Typing Pool's Crystal Ball
1. A homeless guy on Fifth Avenue sang Justin Timberlake's "My Love" as I passed by on my way to the gym. I barely know that song, let alone who sings it. Seriously: I was flipping through an entertainment magazine yesterday reading that "My Love" was one of the top-downloaded songs of this past week, and I thought to myself, "Not only am I not totally sure this is JT's song, but I have never downloaded a song from iTunes -- ever." It's official: Right along with my little sisters, my boss, and everyone else I know, the homeless are now hipper than I am.
2. I was changing in the gym, which is awkward enough as it is, but my gym is ghetto. It's not the palace that is Equinox. Hell, it's not even New York Sports Club. Frequenting a ghetto gym means that the minuscule aisles between the lockers that are not even big enough for a Barbie doll disrobe in. I had changed into my top and was waiting for this tiny little 20-year-old behind me to get the eff out of my way so I could change into my shorts. I guess she was waiting for her friend, because she just kept standing there, not changing, not putting her things away. She was in my personal space for no good reason. So I used what my Momma gave me to take care of the situation: In one swoop, I doffed my pants and put my round, lily-white, thong-clad ass in the general direction of her face. She scampered away like a cockroach under a bright flashlight.
3. Post-Boot Camp class, I was changing out of my gym clothes, facing my locker, and out of my peripheral vision, I see a young woman about 10 feet away gesturing to me. "Miss?" she said, and points to her bag and coat on the vanity mirror table. "Will you watch these for me?" I was so stunned I just blindly nodded. Did she think I was a locker-room attendant? Did she think that I -- out of all the other Midtown working girls -- looked especially trustworthy? Did she have some sort of visual impairment that caused her to think I was standing right next to her rather than 10 feet away? Oh, and "Miss" my ass. I spent enough time as a "Miss" working in a department store fitting room, thankyouverymuch. So because I am too nice (read: Midwestern to the core) to blow her off of flip her off, I sort of half-watched her stuff. She came back, and she did not thank me.
I think we all know what these Signs mean:
In the not-too-distant future, the homeless will take my job, and I will become "the help" at a fancy gym, where I will soon enough be fired for flashing my ass to everyone on Madison Avenue.