In Queens, it was as if nothing had occurred at all. We walked to a local restaurant and had dinner. I told my tale of the past week for the first time and I realized that telling the story was somehow cathartic. As I told it though, I found I couldn't keep the days straight. The whole ordeal has felt like one very, very long day. I can't believe it's been a week. All sense of time has been lost. I hope that by writing this down, I can at once expunge this restless feeling, process this, and remember it later all at once.
I was one of the naysayers, one of the people making fun of everyone scurrying around the night before buying water, flashlights, batteries. "It will be just like Irene," I said. "Everyone is totally overreacting."
On Monday, work was canceled because the subways and mass transit had shut down. So this was a "thing," I thought to myself. From now on, I could expect Hurricane Days in addition to Snow Days. Thank you, Climate Change. I downloaded a season of American Horror Story and hunkered down in my living room, reading for an epic TV marathon coupled with minimal work--a mini-vacation of sorts.
It was raining outside and the sound of the wind wailing was slightly disconcerting, but not awful. I thought I heard a crash in the apartment hallway, but I assumed it had to do with the hurricane parties that were occurring on different levels (I later found out something had blown into a window, cracking it).
That evening, there was a huge thundering sound and a flash of green. My immediate thought was that it was a bomb. When I was young, visiting my grandparents in Iran during the Iran/Iraq war, I had been through a bombing and this was what it was like. I figured I had to be mistaken. It had to be thunder instead. Then the lights flickered out. "Oh brother," I thought. There was another explosion sound. I found a tiny flashlight I'd bought for Irene the previous year and procured some tiny IKEA tea candles I had bought many years ago. I lit them around me, sat in bed, and began texting people. I was adequately creeped out, being in the dark alone. Besides the wind, you could hear sirens all night. So I took a sleeping pill and went to sleep, assuming the lights would be back on by the next day.
I awoke on Tuesday, rolled over and looked at my cell phone. There was no reception. No cell phone coverage either. There was no way to look up anything. And the lights were still out. And the place was freezing. Confused, I heard the door knock. I got up and rushed to the door. It was A, a friend who lives within walking distance. She'd come to make sure I was alright, knowing I was alone. I will forever be thankful she came. I was so disorientated. She told me that Ave. C had flooded the previous night, that cars were floating down the street, that the power might not be back for a few days. Together, we decided to walk around and check things out.
The tree in front of the nail salon on 1st Ave had snapped off like a toothpick.
Another tree had broken free of its cement encasing in the school yard across the street.
Many store awnings were down. Everything was closed. One or two bodegas had propped their doors open and people were rushing into the dark to buy armfuls of anything. We walked East towards Alphabet City. The ground there looked like the bottom of the sea: debris that had obviously been floating at one point lay gnarled all over the street. The water from the night before had drained away, but basements were still flooded, cars that had been floating had been dropped wherever they happened to be when the water receded.
How was this the East Village? Did this really happen? I was in a state of shock as the magnitude of the storm slowly dawned on me for the first time.
Everyone was out on the street. Everyone was talking to each other. Everyone was sharing information. The sense of community was overpowering. Nobody was a stranger. Candy bars lay on the ground, falling off shelves leaning out of broken windows, and not a single person stole a single thing. Apparently, the power station had blew up the night before. There had been fireballs and everything! Apparently, there was a store that was selling coffee on 15th St. & 1st Ave (mobs descended on anyone with a coffee cup to ask the question). Apparently, there was cell service above 39th St. That was the worst part: being cut off from everything, not being able to know what was happening in other places, not being able to call anyone.
A and I walked up to the mythic store that was selling coffee. A long line had formed. We stood in line, not knowing what else to do. It was a very organized enterprise. A man stood at the door letting only two people in at a time. One entered the pitch dark store and walked to the back where they were boiling large pots of coffee over camp stoves, then you moved to another station to pay. After getting the coffee, we felt much better. We decided to walk up to 39th so we could make contact with the rest of the world. The more we walked, the more destruction we saw.
At 39th St., we had a few bars of service, so we stopped at a sidewalk corner and checked our email on our phones and called our parents for the few moments the call would connect. A distant Persian friend offered to host me that night. I knew it would be crazy to turn up the offer, but I was already exhausted from all the walking in the rain. I needed to rest. I couldn't think straight. Alice and I walked back to the East Village. As we parted, we didn't know when or how we'd see each other again since there was no way to contact each other. I told her that I'd leave a note on the apartment door if I left.
Then I went inside and slept. For hours. I can't describe it. I just passed out. I awoke in the evening, still exhausted for no reason. It was still raining outside. It was still cold. The lights were still out. And I knew I had to take up the friend's offer to stay at her warm place in the Upper East Side. And she lived on 75th St., so I knew it would be a trek. The last thing I wanted to do was to make a trek. I was so tired. But I forced myself to get up. I packed a few things I needed for the night--my contact lens solution, my meds, a hat--and I began the long walk uptown. I felt bedraggled and homeless by the time I reached M's place. The last thing I wanted to do was to chit-chat with someone I barely knew, but that is what I had to do.
She insisted we go out for drinks with one of her friends. All I wanted to do was to take a hot shower and go to bed. Instead, we went to her friend's doorman building. The friend turned out to be a woman in her 40s from Israel who was a bonafide gold-digger who had gotten in a fight with her current fifth husband the weekend before and was now on the lookout for husband #6. She took approximately one hour to get ready, as we waited in her living-room. I wanted to die at that point. I felt so out of place, so displaced, so uncomfortable, so in need of food (I hadn't eaten anything yet) and sleep. And what a scene it was that night! Every single hole-in-the-wall no-name place was filled to the gills. It was like a new holiday, like New Year's Eve or something: Anyone that was on the street was smashed. Everyone was out of their mind and drinking. A waiter said he hadn't seen anything like it since 9/11. We went to an Italian place that was shoulder-to-shoulder packed. The owner knew the gold-digger, so we got a table. They brought us a basket of bread, which I remember devouring. They brought another basket and I devoured that too. At that point, a series of tall, skinny high-school girls entered and stood at the bar, dancing. They had dropped straight out of Gossip Girl and were turning the restaurant into a club. I watched them, mesmerized. How were they so young and yet acting so old?
Finally, I was allowed to go to bed. M's roommate was stuck in New Jersey, so I had her room. The window was permanently cracked open, so a cold draft came in throughout the night. There was only one blanket and I couldn't sleep all night. The bed was a twin. The girl was from Italy and hung her diplomas on the wall. This was not my home. It was at that point that The Ex called me. He told me to come over to his place on the Upper West Side. I told him I had walked over 100 blocks and I was exhausted and finally in bed, but that I would come the next day. I could tell he was drunk. In the midst of all this, he was trying to take advantage of the situation and booty-calling me!
The next morning, I vowed I couldn't sleep there another night because of the cold and the fact I had to put on a face for M. She didn't have an extra key so I had to leave when she left. I walked with her to Bergdorf Goodman, where she worked as a personal shopper. At that point, I called The Ex, hoping he'd let me take a nap at his place. I felt like crawling up right there on the sidewalk and I didn't want to walk another block but there were no taxis or subways and walking was the only way around. I desperately needed somewhere close where I could fall asleep somewhere warm. He texted that he was working from home and it was confidential. I told him I didn't care and I wouldn't share anything I overheard (he lives in a studio). I found it ridiculous that he was even saying this, especially after begging me to come over the night before! "Confidential"?! Really?! Like I even gave a fuck about his stupid work! Who did he think he was? He texted, "It is what it is. I'm not worried about you," effectively turning me away. I was floored. I felt like I was on the ground and someone had kicked me in the stomach. I was homeless and felt isolated and alone.
I don't know how I walked the 50 or so blocks to my office building. I do remember having to stop at a random cafe to sit down for a moment and falling asleep at the table and being woken up. When I finally got to work, there were only three people there. All the gays! I immediately felt better. I had come to the right place and was amongst friends finally. I plugged in all my devices and took a nap under my desk, thankful to be somewhere warm, dry and with outlets and internet.
D, a coworker who lived in Brooklyn, and I walked downtown together that night. As we crossed the SoPo (dubbed "South of Power") line, the street lights and stop lights stopped working. We tried to take pictures, but they all came out pitch. It was unreal, post-apocolyptic. There were times we'd be walking along and I wouldn't know where I was, but then I'd look around and realize, "Wait, that's the J.Crew store, this is 5th Avenue. I know exactly where I am." Except, with all the lights out and nobody around, it was a different city. We came upon Union Square, which was eerily empty except ConEd and army trucks and humvees parked in the middle. It was unimaginable, a scene from a movie. It felt like we were the only ones alive. I will never forget that walk.
Finally, it was time to part. I walked East, towards home, determined to sleep in my own bed where I at least had extra blankets that night. A few bars had lit candles and were open to the brave who had not moved uptown. Motorino's, the coal-oven pizza place below me, was open by candle-light, serving cheese pizzas. I bought one and took it upstairs. The apartment building was absolutely scary. I had a flashlight, but walking up the dark six flights, I began to have my first misgivings about spending the night there. It sounded like everyone had left. I had zombie movie flashbacks as the shadows flicked around. I got to my apartment, went inside, and quickly locked the door behind me. What if I was the only one in the building? I went to my bed, pulled up the covers, lit a few candles and tried to watch a movie on my laptop to distract myself.
The next day, I tried to take a bus to work. I had to get to work because we were releasing quarterly earnings and I was the only one who knew how to do it. The Stock Exchange was under water and had closed for a day or so, but we were still going to go through with earnings release. The buses were all full, so I walked from 12th St & 1st Ave. to 34th St. & 8th Ave by foot. There were a few more people at work, but not many. I could barely function. I needed a shower. Word had it that a local gym was offering free hot showers, so I went there after work and took a shower before walking all the way home again. In the Dead Zone, they now had policemen at every intersection directing traffic since it was difficult to cross streets otherwise. The line for the buses wrapped around the block; they were out of the question. I slept another night in my apartment.
This is a picture of Irving and 16th St (?). There is only a traffic cop at the intersection. All of downtown looked like this--empty, shut down, surreal.
The next morning, I walked to work again. All this while, I think I was running on adrenaline. I was so exhausted. At every meal, I was famished and inhaled food, but I was always hungry. I couldn't eat enough to keep up with all the calories I was burning walking everywhere, fending off the cold. That night, I walked home again. But, this time, as I got into bed, ready to park for the evening, a strange thing happened: the lights flickered... then they came back on. I didn't believe it at first. But it was true! They were on! I quickly let others know. It was joyous. I heard cheering and honking on the street. Mostly though, I felt as if I had hit a great brick wall and, now that we had power again, it was okay to collapse. I slept and slept and slept.
The next day, I tried to do normal things. I went to my cafe. I talked to the barista. But I felt restless. There were all the pictures of destruction in neighboring regions, a call for volunteers. But every time I thought I should get ready to go help, I would flatten again and be overtaken by The Exhaustion. I slept much of the day and finally woke up in the evening, terribly depressed and badly needing to be with people. So I went to Ryan's. I knew my story was minimal compared to others', but it was still a story of sorts. And it felt relieving to finally sit down with friends who had not been in it and to tell them what happened.
Today was a lot better. I think everyone is just getting re-situated, getting ready for the New Normal. The subways aren't all up and running yet (the L is apparently completely flooded still), so I have to find an alternate way to get to work tomorrow. New Jersey, Staten Island and Long Island are still totaled and in need of help. There are sad stories everywhere, and it's all we all talk about. It's necessary and tiring all at once. I'm looking forward to a sense of routine tomorrow as the work week begins again, an excuse to interact with people. I just had to write this down before I forgot any of it, so I could process it. I still don't think I understand what just happened, what happened to the past week. It feels like a million years. I've lost weight for sure. Will we say this was just the beginning? Or will I tell my grandkids one day about the big hurricane of 2012 and how Manhattan shut down?
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