Wait

Sticky, Sweaty, and Exhausted.
"I Give!"

I vow to myself, that I will bow out of the incoming and ongoing traffic accumulated by fellow pedestrians, and step off and into the next available "rest stop".

Of course, since I'm in one of the busiest cities in America, I draw near a Starbucks. Boring! ( Boring, but safe.) Do I stay or do I go? Being that I'm in Times Square, suffer from a combination of claustrophobia and and anxiety disorder; my body decides before my actual mind makes up it's - mind, and reaches out, grabs the door handle, and I'm in like Flynn.

It feels like I'd just spent 9 months running circles in a hot and steamy womb, and as I leaped into Starbucks,cheeks flushed, forehead damp, it was like my first breath of fresh air, on earth.

Waiting in line at a Times Square Starbucks, is quite similar to the wait you'd experience at a pediatrician's office (at least the one I went to as a child...and teen). The Giant Fish Tank. Disney Movie replaying over and over. The Cubic roller coaster (where the mangled, bright wires are threaded with colorful chunky cubes, which you dink around with, unsure what the actual point is). The crying children. The magazines. I think if someone invested some time into researching, I bet all of that chaos has a lot to do with the whole ADD/ADHD epidemic. Ca'mon. What the hell do you focus on!? Way too many options!

I found myself adoring the young lady in front of me's darling bracelets. Wondering what the dude by the window is drinking, it looks so foamy and delicious. My ears drag my attention over to the conversation behind me; a couple talking about their incoming out-of-towners, they're soo not looking forward to it.

Oh yeah- the menu, what to get... what to get?

"... yeah, we discontinued that." the barista delivers the unfortunate news, to the darling in the bracelets.

"Discontinued what?!" I think to myself. As if it was of great importance, as if that specific drink could be THE drink, of which
I'd recently become a shareholder, investing mass amounts of stock. For some reason that information seemed suddenly crucial.

Oh yeah- ok. the menu- what to get... what to get?

I settle on an Iced Vanilla latte. Sugar-free. Oh, and a bottle of water.
"Oh, the machine isn't working. Do you just have two dollars?"
"I only have a $5 bill..." my face telling him that obviously, together, my bottled water and caffeinated beverage would add up to more than $5 anyway.

"Well, if you have two dollars, I'd just charge you for the water, and since the register is having problems, I'd give you the latte for free"

"No, it's ok. I can pay for both! Here."
"Oh, it's working now. But I'm still not going to charge you for the latte."
" It's really just fine. I can pay for it."

[2.00] reads the register
"Two Dollars please!"
I hand him my 'five.

he winks. Hands me $3. Which I stick into the tip Jar.

Smart guy.

I meander back into the end of the establishment. There is a tiny table for two. Perfect. Me and my bag, which weighs that of a small child.

I set down my bag. My portfolio. My map. My wallet. My cell phone. And my drinks.
AHH.
Not only was I just given birth to, now - my umbilical cord was now snipped. I was free. Nothing hanging on my shoulder, nothing glued to my hands.

It's a weird spot. I've got a front row seat to the restroom. And I swear. I SWEAR- that people go in, yet never come out. It's a unisex restroom. A one seater. So there's no questioning how many persons "The John" should consist of. I may have been somewhat aloof to the individual departures out of Le Lou. But I definitely decided to now, creepily and carefully watch those that went in, to see if they came out.

In goes a blonde in her twenties, donning a bright summery ensemble, and uber-chic flats.

I was sure that I was about to discover some secret passage way. Some private entrance for VIP into an underground club. Sweet.

Ohp. Never mind. Out she comes. She did take a long time in there. I do believe the she also had her hair up when she entered, and her hair has now fallen down, over and in front of her shoulders.

"Ok, Brynn- you are being completely out of line, downright nosey, and disrespectful- STOP." I rarely talk to myself, and/or refer to myself in third person. Though, there is always a time and a place for everything.

I opened my Map of the city, and the subway routes. Studying where I need to go, where I've been, where I'm staying, where my agency is, oh- and where Whole Foods is. At this point; I'm pretty proud of myself. I'm figuring and mapping things out quite nicely. I'm such the New Yawker.

"You usin' this Chaya?" Tony soprano's distant cousin asks me, as he takes hold of the chair my tired old Marc Jacobs rests in.

"No, go right ahead." I grab my bag off of the chair, and set it down next to me on the hedge, by the window.
I'd already called Andrew, my mom, and anyone else I'd felt like bothering. I didn't know what to do with myself. But I had a whole hour and 45 minutes until my next casting down the street. I should've brought my book.... Hmm. I pull out a pad of paper and a pen. Time to take record of my surroundings.

More eavesdropping.. Behind me there is a man and a woman. I decide that their business- is now my business: Without turning around, which would be totally outing myself and my being a complete snoop. I observe the context of the conversation. I think it's a business coffee date. They talk business. She loves her boss, her co-workers. her schedule. Blah blah blah b-oring! I tune out.

Wait-!
" So, then I'm mid shampoo, and just decide to start busting out this musical, like I'm on Broadway! "

Oh no she didn't.

" No one is auditioning this time of year. But I wanted to stay in New York and soak it all in."

I suppose she means both figuratively and literally. Her shampoo suds and the New York experience I assume is what she's soaking in.

" I talked to my mom, and even she says that she thinks that I'm the happiest I've ever been. She can even hear it in my voice!"
I'll bet, especially if she caught you in your Sudsy performance. I fall in love with this girl, and the fact that she has taken her conversation to the uncomfortable stage. Where the counterpart has now crawled back into his shell, and I rarely hear a peep out of him.

I am right by the window. Two Cholo's walk by, they both are sporting hair nets, covering their perfectly coifed, greased up, slicked back hair. Passing them is a woman who looks very expensive. She's wearing all black. A big ruffled collar, and a skirt that falls beautifully. She's perfectly pieced together, even the giant band-aids on her forehead, calve, and elbow look so fabulous.

Oops, I've forgotten to pay attention- out of the Restroom comes a guy with a topless cup of iced coffee. What? Everything seem so strange. Shouldn't he be coming from the other way with an almost full cup of coffee? After further analysis; I've come to the conclusion that he's spiked his drink during his stint in the restroom. Now I've just been left questioning what would he spike his iced coffee with? Vodka? Rum? Robitussin?

Up walks a man. He's obviously reading the same fashion magazine as my very own father. The man is wearing a pale Polo shirt, which appears as if he'd received it for free from his bank, or his car dealership, or the golf course which he frequents. He's wearing white tennis shoes, they're almost identical to my dad's Court Classic's that he buys at Costco for twenty bucks. In remembrance of the Twin Towers, he's pulled both of his tall, white athletic socks upward and stretched to the maximum capacity. He's with his daughter. They both have giant cookies which are speckled with an assortment of colored M&M's. Where you'd find salt and pepper shakers at a table-for-two at a fine dinning restaurant; here- he's placed a bottle of hand sanitizer and a few napkins. I miss my dad.

Leaving it at that note, eerily homesick, it's suddenly time to go. I take off my gladiator sandals, slip on a pair of heels, and set off into the sunset of smoke and smog.