The BF bought tickets for us last night to go to a truly New York event: a benefit for a non-profit organization called RestoreNYC, which provides care for survivors of sex trafficking in New York City. The event was a Broadway night, featuring multiple stars of shows like The Little Mermaid and Aida. Songs were sung, brilliantly, and money was raised for an organization that brings to light the horrible and all-too-common practice of sexual slavery. You would be shocked if you had seen some of the statistics shown to us last night. Between 14,000 and 17,000 men, women, and children are brought through JFK each year to be sold into slavery, and it’s going on right under our noses, in apartments and buildings we walk by every day. Sobering, sad stuff. If you want to learn more, go to www.restorenyc.org. This should not be happening in our world.
The show was amazing, and as always I am blown away at the talent surrounding me in this city. Living in New York is exhilarating and humbling as you are constantly in the presence of smart, successful people. I have friends and friends of friends who are kicking ass in the worlds of finance, medicine, research, theater, film, and journalism. At the event last night, AC sat with us and as I described my apartment woes to her, she mentioned a friend who is a producer at NBC and we planned an investigative journalism expose before the show was over. So it may never happen, but here in New York you can discuss these things as possibilities rather than pipe dreams. The world lives here, we’re all connected, and anything can happen.
Too bad anything isn’t always good, as I found out this morning on my way to work. I was standing on the corner of 36th and 2nd, waiting for the light to change in the rain that HAD ONLY BEEN PREDICTED AS A 40% CHANCE, WEATHER.COM! Before I could react, a black Escalade (probably carrying Jay-Z’s newest protege) sped by and through a puddle bigger than my apartment. A wall of water shot up in slow-motion (in my mind, at least) and fell, soaking all of us on the sidewalk.
I’m not proud of what happened next. I can’t tell you how many times a day I curse in my head, but so far the words have managed to stay there. Not today. “SHIIIIIIIT!” I yelled, turning to the woman next to me who raised her fist in the air and muttered some words that they never taught me in high school Spanish. She met my eye and we shook our heads in silent agreement that that driver was a grande prick. I turned back to the road ahead of me. One step forward at a time. Biscuits and Bath and soul-healing puppies were a block away, and it’s also no small solace that in New York, you’re never unjustly drenched alone.