Personal Yummy #44
It’s a beautiful day at the beginning of May—sunny, in the eighties, and absolutely no humidity—and for the first time this spring, I decide to go to the park for lunch.
I take the elevator down to the first floor—my cubicle is on the fortieth—and I exit my office building and proceed to the Ernest Klein gourmet supermarket, which is on the east side of Sixth Avenue, between 55th and 56th. I pick up an already prepared grilled chicken salad, with big, tender chunks of chicken, mini carrots, red onion, black olives, slices of cucumber, and Caesar dressing. I brought my large, glass water bottle with me, full of ice and cold water, so I don’t need to purchase a drink.
I walk north on Sixth toward the park, and it feels so good to be in the abundant sun and out of my freezing, air conditioned office. I observe all of the pleasing-looking restaurants along the way, one of them with its sliding exterior wall open, allowing the pretty bar, with its even prettier wineglasses, to be on full display. I also enjoy checking out the other establishments lining the sidewalk: the cigar shop and lounge, the spirits store, and the funky art store. And it’s undeniably fun to admire the fancy, stylish shoes and purses in the boutique windows.
Suddenly, a woman on a bike, who is traveling headlong in my direction—and on the sidewalk itself, which is completely against the rules, I think—almost plows right into me! What’s more, she lets out a disgusted “What???!!!” as if I am totally to blame.
But, hey, what can I say? I am on my break and I was window shopping.
After my heart slows down and recovers, I eventually get to the corner of 59th and Sixth and then cross over the street to the entrance to the park, and there all of the cute, dark-haired foreign young men are, eagerly and aggressively aiming to rent bicycles, and confidently flashing their large, laminated informational cards at everyone passing by, sometimes soliciting and following some people even after they have declined several times. Having spent countless lunch breaks in the park the previous year, I can’t help but recognize many of the same faces from last spring.
The smell of the horses is also familiar to me, as is the lineup of the horses and their colorful carriages along the winding curb.
I walk a bit farther and then head down the stone steps that lead to the path around the water, and I sit down on a bench that allows a perfect view of The Pond. This is the same bench that I regularly choose if there is room. I usually like to sit on either end of the bench, but today there is space in the middle only.
Once I get situated and comfortable, I slowly eat my salad and take in the stillness of the water and its surroundings, and all of the beautiful birds and ducks that call The Pond home. Moreover, the hot sun on my legs and feet is wonderful—I always like to slip off my shoes—one of the best sensations ever. It is magically peaceful and nurturing here, the perfect place to escape to, and such a contrast to my structured, deadline-driven, and intense office environment.
Certainly the professionals sitting here with me—but each of us in our own quiet world, for now—have found their escape here too.
The woman sitting to my left, a young Asian woman in a flowery dress and strappy heels, is slowly eating her spicy tuna sushi roll—and very adeptly…she is quite skilled with the chopsticks—as well as a fancy salad with greens and seaweed. The way she is approaching and eating the food: with such care, skill, and attention… It is another means of saying a prayer or losing herself in a meditation.
The woman to my right, a middle-aged white woman with short blonde hair, who is wearing a sharp black suit and pumps, and who has just finished eating her Mediterranean sandwich from Mangia, the upscale Italian eatery on 57th Street, is now touching up her makeup. She is holding a detailed and exquisite compact in front of her, luxuriously applying an extra coat of mascara, totally lost in the tiny mirror, and taking her time to the utmost.
Also to my right, but farther down the bench, two tall, clean-cut, good-looking guys in dress slacks and button-up shirts are chatting, sipping smoothies, and having an animated conversation. At one point, they both put down their smoothies, and the one guy stands up and poses in front of the water, and the other guy takes a picture of him. But then they quickly go back to talking and sipping, almost as if the taking of the picture didn’t even happen.
At long last, after a lot of back and forth, the one guy informs the other, “There are three things that you need to make it…”
Make it where? I wonder.
Try as I might, I can’t catch everything they’re saying.
Make it in life? Make it in a particular industry? Make it in a relationship?
“Yes, the three things that you need to make it…” he continues, “…they are—listen to me—number one: good looks; number two: a good education; and number three: to be in the right social class.”
Interesting.
I sit there, continuing to wonder if I should try to figure out exactly what it is he is referring to. I am definitely curious.
And maybe moving closer would help.
But then I quickly decide to go back to my salad, the sun, and The Pond.
At this moment—the universe is telling me—those are the three things that I need to make it.
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