Tourist Trap

 

        Somehow, I have gotten my foot stuck here within the sidewalk grate. A missing rung, no doubt broken off by some vandal, has left just enough space for someone like me, who was barely paying attention, to wedge firmly a shoe.

          So now I am standing here at Lexington and 54th facing in the direction of my intended travel but motionless in progress.  Neither forward nor back can I now travel, and to withdraw my foot from my shoe has proven impossible for I have tried now on three separate occasions.

          Not only uncomfortable, as my right stuck foot is a good inch lower than my left, but also I am unable to get myself out of the way from all of these morning travelers hurrying past me.   More than hurrying, I'd say, some actually bumping as they pass.   I can only pray they do not knock me down.  My ankle would surely snap, and the sprawl of myself upon the pavement would create an even larger obstacle than I am presently.

          I must not think about falling even though my left leg tires in support of me.  Clinging tight to my briefcase I hope for one of these courteous pedestrians to stop and inquire, perhaps lend assistance.  I can see on their faces they are pushed by schedules and deadlines just as I. Oh my.  This situation has completely pushed from my mind my own meeting for which I will surely be late.   Who then could give the presentation for I carry the charts and needed information. 

 

Oh my, this isn't good.   I can imagine the faces encircling the conference table, some wondering where I have gotten off to, others annoyed at the waiting. 

          As I fight once again to extricate my shoe from between these steel rungs I find I inhale at a faster rate more of the exhaust fumes coming from the street.   They are making me somewhat queasy and ill-balanced.   In hindsight, I should have simply called for a taxi from my hotel.  I would
have arrived early at my meeting, enjoyed a selection from the muffin tray and sipped a warm coffee.  I would be free of this heavy overcoat as it would be hanging from one of the many brass hooks.

          But for now this coat serves as a fine barrier between the early morning chill and me.   I surely hope to be free of this situation long before the sun breaks over the buildings, although I have already witnessed the line of shadow following its mandatory course.

          For longer than I care to dwell upon there has been a street person viewing my predicament.  From this distance he appears to be quite unwashed with sparse teeth and hair somewhat clumpish.   Obviously unbeckoned by schedules of his own he has focused his attention and energies on me.   The mere thought of this has caused me to hold even tighter to my case and now along with the ache in my left leg my arms are becoming weary.

          I find it truly amazing the amount of these New Yorkers conversing on their mobile phones as they scurry past.  If I could entice one of them to call into the conference room informing the others of my situation perhaps suggesting they send an office boy to assist me.  

 

 

           Yes, the extra strength pulling at my shoe is what is needed here and to inform them that I am quite stuck at this location. 

          But these people in their haste do not even slow.  They avoid looking at me, afraid that the slightest eye contact would lock them into some unwanted obligation.   I am invisible to them and yet they must walk around to avoid me.

          Did I refer to them prior as courteous pedestrians?  I would care now to withdraw that assessment.   My own annoyance I'm afraid is coloring my opinion.  I find them to be rude and without the slightest caring for their fellow man. 

          Here I stand in the midst of them obviously in need and not so much as a glance do I warrant.   I cannot believe that all cities are like this one.   Something-burg, or Anyville, I'm positive would be a clamor with Good Samaritans.   Strangers willing to not only stop, but to bend and themselves tug at my heel in an effort to free me.  Here in this city I remain pinned as bait for the homeless to eventually pick at my bones. 

          The sun now pulling beads of sweat from me bakes me through this heavy coat.  Its brightness squints my eyes smaller and my hunger has become more than noticeable, all the while the street person watches me from across the intersection.  Why does he not approach?  What is it that keeps him at such distance?  Is he perhaps waiting for nightfall?  Is it possible that I could be here all day and into the night as well?  

 

          What if I were to yell out?  What if instead of my passively standing here in agony I was to begin screaming?  

 I should not wish to be classified as one without sound judgment, a lunatic to be avoided at all costs. 

          But what am I now?  What have manners and breeding done for me on this day?  And what about the police?  Where have they been during my plight? 

          Had I been screaming like some lunatic would they have come to question me, taken my name and question my reason for loitering here upon this spot.

          I expect if they have not accosted my street friend there across the way, they're not likely to concern themselves with a well-dressed businessman who has simply stopped walking.   

          My goodness it's getting warm.  Far better I expect, than being wedged into this grate during a rainstorm, or in the dead of winter.  

          Maybe I should provoke the next to pass within range, lash out, get them to look me in the eye.  Maybe I should bark at them with my hungry breath, sweat upon their sleeve, or simply stand hunched and stare at them, as does my comrade on the far corner.

          What's happening to me?  I have gone from identifying with these busy New Yorkers to referring to a pathetic, homeless person as my comrade.

          I certainly share no bond with such a person.  I have charts, business meetings.  I am cleanly shaven, washed and am not without purpose, while he...

          And as I focused for the first time upon him, as I stood there making my personal assessment of our differences, I noticed his left foot.  It appeared as mine, wedged firmly within a grate.