Clairvoyance is accepted as a gift by society. Fortune tellers are all over the city. Clairaudience, or the ability to “hear” voices that others cannot, is enough to have one deemed insane. There are others who have the ability to alter the course of fate, simply by placing a thought in the mind of another. I try to keep to myself most of the time, fearful that something I may say to a stranger may ultimately change the future of not only the universe, but the alternate ones as well.
The doorman at 300 Park has the prettiest pink lips along my paycheck route. After delivering paychecks there for several years, and rarely speaking a word to the young man, I decided to start a conversation just to see his lips move.
“People walking and texting on cell phones are really nuts,” I said. “I predict that in the future no one will be using social media. It will be looked down upon like the hula-hoop and the Rubik’s Cube. It’s just a passing fad.” I suggested, staring at the doorman, waiting for his lips to part.
“I really like the Rubik’s Cube,” the doorman said, although he obviously was not born at the height of the game’s popularity. “I agree, though. People in this town are out of control when walking around while texting.” He went on to discuss his phone, pulling it out, flashing it at me like a ten inch cock a stranger whipped out at me on a subway platform back in the 90’s when cameras were not in every dusty corner of the city.
I saw the sexy doorman again on Wednesday. “Do you remember our last conversation?” He asked.
“Of course I remember it like I remember how to solve a Rubik’s Cube.”
“You will never believe what happened that day. I was waiting for the subway at 14th Street. A woman exited the car while texting and bumped me with her elbow. She knocked my phone out of my hand. Pla-dunk, pla-dunk, pla-dunk…I watched it fall. And guess what? It went into the space between the platform and the door.”
“Dear God! Please don’t tell me you jumped down on the tracks to get it.” I replied, not asking him why he had his phone out and what it was he was googling at the time.
“Of course not,” he explained, holding his phone up at me again. “I went to the token booth and reported it. It was rush hour so they couldn’t do anything right away, but twenty minutes later, I had my phone.”
“Crazy.” I said, trying to calm the doorman who seemed convinced that I am some sort of fortune teller and that I was responsible for the incident that happened at the Union Square subway station. He stared at me like a freak with hula hoops around my waist, neck and both arms. I pulled out my scanner and typed in the name “Nieves”, the receptionist at the modeling agency on the second floor who had just signed for the company’s paycheck. I walked away typing with my thumb and not looking up, because unlike others who text, I have this gift to sense what’s around me.