New York.
December.
7AM.
Snow.
I decided to go down to the corner café to buy coffee and the New York Times. It was freezing outside as I walked out of Blommie’s apartment wearing a puffy snow-coat, scarf, gloves and a hat. Because I was completely camouflaged and unrecognizable, I substituted sunglasses for makeup.
Scarily resembling the Michelin Man, I waddled to the café fighting the elements. Have you ever tried to open you handbag, get your wallet, open your purse and select the right amount of money while wearing gloves, your entire winter collection and your sunglasses? It’s not easy. As the queue behind me was getting longer and the New York natives restless, I emptied my purse on the counter. “Can you please select the right amount of change for the coffee and newspaper? I can’t feel my hands, the gloves are making it impossible for me to pick up any form of change, and these sunglasses are making it impossible for me to see anything,” I sputtered.
The cashier started to count the change on the counter while sneaking suspicious glances in my direction. I could faintly hear the people behind me grunting impatiently. I slowly turned around – I had to turn my whole body (too many layers of clothing to move) and mouthed the word “sorry” to the long line of people behind me. I suddenly realised that I was not wearing any makeup and turned back to the shop assistant.
“You are twenty-five cents short.”
Um. Umm.
The business man behind me uttered an indignant “Oh. My. God.”
The exasperation. “I live just up the road! I’ll bring you twenty-five cents as soon as possible! I promise!” The humiliation. The degradation. The embarrassment. And not even a pretty face to hide behind. I inhaled, hoped that I never have to see these people again and skulked out of the café with my head down, coffee and newspaper in hand.
I plopped down on a bench outside the café, the indignity of the situation too much to handle. I was so mortified that I disregarded the blizzard-snow accumulating on me while I fumbled through my handbag for my cigarettes and, eventually, after numerous attempts, successfully lit one up. Here I was, sitting on a bench against a shop window in the freezing snow, smoking a cigarette, drinking my coffee while wallowing in self-pity and shame. Beam me up to Planet Gorgeous Scotty!!
Suddenly someone was standing in front of me and I looked up. An immaculately groomed woman in a designer coat was looking down at me with a smile. “I saw what happened in the café and I know you are short of money.”
She had a practiced expression on her face that toed the line between sympathy and condescension.
“Here take this…” She proffered a five dollar note at me.
“No! It’s okay! I’m fine! I promise! I cannot take your money!”
“Take it!”
“No!”
“Just take the money!” She was yelling in confusion of the changing power dynamic and threw the money into my lap. Still clasping my coffee and cigarette, I watched her get into her expensive black 4X4. She drove off frowning, the power steering straining to find grip on the icy road. I looked at the five dollar note on my lap.
Um.
What the hell just happened? Do I look like some destitute homeless person in need of charity? I am Boefie! I am gorgeous!
Newsflash Boefie! Never sit on a bench in the street in the snow smoking and drinking coffee wearing sensible weather-appropriate clothing and never ever leave the house without being in full costume and makeup. Oh, yes, and if someone gives you money – take it.
