to say no. She had long, slick white hair and Ray-Ban aviators, and tugged along a shy cocker spaniel.
“Ellen,” as I soon learned her name, wasted no time putting me to work. “Is that an iPad? I don’t even know how to work one of those things. Can you tell me what the weather is in Santiago, Chile?”
“Sure.” I plugged in the information and relayed to her that it was eighty-something degrees.
“What about the weather in March? What’s the weather like in Santiago in March?”
It was a roundabout way of telling me that she was going on a cruise with her girlfriend, a free cruise at that, and before that vacation she’d be going to London for such-and-such.
Before I could get in a word, the conversation segued to the prior activities of her afternoon, where she stood in line at the post office for an unreasonable amount of time. Dissatisfied with her service, Ellen took it upon herself to document the whole lousy experience, perhaps for authorities, or maybe just for her own satisfaction. She pulled out her cell phone, the Blackberry that she’d told me five minutes earlier she had no clue how to use, and stuck it in the curmudgeon postal worker’s face. She snapped a photo to the screams of, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU CAN’T TAKE MY PICTURE!!, then, as she put it, realized that carrying through with her scheme meant that someone was probably going to murder her later that night. So she stopped.
All the while, I nodded and smiled, and Ellen could read what I was thinking. You probably think I’m crazy! I shook my head and laughed, telling her that I was just happy to be talking to someone. And I was. After talking about her dog, her home in East Hampton, and her struggle to overcome the gender inequalities of the film industry in the 1980’s, Ellen ran out of words for herself, and asked me what I was doing. What are you, a student? Yes, kind of. At Cooper? Right across the street? I shook my head ‘no,’ and she bombarded me with YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE TO COOPER! IT’S FREE, a statement I found to be about as effective as, “YOU SHOULD HAVE EATEN THE PRIME RIB FOR DINNER SIX YEARS AGO. IT WAS DELICIOUS.” Mentioning school was a good lead for Ellen to talk about how much money she’d donated to various organizations, so I listened more.
By the end of the conversation, I could see that Ellen felt she’d made an impression on me (which she did), so she dropped her credentials (she’d produced a few PBS documentaries) awards (an Emmy) and social contact information. Ellen was now my “friend!” What was more, Ellen offered me a small job — no questions asked — pet-sitting her cocker spaniel (“Bella, she’s a rescue”) while she was on her cruise in Santiago.
Things like this happen every day in New York, and there are Ellens everywhere — people just looking to connect with the world, or talk about their life, or learn about someone else’s. Connecting in a real-world situation outside of social media, the kinds of interaction that another stranger told me last week, “we’re afraid to do.”
So, I am embracing the awkwardness. Loving the exchange. You never know what you’ll get.
approximatelyes.com 