A friend I had dated briefly
lent me his Costco card. There’s a branch in East Harlem and I planned an
entire day of renting a Zipcar and driving there, using my friend’s card and
buying a bunch of shit in bulk which I could now store in the downstairs basement
storage unit that came with my apartment (or in all the extra storage space I
had installed in the apartment itself).
I felt like a pornstar seeing
themselves onscreen for the first time: vibrant, energetic and full of
self-esteem that wasn’t necessarily merited. I had found a beautiful apartment
in a neighbourhood that was sure to be the next big shit as soon as The New
Yorker got a whiff of it and I was about to go grocery shopping for wholesale
items like toilet paper and dishwashing liquid.
I had officially succeeded in
creating a life of my own.
The day would be long: I had
to rent the car, I had to drive to Costco, I had to shop, I had to drive back
to West Harlem, find a parking spot, unload all my groceries, hop back into the
Zip and return it to a designated spot.
As excited as I was at the
thought of saving .89c on each roll of toilet paper, let’s just say, the
thought alone of hauling my booty (the groceries, not my ass) up four floors at
the end of it all didn’t make my nipples hard.
As I entered the Costco
parking lot, I witnessed a woman pushing two shopping carts expertly to her
car. A kid was in each shopping cart seat. She motioned to me and I stopped
alongside her. “Come take my parking spot,” she said. I nodded and followed her
in the car. There was a parking spot right next to her car so I pulled into it
and got out.
“Hey,” I said with a big
smile when I had walked up to her. She was unloading the contents of her
shopping carts into the trunk of her car. Her two kids were looking at me with
wide eyes from their posts, strapped into the shopping carts. One was biting on
its balled fist and the other had just dribbled the nastiest looking bit of
spit from its mouth onto the handle bar of the shopping cart. I prayed to never
have the misfortune of using that shopping cart in my life.
“Yo baby,” she said to me
smoothly. She had smooth, dark skin and her wavy hair was light brown and
reached her waist. She was also tall – taller than me – with a large, round
backside and round, jaunty breasts in an all-black get-up. Unfortunately (or
fortunately depending on your stance), while I’m not straight, it doesn’t stop
me from noticing these things about women. Not in a perverted way, necessarily,
but in admiration.
“I say, you wasn’t gonna get
no parking up there. Full of cars – Christmastime in Harlem, y’know.”
I smiled at her and she
returned it. She had small teeth set into dark gums; a beautiful smile that
also flowed through her eyes. “Can I help you with your groceries?” I offered.
“That’s aite,” she said
coolly, “but you can help me put one of these babies into the car.”
I didn’t think much of this,
considering I’m from the Caribbean and babies are like oral sex; you love it
even if you can’t admit it to yourself at this point in your life. However,
when I relayed this story to one of my American friends they thought it was
highly “weird” that a woman from East Harlem felt comfortable letting a male
put one of her kids into their car seats.
I immediately claimed the kid
who hadn’t dribbled. “That’s Allistair,” she said to me. “This,” she raised the
dribble-kid out of the shopping cart, “is Frederico.”
I nodded in amusement and put
Allistair in his car seat which he didn’t seem to like because he kicked me,
punched me and screwed up his face like mushed up dog shit while he cried.
She hurried over to soothe
him and buckle him in.
“Have a good day,” I said to
her as I started to walk away.
“Have a great day!” she smiled to me and we waved to each other.
I smiled while recounting the
incident on my way to the entrance. I had to say, nothing phased me much
anymore here. I hadn’t been in New York for a full year of my life yet but
already this was my life. The randomness of life seemed so much less random
here, and occurrences that might seem oddly placed and even spiritual to others,
to me seemed justified in this beautiful City with endless possibilities,
realities and reactions.
As I approached the entrance
I quickly fumbled in my wallet for my friend’s Costco card. I imagined that if
I simply flashed the card nonchalantly, the guard at the door wouldn’t even
notice that my picture on my Costco card was of a blonde white dude with
blue-grey eyes.
Luckily, at the door the
guard was standing a ways off speaking to a suited gentleman. Shoppers were
filing in without showing a thing and I just followed the throng while pushing
my shopping cart jauntily. I was in; I felt like I was in The Incredibles.
Incredible, James Incredible.
I got my list out and started
perusing the aisles. It was like Candyland. Or what I assume Candyland must be
like, whatever Candyland is. Seeing all the possible shit I could consume had
an overwhelmingly joyous reaction on me. I could buy a bag of fifty Twix bars
if I wanted, or get a 20lb can of cranberry jelly if the mood suited me.
All in all, I stuck to my
list and added a few indulgences to my cart (like a pack of twelve jars of
Alfredo sauce and almost-expired Snickers ice cream bars that were 75% off).
About two hours later I
joined a cue to cash out. My cashier was a buxom Latina girl with winged eye
make-up and sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She was laughing with the
last customer and I smiled at her. One thing I’ve learned is that Caribbean
charm works wonders in the service industry. Once, a Rite-Aid attendant gave me
a $50 refund on a non-refundable phone card after seeing my Trini ID card,
which in Rite-Aid code is the equivalent of God donating you his lung.
She smiled at me and put out
her hand for my Costco card. I gave it to her and she took a swift look at it
and then back at me. “Where’s the cardholder?” she asked.
“Oh, he’s just still looking
around inside. But you can just cash me out,” I said coolly. I had practiced
this line a million times while I was waiting to be cashed out.
She looked at me pointedly and
said, “We’ll have to wait for him.”
I sighed heavily as she
motioned to the guy behind me to bring his stuff up.
“Ok,” I said slowly and
softly, leaning closer to her over the conveyor belt with my 40%-extra
container of cream cheese melting between us, “I didn’t really come with him.
I’m new to the city and my friend lent me his card.” I gauged the situation.
She was looking at me and listening so I continued, “Can we please let it slide
this time? I won’t do it again. I’ll even just go buy the membership right now.
Please?” I smiled sweetly at her, my
heart hammering away.
“Alright,” she said slowly,
swiping the card quickly and cashing me out. “We’re not supposed to do this but
at the end of the day, you’re buying the stuff. There’s still the economic
exchange.”
I breathed a sigh of relief
and looked around with a relaxed grin. My eyes caught the guy’s who was behind
me in the line and I doubled back. He grinned at me and I turned back to the
cashier immediately.
“I’m James,” I told her and
she introduced herself.
“You from Trinidad?” she
asked me and I nodded my yes.
“You know some Trinis?”
“Lots of my friends from
school.” We spoke a bit more, I paid my bill, thanked her for being so nice and
pushed my goods away, glancing back at the guy.
I pulled over at the
cafeteria area and hid behind a wall, sneaking another look back at the guy.
His back was to me as he cashed out and his butt looked fantastic.
I knew him. We had bumped
into each other one night at Industry in the dark entrance hallway more than a
month prior. I was going outside for a cigarette and he was leaving. I saw him
and said hi and he smiled before one of his friends yelled for him to come with
them, they were fucking leaving like, NOW! As in: “Adam! Come on, we’re fucking
leaving like, NOW!”
He passed by with his
shopping cart heading for the exit and I emerged from my stealthy spot among
the Costco eaters and followed him. As he rolled his shopping cart outside I
summoned my courage and said, “Hey! Adam!”
Instantly, I regretted it and
my lips clenched shut as he turned around. “Hey,” he said with a look of
recognition. “Way to work the cashier inside,” he added as he walked over to
where I stood.
I smiled and said, “Never
underestimate the power of being nice.” He grinned and nodded and looked at me
expectantly. “We met at Industry a while ago. Your friend yelled your name,
that’s how I know it,” I explained.
He nodded, “Oh, right.”
I realised he didn’t
recognise me in the least but I ignored it. “Well, it was nice to see you…” he
began.
“That’s it?” I asked
recklessly. Something comes over me during these encounters. Firstly, there’s
abandon where I engage the situation without giving a fuck. Secondly, there’s
panic because I have no idea what I’ve just engaged in. Then, from nowhere, comes
absolute arrogance because I’m thinking if I’m going down, I’m going down like
a Charlie Sheen hoe – nothin’ less than hundreds.
He stopped and looked at me. “I
really have to meet a friend. I just ran here to buy the cake and I’m really,
really late.”
I nodded in recognition and
started to pull my shopping cart away. “Okay. Have a great day!” I called to
him. I figured I had tried, and fuck him if he didn’t think I was cute. Or
maybe he had a boyfriend? Or maybe he didn’t like younger guys? Or skinny guys?
Or guys who weren’t white and blonde? Or short guys?
“James,” he called after me.
I turned around immediately because I didn’t think he knew my name. “Can I get
your number?”
I looked into his eyes for a
moment, feeling like I was stuck on the pendulum of the cuckoo clock of doom,
swinging back and forth between “will he/won’t he?” I then looked at his lips.
There was brown stubble around them and I noticed that his bottom lip looked a
little like an incredibly skinny baby carrot. It was sexy, his eyes were
stunning, his hair defied fucking gravity for cum’s sake…
“Don’t ask for it if you
don’t plan to use it,” I retorted.
“I’ll use it,” he assured me.
I gave it to him skeptically. “I’m going to use it,” he promised, smiling
widely at me.
I shrugged and walked away,
wondering how much kismet I could take for one day.
