Point is I'm not one of these people.
Yes, I fulfill all of these facets, but something awful usually happens along the way - like I get spit on by a homeless man or I fall into a subway grate and get trapped in the sidewalk for 12 hours or I shit my pants in Astoria because I decided it would be a great idea to eat at Taco Bell for the first time in 5 years and then visit an outer borough.
This little story was like Person A.
I walked into Duane Reade to buy a bottle of EYE DROPS. My eyes were irritated because even though I'm supposed to only keep my contacts in for 2 weeks I stretch that to about 2 years. But I was meant to be in and OUT of that place, wham bam thank you ma'am.
When I got to the checkout and waited for the girl at the counter to finish flirting with the toothless stock boy, check and delete all of her texts, have a 45 minute phone conversation with the welfare office (on the Duane Reade phone), and apply her fabulous Tweety Bird press-on nails - I looked down at the candy. And there it was.
A ONE HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL.
A ONE HUNDRED DOLLAR BILL.
I grabbed it without even a SECOND of hesitation and shoved it into my bag. I immediately went WHITE and got dizzy and checked inside the bag to confirm its existence. It had separated and there were now THREE bills. THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS. A strange warm feeling I can only liken to what I imagine smack feels like pulsed through my bloodstream.
"Are you okay, boo?" said the Duane Reade employee, scratching her deliciously well-aportioned lips with her brand new Tweety Bird pinkie.
"YESI'MFINEWHY?!"
Because let's be honest, all of you would react the same way.
And so I waited. Waited for SOMETHING to happen. ANYTHING! For the rightful owner to come barreling into the doors in a frenzy begging absolutely BEGGING for someone to return his lost money.
Nothing. I paid for my eye drops and I walked out.
The rationale was simple to me - I tell Tweety Bird, she takes it and pockets it. I leave it there, the asshole behind me takes it. The owner will not be back EVER because once you realize you lost 300 bucks in New York City it is GONE. No questions asked.
My mind was a soup of sounds and colors as I watched the world around me move in its normal flow. (This is where I sensationalize the moment into some cinematic, life-altering come-to-Jesus moment.)
But no one in the world had, in that moment, any idea of how infinite I felt. I was briefly elevated into an elite club of people who experience something big that the world doesn't know about - like the moment the lottery is won or the moment you get cast in a humongous Hollywood blockbuster as a starving actor or when Charlie found the golden ticket and for A SINGLE moment in time it was just him and the golden ticket who were there in that moment of euphoria.
I sat in Columbus Circle for a bit with the money clutched in my hand and just soaked in the moment. 300 bucks is not a ton of money in the grand scheme of things, the amount was not really the point of it all - it was that rare and special feeling, and one that I still recount on days when I feel a little numb.
But no one in the world had, in that moment, any idea of how infinite I felt. I was briefly elevated into an elite club of people who experience something big that the world doesn't know about - like the moment the lottery is won or the moment you get cast in a humongous Hollywood blockbuster as a starving actor or when Charlie found the golden ticket and for A SINGLE moment in time it was just him and the golden ticket who were there in that moment of euphoria.
I sat in Columbus Circle for a bit with the money clutched in my hand and just soaked in the moment. 300 bucks is not a ton of money in the grand scheme of things, the amount was not really the point of it all - it was that rare and special feeling, and one that I still recount on days when I feel a little numb.
Or basically every time I walk into a convenience store and happen to give a glance to the candy section.
