Friday, December 3, 2010

Not Without My Cell Phone

Everyone! Gather ‘round! A Christmas miracle occurred this morning! An act of good will and altruism the likes of which I personally have not witnessed since The Tyra Banks Show was so mercifully cancelled nearly one year ago.

I was running to catch the train, which was already pulling into the station as I’d only just begun climbing the some 87,000 steps to the platform. Breathless, I made it to the top and the good lord seemed to be smiling on me, as the train was magically still there. The “closing doors” announcement had already played and the “get the fuck out’ the way, idiot” ding-dong warning chime was on its final "dong" when I sprang over the gap, achieving a perfect 10-point landing onto the crowded Q.

I am invincible,” I thought to myself. “I am superhuman and capable of achieving amazing things in this life. The world is good and I’m happy to be a part of it and hey - it's not so bad that I'm regarded as a second-class citizen in this country just because of my sexuality. Merry Christmas to all!

As is usually the case, this wave of optimism and joy lasted approximately one millisecond before reality set in and I realized that my dainty lady fingers were no longer grasping the iPhone that had been in my hand all along. “No, no. This can’t be happening.” But it did, in fact, be happening. I had dropped it! I turned around just as the doors were closing and sure enough, there, at the top of the stairs was my precious phone. Through the foggy windows of the train door, just lying there on the cold ground, it suddenly looked like a frightened little child in Auschwitz who’d just been torn screaming from its mother by the Nazis. (I don’t mean to make light of my situation. I mean, I’d just downloaded five new ringtones, so this actually could potentially have been devastating.)

As the train began to pull out of the station, I saw a man suddenly hovering over my phone, and then bend down to pick her up. (“Her” meaning my iPhone, in the gay, non-gender-specifically overused feminine pronoun sense of the word.) He was a real scary, thuggy-looking guy. Just exactly the type of guy you’d pray would NOT be the one to find your lost cell phone. I won’t describe him any further because it might make me sound racist, and of course, I’m not. Most of my friends are real scary, thuggy-looking guys. So I’ll just leave it to you, the reader, to paint your own picture, and then YOU can feel racist. (I don’t really need that on my conscience today. It’s already been a bitch of a morning.)

Desperate and out of options, I banged on the window to get his attention. He looked up and I screamed through the glass as though I were Sally Field in 1991's “Not Without My Daughter”, “NNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! Please wait there!!! Don’t move!!!! Please, I beg of you!!!!

I leapt off the train at the next stop, ran down the stairs and back up to the opposite side of the platform to catch the next train back to from whence I came. After what felt like a six-hour journey, I finally arrived back at my original station, flew down the stairs and back up to the opposite side of the platform to meet my destiny. Certain that the man would at this point either be gone or wearing a brand new leather coat he'd purchased with all the money he'd made from selling the parts of my stolen phone, I made it to the top. What the hell do you know!??! There was that lovely, scary, thuggy-looking light-skinned Puerto Rican man holding my iPhone! He actually waited for me!

"Oh, thank you!", I exclaimed. Had we been in Chelsea and had I not feared him to be carrying a loaded weapon, I would have thrown my arms around him. I insisted he give me his address or phone number so that I could send him something to show my appreciation (and because he was actually pretty hot and - if I know my scary, thuggy-looking Puerto Rican men - most likely surprisingly open-minded.) But (perhaps sensing the sexual energy between us, coming only from me) he wouldn't hear of it. "Don't worry about it, man," he said. "No worries. Have a good one, bro."

HOW NICE IS THAT??? And how foolish did I feel, being so judgemental based solely on a person's scary, thuggish appearance?? I would have given him ten bucks or something right there as a thank-you, but I was a little nervous to take my wallet out in front of him. You understand.

Anyway, I guess the point of this Christmas story is that I'm hosting a show at Comix comedy club this Sunday, December 5th @ 7PM called EPIC FAIL: BROADWAY'S FUTURE FLOPS (click on the link for more info and to buy your tickets). Oh, and also don't be racist!

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