blinking cursor mocking me, Hemingway’s ghost somewhere nearby. Yes, I was quite sure.
On the bright side, the apartment still looked great. Clean apartment = clean slate. In my mind’s ear, I could almost hear the cast of
Annie
belting out “Tomorrow.” While I brushed my teeth, I had a moment to wonder what it would be like to have pain-free hindquarters again, to be able to sit in a hard chairagain, to sidestep a Broadway matinee lineup, accidentally bump my ass on a parking meter, and not yelp and tear up and bite a hole through my tongue. More Advil, then I went to bed, still on my stomach.
It happened about six and a half hours later. I don’t know
how
it arrived. I just know
that
it arrived.
CHAPTER 3
It was still dark when I awoke. I wasn’t tired in the least, though I should have been. The garish orange digits next to me blared 4:32 a.m. In hindsight, there was no earth-shattering epiphany, no profound revelation. I’m not prone to such dramatic breakthroughs. It was really just a simple, solid, sound idea that seemed to arrive fully formed, along with a sentence I’d heard earlier.
“Well, you never know, New York is a big city.”
Yes, it is. Yes, it is.
I turned it over in my mind for about an hour before getting up and wakening my laptop. I mapped out the idea. Fiddled with it. Made it bigger, made it smaller, then made it just right, I hoped. I took about half an hour finding the words for the ad, then copied and pasted them into the little box on the
New York Times
classified ads website. I chose the “New York Regiononly” option. I could always spread my net wider if this initial approach failed. Now I just needed a date, time, and location to complete the ad.
Where to do it. A local church? No, not the vibe I was going for. A hotel? Kind of expensive, and it may not set the right tone. A bar? Tempting, but too many distractions, like beer, and karaoke … and beer. The boardroom at Macdonald-Clark? I could probably arrange it, but unless he was busy, it would probably mean seeing Bob again, and I just wasn’t up for that. (Bob busy? Good one.) So no go on the MC boardroom. Public library? Now we’re getting warmer, but still a tad restrictive, I thought. Where, where, where …
I found myself stalled on location for about an hour as I explored different options. Then it suddenly came to me. The perfect solution. I cannot explain why it took me so long to think of it. I’m a member, after all. I went to the website and confirmed what I suspected. They were open very early in the morning to cater to the before-work crowd. After ransacking the apartment in search of my membership card, I finally dug it out from the drawer in the front hall table. I dusted it off and made the call. I hung up ten minutes later with a meeting room reserved for a couple of hours the following Thursday evening. It didn’t cost me a penny. Pays to be a member, even one with a dusty membership card.
I flipped back to the
NY Times
classifieds site and added the final details. I plugged in my Visa card number and hit the bigred button to make the buy. I considered a Facebook ad, and even composed a few options, but decided against it in the end. It was a fallback measure I wasn’t convinced I’d need. “New York is a big city.”
I returned to the YouTube clip to scan the new comments added overnight. The rough one-in-twenty-five pattern that I’d identified the day before persisted. The total comment count had risen to nearly 315. Sprinkled among the 75 or so newly added venomous comments were three positive ones from, I’m not kidding here, Paul Revere, Clark Griswold, and one J. Garland. Very cool.
I admit it. I was kind of excited. I felt like I suddenly had a new mission. Not a lofty, altruistic, philanthropic one. No, not so much. More like a self-interested purpose that might help a few other people similarly afflicted if everything went well. That was good enough for me.
“Hey, big bro,”
On the bright side, the apartment still looked great. Clean apartment = clean slate. In my mind’s ear, I could almost hear the cast of
Annie
belting out “Tomorrow.” While I brushed my teeth, I had a moment to wonder what it would be like to have pain-free hindquarters again, to be able to sit in a hard chairagain, to sidestep a Broadway matinee lineup, accidentally bump my ass on a parking meter, and not yelp and tear up and bite a hole through my tongue. More Advil, then I went to bed, still on my stomach.
It happened about six and a half hours later. I don’t know
how
it arrived. I just know
that
it arrived.
CHAPTER 3
It was still dark when I awoke. I wasn’t tired in the least, though I should have been. The garish orange digits next to me blared 4:32 a.m. In hindsight, there was no earth-shattering epiphany, no profound revelation. I’m not prone to such dramatic breakthroughs. It was really just a simple, solid, sound idea that seemed to arrive fully formed, along with a sentence I’d heard earlier.
“Well, you never know, New York is a big city.”
Yes, it is. Yes, it is.
I turned it over in my mind for about an hour before getting up and wakening my laptop. I mapped out the idea. Fiddled with it. Made it bigger, made it smaller, then made it just right, I hoped. I took about half an hour finding the words for the ad, then copied and pasted them into the little box on the
New York Times
classified ads website. I chose the “New York Regiononly” option. I could always spread my net wider if this initial approach failed. Now I just needed a date, time, and location to complete the ad.
Where to do it. A local church? No, not the vibe I was going for. A hotel? Kind of expensive, and it may not set the right tone. A bar? Tempting, but too many distractions, like beer, and karaoke … and beer. The boardroom at Macdonald-Clark? I could probably arrange it, but unless he was busy, it would probably mean seeing Bob again, and I just wasn’t up for that. (Bob busy? Good one.) So no go on the MC boardroom. Public library? Now we’re getting warmer, but still a tad restrictive, I thought. Where, where, where …
I found myself stalled on location for about an hour as I explored different options. Then it suddenly came to me. The perfect solution. I cannot explain why it took me so long to think of it. I’m a member, after all. I went to the website and confirmed what I suspected. They were open very early in the morning to cater to the before-work crowd. After ransacking the apartment in search of my membership card, I finally dug it out from the drawer in the front hall table. I dusted it off and made the call. I hung up ten minutes later with a meeting room reserved for a couple of hours the following Thursday evening. It didn’t cost me a penny. Pays to be a member, even one with a dusty membership card.
I flipped back to the
NY Times
classifieds site and added the final details. I plugged in my Visa card number and hit the bigred button to make the buy. I considered a Facebook ad, and even composed a few options, but decided against it in the end. It was a fallback measure I wasn’t convinced I’d need. “New York is a big city.”
I returned to the YouTube clip to scan the new comments added overnight. The rough one-in-twenty-five pattern that I’d identified the day before persisted. The total comment count had risen to nearly 315. Sprinkled among the 75 or so newly added venomous comments were three positive ones from, I’m not kidding here, Paul Revere, Clark Griswold, and one J. Garland. Very cool.
I admit it. I was kind of excited. I felt like I suddenly had a new mission. Not a lofty, altruistic, philanthropic one. No, not so much. More like a self-interested purpose that might help a few other people similarly afflicted if everything went well. That was good enough for me.
“Hey, big bro,”
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