The great warmup
I went for a run yesterday morning before the parade started. The streets were blocked off all along Central Park West and I had to take my driver's license in order to get back to my apartment. Everything was quiet. Santa's sleigh was empty. Crews of workers on cranes were prepping floats and marching bands were arriving in tight packs of primary colors—tall hats with plumes, kettle drums, horns, teenage girls with bare legs (it was 36 degrees). There were flocks of helicopters overhead and the fuzz was everywhere. Down along the parade route there was peace, I suppose. In the dim not-quite-daylight, I saw only the staging. Sort of ruins the effect.
In the afternoon the buzzer rang twice but I ignored it—no one buzzes on Thanksgiving! I watched The Mary Tyler Moore Show and then four episodes of The Leftovers (Jennifer Aniston 100% traded up, IMO) and then a couple episodes of Scrubs to recover from The Leftovers. Later the Packers lost to the Bears (for the love of christ, the BEARS), so it was a real 50/50 kind of day. A horse apiece, as my 9th grade English teacher Mr. Bradley would say. I loved him, so now I say it to myself all the time.
This morning when I headed out I found a note taped to the front door: my name with a message and a phone number, telling me someone had found my driver's license. It must have fallen out of my pocket yesterday when I got home and pulled out my keys; I dropped it somewhere on the street and didn't even notice. Stupid running jacket. Idiot fingers. I have to travel for work soon, so I had a nice nervous breakdown while I ran some errands. How does one check into a hotel without a driver's license? Should I worry about identity theft? Will I have to visit the DMV?!? I dialed the number but nobody answered, so I drafted a plan of action: steps 1 2 3, with a backup plan in case the person who had the license was a stalker or briber or worse. What's worse? Who can say! So many things! In a city like this the options are endless!
But whoever had written the note had also sealed with puffy dog stickers, so I wasn't that worried, and a man called back an hour later. He said he lived right down the block and could drop it off, and two minutes later he did. He gave me a kind of suspicious once-over before he handed it to me, though, which was fair: the picture on there is a thousand years old and as with most people I'm growing vastly better looking as I age. I thanked him for saving me so much time and agony, and he said "You should thank my wife for looking down."