I stood, huddled under my umbrella, sheltered by the Columbus Circle subway entrance. My feet were cold, my boots a stylish Italian leather rather than rubber weather-appropriate material. But I was on a date and you don’t wear practical shoes on a date. Well, technically I wasn’t on a date, I was waiting for my date in the cold February rain. Ten minutes late is normal, fashionable, expected if you’re at all familiar with the MTA. At the 10 minute mark my phone buzzed. I scanned the street corners, hoping to spot him without the technological aid (I’m an old soul). Failing to see his smiling face in the sea of umbrellas, I checked my phone. A text: Just got into Penn Station blah PATH train a mess blah Coming as fast as I can blah.

If you’d told me and my soggy toes, my cold hands, my getting-frizzier-by-the-minute hair that by the end of the night I’d be glad for my date’s tardiness, no less thanking him for leaving me standing in the rain, I would not have believed you. I might in fact, have rudely told you to STFU and further ruined my boots by splashing a rain puddle on your pants.

However, sometimes a chain of events makes you think everything happens for a reason.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: time is precious in New York City. Time is money, here more than anywhere else. Wasting a New Yorker’s time is equivalent to pouring gasoline on her wallet and lighting a match. I had already wasted ten minutes, I’d be damned if I wasted any more, but I was completely unprepared. I had a small evening bag dangling from my wrist containing the bare essentials: smoldering wallet, keys, remedial phone (from which I can check my email but it is far from Smart). No book to read, not even a piece of paper and pen to sketch ideas for a blog post. I was on the brink of walking in to TJ MAXX to escape the rain and mindlessly window shop when I realized I had a crucial errand I could run.

The date I was about to go on had very little to do with the boy I was waiting for. Fortunate, considering all he had to do was show up and that itself was proving difficult. This date was thanks to a different man entirely. A man who can always put a smile on my face, a man who’s mastered being both a friend and boss at the same time, a man who would never leave me standing alone in the rain. More of a man than my date will (likely) ever be. The man I’m referring to is my friend Lenny.

Lenny and I have worked together in various theatrical endeavors in various parts of New York State. Recently he started working at one New York’s most famous cultural institutions, really one of the most renowned performance venues in the world. I can’t say which one because he asked me not too. I have to respect his wishes because well, I’m not a jerk, but especially because Lenny is one of the few (only? shout out boys!) male readers of my blog. (Hi Lenny! Like your pseudonym?)

Occasionally Lenny gets comp tickets to concerts that he shares with his friends. It’s an exciting email contest: “I got tickets to such-and-such show, first to respond wins!” I’ve been lucky enough to win the past two pairs he’s offered (and now I feel like I should stop competing; though considering I have a sad remedial phone, I don’t feel that bad). An evening of Beethoven and Hayden performed with impeccable musicality, extraordinary acoustics, and seated in red velvet seats. I figured it would make a great date and so I invited a guy have had a crush on for over a month.

This crush…he’s a co-worker, an actor, and, if his tardiness is any indication, probably just-not-that-into me. I shouldn’t be into him for all those reasons (but….at least he doesn’t have a girlfriend.) These were the thoughts running through my mind as I waited in the rain. Just as I was beginning to downright dread the date, my mind took a turn: suddenly I had purpose and direction (and distraction). I could pick up the tickets from the box office!

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This concludes “The Bad Part”. Stay tuned for the “The Good Part” on Monday!