Short Stories Part 2

A. C is for Charlie

It was a cold and rainy night in the city. Not a light mist, where you smirk at the non-local struggling with an umbrella rather than embracing what won’t even feel like a drop of water. On this night, however, it actually rained. Reminded me of desert rain. Rain that you had to sprint or run from shelter to awning to scaffolding if you were without an umbrella (like myself). When I sat down at the table, one of the employees offered to give me napkins to wash the water off my face and jacket.

Jonathan stumbled in to join me and Alex in the corner table at 6:33. We were tucked away. It was a classic NYC dinner establishment, fighting with Resy notifies to get it.

Our waitress may have been the cutest person in the restaurant. All 4’11 of her. She had a crush on Alex, and by the end, we were trying to set her up with Jonathan’s brother, who is 6’3. Alas.

We dove into the 99 cent sweet teas (wait, what?!) in paper cups and then parlayed our way into the cuisine.

Everything was delicious. The shrimp toast especially. Almost cleaned up the plate. Well, could have cleaned up the plate. I did the classic “do you want the last couple bites?” so they could both do a shake of the head with the courteous “no, you got it.” I was too honest about how good it was, effusively snapping happily back with affirmative words I can’t remember.

It was delicious. And if you’re googling, it was C as in Charlie. But, let’s be honest. C is for Charlie.

B. The Picture

When my co-worker showed me this picture at 9:45 on Wednesday morning, I went into panic mode. I flipped out. I put my phone in a drawer in my desk and told myself I wouldn’t use it that day. I wouldn’t eat lunch with it within 100 feet of me. I usually don’t take my phone out when I eat lunch by myself on the second floor of The Little Beet, but this was different. I didn’t want it on my body.

What had we become? Why did we get here? Why did everyone need to have their phone out? Like, everyone. Is that all we are here to do? Record things on our phone? Capture moments? Share moments? Over advertise our lives? Say “I was there” – can you believe it. No, I can’t. Well, I can. You can’t friendly punch or clap with the people next to you? Smile and cheer and go crazy without a phone in your hand? You can’t watch the person and moment with your eyes? You have to watch it through your phone?

I’m ready to give up on society. Bold statement. But I’m ready to give up on it. On what American culture is becoming. When Jordan hit that shot 20 years ago, it was the shot heard around the world. Everyone saw it. Eventually. And everyone was watching it live. And going absolutely crazy. Without a phone in their hand.

It was hailing the other day. This was a small hail. Not a desert storm hail. A girl, probably 19, took out her phone, and took a video of her hand collecting the hail. Or trying to collect it. Or trying to show that it was hailing. The combination of that picture and this scene on 20th street were irksome beyond belief.

Jordan > Lebron. 1998 > 2023. My confidence in the future is waning.

C. This Spin Teacher

Look, I want to preface this post to say I’m sure this teacher is a lovely person and is a kind soul (no pun intended).

I opted to go to SoulCycle with Alex ten days ago. It was a morning class. A busy morning class.

It was so busy in general that our class started late. The amount of sweat and tight pants that surrounded us and took over the corridor was shocking. It was loud, it was hot, it was claustrophobic. And I don’t get claustrophobic. The earbuds were in before we entered the studio.

And then the class began. Alex and I were separated, which in this case, was good. Because ten minutes in, the teacher was demanding we clap twice between going up and down, among other weird action items I had never seen (and it was my 25th class! – I had a colorful note on my bike to celebrate it).

I wish I wrote this directly after I took a shower in the basement in the locker room. The most pleasant part of being in that facility. But I didn’t. I’m writing it later so I can’t explain to you in excruciating detail what transpired in those 45 minutes. I need a pronunciation microphone akin to language learning so you can click on the sounds and words or combination thereof she was making.

They were sounds and noises of someone getting pleasantly punished in bed. Shrieks and yells that were unnecessary. To the point where I had my eyes closed almost the entire class to go into a meditative state. They were so loud, and so painful, that I doubled up and put fingers over my earbud filled ears. Some of it may have been a technical difficulty, but the occasional shriek produced so much feedback it was a double shriek.

The grand finale came when the class was lifting three pound weights. Not thirty. Three. This is supposed to be pretty straightforward movements – light pedaling, quick sets of bi’s, tris and shoulders. But after 20 seconds of silence, it came out in full force. Probably on the 7th rep of the 3 pound weight. “Ohhhh. Yea.” Then some other word associated with pleasure. In a ‘I want it’ type tone. And loud.

That was the icing on the cake for me.

Maybe it’s a personality thing. Maybe it’s a Soul Cycle thing. Maybe it’s a new era thing. But the expression over the top has never felt so real.