When I learned that my sister’s UPS package had been delivered to and signed for another address in my neighborhood, I thought I would never see my 31st birthday present. Everyone knows that if you lose something in NYC it is gone. Still I could not let the idea go. UPS had given us the delivery address, it was a residential area a few blocks from me, and told us that someone named Kendal had signed for it. As I meditated on the street number and the name, I imagined walking up to the apartment building, checking the directory for this Kendal, ringing for him, and finding him in classic NYC indifference. He had probably given what ever it was to his girlfriend.
This Saturday I discovered that the address was not a residential building but a bank. Hope emerged. Monday morning popped into the establishment and asked if the had received a shipment in my name. It was as though the clerk had been waiting for me, “May I see some identification?” I gave her my driver’s license and she gave me the package.
Something similar happened on my 30th. That year, my sister sent me a silver heart bracelet. I proudly wore it to work on my birthday. At lunch in a bustling Mid-town restaurant, the bracelet slipped from my wrist. Halfway through the meal I noticed it was gone. Remember that this was NYC — Mid-town Manhattan at lunch no less!
She must have seen me stand to look for the bracelet. “Is this what you are looking for,” asked the stranger, dangling the bangle before me. I was too stunned to speak. If I could have, I would have offered her my first-born, or even dibs at my under-market apartment. Instead I stood agape as she smile and walked away into the crowd.