My 24 hour walk of shame

I should have known! I should have known it was a stupid idea. Because I’m not the type for that! Because it could only turn out wrong. I had a bad feeling from the start.

First of all: I was in New York. I was actually there.

That could actually end this text because what comes next is just plain embarrassing. I am so ashamed of the whole action that I am inclined to deny it all. Fortunately, only Hanna knows about it. You too. But you can’t ask me about it directly. (No, I’m not reading the comment column this time. Laugh and slander all you want. Big Ben is NOT watching you.)

So I flew to New York and landed at 2pm. At least everything was going according to plan until then, no delays, just a crappy chair. There are few things that make me as uncomfortable as being on a plane. I either have to sit so spread-legged that it upsets the people next to me, or I have to press my knees into the seat in front of me, which gets pretty painful after a while. If I’m lucky or pity of the person checking in I get an exit seat, if I’m less lucky I get an aisle seat and can stretch my legs after all the cart-to-cart-to- , and if I’m really unlucky, like on this flight, I sit where everyone wants to sit: by the window. Absolute hell for my joints.

After eight hours of suffering, I got out and stood in line for what felt like another eight hours for immigration at JFK. What a fuss the Americans always have!

item.

At 3pm I was finally on my way to the hotel and decided there was no time to lose and I couldn’t wait any longer. So I wrote you a WhatsApp*.

At 5 p.m. I was freshly showered and ready. However, the message had no blue checkmarks. Not wanting to seem desperate, I went to a bar, ordered a beer, then another, and waited. At 6 p.m. it was no different. Gray tick, so arrived but unread. I sent another message and when nothing came I called, to no avail.

A minute after my call, I got a message from her, a real one, iMessage, not WhatsApp. She* wrote, “Call ass?” I answered no. She writes: “FUCK!!”, she just now saw my WhatsApp, “I have the notifications for WhatsApp!” I guess this isn’t quite the post I wanted to read, but hey, I had no expectations. And how was I supposed to know? She writes “Fuck” over and over. I’m typing something that says it’s fine I’m still here but before I can send the message she writes “You’re such a complete idiot! Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!?!?!? I’m upstate See you Monday. Shall we see each other then? Monday evening?” I said let’s see because I didn’t want her to know I was only there for one night.

She asked if everything was okay, if I needed anything, and I wrote that everything was great and New York was a great city. Then I sent Hanna a screenshot.

I admit, a small part of me was relieved. A big part of me was angry. To me, but especially to Hanna.

Hanna answers in four seconds. She always replies within four seconds. It doesn’t matter what time of day. four seconds.

«NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO u Okay, sorry, think of the hani nöd as a variant. SORRY! Give me 10 minutes and I’ll make the best plan, wod chasch ha for New York!”

If there was something I didn’t want, it was another plan from Hanna… But at the same time, I didn’t know what to do either. I ordered a gin and tonic and waited for instructions. If it weren’t for Hanna, I probably would have stayed in the bar drinking one gin and tonic after another. But as it was, at 9 p.m. I was in a very crazy show, where we, the audience, wore white masks over our eyes and walked through a gloomy building while scenes from Macbeth were played in different rooms. If I hadn’t known Macbeth I wouldn’t have understood the story, but it didn’t matter, it was downright insane and actually really good. Lots of bare skin, lots of strobe lights, somehow awesome. Hanna bought tickets and sent me the screenshot.

Same goes for the comedy show – it started after midnight but was still packed which I thought was great for the time of day. Then I went to a bar that Hanna recommended, even though I was dead tired, but I didn’t want to sleep, I really didn’t want to be alone in my hotel room at all. The next morning, after two hours of sleep, I dragged myself to a brunch spot, which she opened Must found, and Times Square, which she found disastrous, but also compelling. I left out Central Park. My batteries were dead.

She* didn’t get in touch until after I was gone. I saw your message when I was back in Zurich. I felt like a 17 year old after school. Completely blurry, slightly grippy, hyper and apathetic at the same time.

Hanna was waiting in the arrivals hall, which I thought was a bit excessive. I mean it was seven in the morning! Anyway, she also maneuvered me into this misery. She has no guilty conscience, Hanna said. So not really. I asked why she was here and Hanna said seriously, “Because I’m so proud of you!” And she knows how blatant that must have been for me. There is hope, she said, beaming as if I’d had something really good and not exactly the most embarrassing two days of my life.

(Now hit the keys and smile! I would too.)

as long as

am