Years ago I was the sole illustrator for a cool greeting card company based in Georgia. It was a fabulous job and I worked with fabulous people. As most companies in the industry would do, we found ourselves attending the National Stationary Show at the Javitz Center in New York City.
It was my first time in the Big Apple and I got to bring Clifford with. We were set up at the Marriott on Times Square. The energy was electrifying. Whatever entertainment I was seeking, New York had it. Whatever drink I desired, New York was serving it straight. And whatever food I wanted, New York was my personal chef catering to my every edible whim.
Clifford and me on Times Square.
The Stationary Show had us running like crazy from early in the morning till late in the evening.
Clifford at our killer booth.
It was fun and exciting, trying and tiring, but we were all able to rotate and wrangle at least one day off to see the city. This particular day was Clifford’s and my day to take New York by storm. And that we did.
We woke up with the phone ringing in our room. It was one of the owners of the company. Our little card business had made the national news ticker on CNN! We were an adorably sweet and rather rare-for-the-times family-friendly gay greeting card company, after all, so of course we were making news!
One of our cards – cute rainbow beaked Toucans!
Another card example – our proud peacock.
I was astonished. I didn’t know what to say. I kept repeating into the phone, “That’s awesome!” “Oh my gosh! That’s SO awesome!”, “This is so completely awesome!” “AWESOME!”, and that’s when Clifford threw a pillow at me and yelled, “STOP SAYING AWESOME!!!!”
Which led to “SHUT UP! I’m on the PHONE!” as I continued to hurl “awesome” accolades over the receiver. What can I say? Sometimes I actually am a woman of few words.
Then another yell sprung forth from across the room, rising from beneath the Marriott’s luxe-count sheets. “I said STOP. SAYING. AWESOME.” And another pillow was launched my way.
Finally I hung up the phone and my euphoria quickly dissolved as I was standing, staring, and preparing myself for what was about to be a showdown of O.K. Corral proportions. Cue the dramatic Western Music and Clint Eastwood in the corner.
We had it out. Looking back, I don’t really remember what we were arguing about other than my multiple uses of the word awesome in a five minute time span. Regardless, the argument continued as we got dressed and headed downstairs to the lobby. By the time we reached the street, the argument became more of the silent but deadly kind. We didn’t speak. We didn’t even know where we were going. We just walked without a word.
We walked and we walked. We walked to Central Park. We walked to Ground Zero. At one point we wouldn’t even walk on the same side of the street together. We just walked, in unison, on opposite sides of the road simply not talking, but walking in total tandem. Through Hell’s Kitchen. All the way to Wall Street. Walking. Not talking. Somehow, as only extremely angry individuals who love each other can do, we, without speaking, stopped at some little bodega on a corner, bought a drink, and carried on. Back to opposite sides of the street. Walking. Not talking. Clifford in his Birkenstocks, me in my flip flops. Stubborn as mules. Neither one giving in to the other. I mean, we couldn’t give in at this point. Neither one of us was going this far to lose. So we trudged on.
We finally found ourselves halfway over the Brooklyn Bridge. Yes, we walked halfway over the Brooklyn Bridge after trekking miles upon miles (Clifford estimates well over 12 with the way we meandered) throughout the damn city in absolute silence and piss poor footwear. The sun was beginning to set. We looked at each other and I caved, “My ankles can’t take any more.”
I couldn’t feel my feet or anything else from the waist down. Clifford’s feet were bleeding profusely, but he was willing to work through the pain all the way to Brooklyn just to assuage his competitive nature. Apparently he had walked on broken glass from the very moment we stepped away from the hotel, leaving piercing shards stuck in his feet throughout our entire expedition, compounded by burst blisters from Birks he hadn’t worn in over a year. But apparently his obstinacy knows no bounds. We were in sad shape as we ambled back over the bridge down the streets of New York, trying to find our way back to the hotel.
Suddenly we approached what looked like lanterns, signs written in strange symbols, and a smell like the Bog of Eternal Stench. We had stumbled upon Chinatown. We didn’t know where we were. We had no map, our phones were dead, and no one spoke a word of English. That’s when I turned to Clifford and cried, “I want a cab. I’m done.” Walking on the sides of his feet for the last hour and a half because the bottoms were ripped to shreds, yet still ridiculously pigheaded about the whole thing, he begrudgingly agreed.
Though we were broke (most of our money was still at the hotel as this had been a rather unplanned adventure), we scraped together what we hoped would be enough for a cab to Times Square. We had had just enough. Best part? Working the booth in 3″ heels the next day (insert heavy sarcasm here). And Clifford couldn’t stand in his shoes for more than five minutes at a time for at least a week.
The Empire City is something unique to everyone. Each person recollects his experiences there differently, yet there’s always one thing, one moment, that defines New York for him forever. For some it’s the romantic horse-drawn carriages riding through Central Park. For others, it’s the twinkling lights of Broadway. For me, it’s those 12+ miles on dirty streets in crappy flip flops with swollen cankles and the tang of Chinatown wafting through the air. I wouldn’t take that back for anything because it was TOTALLY AWESOME!!!
Do you have a New York story? I’d love to share it! Send it in or share it in the comments section below.
