Unlike when I met You-May-Have-Contacted-Me at Kemia and arrived very, very, late, I am fully intending to meet Possible-Mate-From-Chicago ON-TIME. I also get the feeling that he, Possible-Mate-From-Chicago, the engineer, is very punctual.
Possible-Mate-From-Chicago’s style is more casual than mine, so I decide to wear a denim skirt, black tee-shirt, black cardigan, and black sandals. I dash out of the apartment, get on an A train that is running to schedule, and arrive into Columbus Circle 20 minutes later. I send him a text and let him know I am in Mid-town. He texts back and says he will meet me in the lobby.
I cut across east to the Hilton on Sixth Avenue and duck into the lobby 15 minutes later. It is actually pretty big and spacious in there. So I walk around a little, don’t spot him, walk a little more and decide to sit on one of the couches in the lobby lounge. A few minutes pass by and I have a momentary worry that I have gone to the wrong hotel. For a flitter of a second, I think that he is standing me up – but he is so nice, normal, and Midwestern, that I remove that thought as fast as I have it. I again rethink if I have gone to the wrong hotel.
Then I see a tall, Indian-looking person leaning against the concierge desk and get up to see if that is my date. “Hey, Possible-Mate-From-Chicago, is that you?” I ask. He turns around. I forgot how tall he is, well over 6’-0”. He slouches a little – maybe he has lots of short friends or something. “Hey, how are you?” he asks and gives me a hug. “I am good! How are your first few hours in the Big Apple?” I ask. “Holy smokes! How does anyone live here? It is crazy, busy!” Hhhmm. I don’t know. I have not really noticed. Maybe I have lived here long enough that this seems normal. “Are you hungry? You must be,” I say and look at my watch. It is approaching 6:00 pm, so it is kinda dinner-time in NYC. And at the very least, happy hour.
“I am not too hungry, yet, dinner does sound great – what about some drinks first?” he asks. Sure, twist my arm. “Great, let’s go over to Hell’s Kitchen – are you opposed to walking 10 blocks?”I ask. “No, not all,” he replies. “Super! You can see more of the City if you walk,” I say. “Before we go,” he says and from behind him he presents a red rose. “This is for you,” he says. Okaaaaay – so I have a tendency to be a little sarcastic. This is partially because I am funny, but also because I use humor to disguise the revealing of my emotions. But even my inner cynic finds this gesture, very sweet.