It was past midnight and the Starbucks had closed at half past 11. I deliberated, trying to decide if I should return then, or wait until the morning. But I feared with each minute that passed I would be less likely to ever see my journal again. So I threw on a bra and my running shoes, and took off in my PJs to the corner of 35th street and 7th avenue.
Upon my arrival a worker stepped outside with a bag of trash. I cringed, hoping my journal wasn't mixed in with the mess of garbage. I explained my journal mishap, and she let me inside to speak with the shift manager. Within minutes, the manager was checking their back room, and he returned to me with my journal.
Relieved, I thanked the Starbucks employee and walked back to my sublet, flipping through the pages of my journal, reading the words that would have been gone, had my journal not been returned. Halfway back, still immersed in my writing, a man, who seemed to come out of nowhere sticks a small sheet of paper out in front me and says, "Here's my number. Why don't you give me a call sometime." I accepted the piece of paper into my hand from the attractive mystery man. I read the paper. It stated Stan, followed by a 212 New York telephone number.
He continued on, "Actually why don't I get your number?" His accent was charming, but I wasn't going to give him my number.
"Um. I don't think so."
He then said, "Well why don't you give me a call then. Tomorrow - okay?"
Still dumbfounded by this bizarre exchange I replied without thinking and somehow agreed. "Okay."
I continued down the street walking west, while he moved east. I kept staring at the piece of paper Stan had handed me. I didn't get it - why would this man hand me his number when I looked far from put together? I was wearing my University of Michigan sweats, my glasses, and to top it off my hair was a straggly mess from running with it down. I was far from hit-on worthy in my appearance. Perhaps if he was a Michigan fan, I would get it, but he made absolutely no mention of my university.
I told my lawyer friend Teresa about the incident the following day. I told her perhaps she was right. Maybe I am the one closing the doors. But I'm not just going to call up some random stranger just because he gave me his phone number. So no, I never did call Stan. I did, however, encounter a Michigan fan a few days later. His pick up line, "You had me at go blue." Now there's a guy possibility I feel is worth exploring.
Oh, and in case you're wondering, the answer is 12. (See Part II)