I was just trying to make it home in time to meet my boyfriend for lunch, but I have a music vice. If I’m not reading or writing, I need it on constantly. Everything feels a little smoother with a soundtrack, although listening to the sounds of the city is probably much better for my health.
I put in my wireless headphones. You know, the real ones. From the fruit company. But I have a bad habit of playing with my hair and with an innocent flick, I knocked Leftie out of my ear and right onto the rain-soaked pavement.
Time slowed down as I watched it roll around, mingling dangerously close to the sewer grate, before – oh God – yep, there it goes. It slipped right between the cracks and into the abyss.
Good.
I took a step to see how far down Leftie had fallen. It wasn’t deep, just a few inches down. Maybe this was doable? I decided it was doable. I wasn’t leaving until I had Leftie back in her case. I just needed the right…tools.
I reached in my backpack, which still contained the remnants of my weekend getaway essentials. I opened my makeup bag and -bingo! -a pair of tweezers. Not just regular silver tweezers but a pair designed to look like a girl. The handle was her face. The pinchy part was designed to look like an outfit. She was surely an old stocking stuffer or Easter basket knick-knack from my festive mom.
Tweezer Girl would have to do. I got down on my knees on the muddy pavement and lowered her into the sewer. With the tip of the tweezers I could just graze the edge of the headphone, which meant I couldn’t close it to get a grip.
Good.
I should probably mention at this point that I have tiny hands. Next time you give me a high five, pay attention.
I needed another tactic. What else could I use to make my own set of makeshift tongs? I searched in my bag some more and – aha! – a tampon. I opened the package, lowered the feminine product into the sewer and tried out my tong technique. By now, people were either slowing down to stare at me as they passed or speeding up, lest they catch whatever form of crazy had me digging in the sewer after a rainstorm.
Fair enough.
I spent a good ten minutes kneeling on the side of the street, playing a cruel version of one of those crane games they have in movie theatres and roller-skating rinks that you can never (never!) win as a kid. Only this time the prize was actually expensive and mine in the first place.
Then, a stranger stepped in.
A dapper Italian man, probably in his mid-forties, got out of his car and crossed the street. He asked me, bless him, if everything was okay. I looked up at him from my contorted stance on my hands and knees next to the sewer grate and suddenly, in my state of embarrassment and panic, I couldn’t think of the word for headphone in Italian.
“I dropped the thing for the ear,” I said. Smooth as always.
He came up to see what the crazy girl on the ground was talking about and I immediately dropped the tampon. It was somehow more embarrassing than Tweezer Girl.
The handsome stranger, bless him, got down on his knees too despite his expensive looking suit. He asked if he could try to help. I handed him the tweezers.
“I can’t reach it because my hands are too small,” I said. Again, nice and smooth.
I watched as he tried his best to get the headphone in Tweezer Girl’s grip, but he couldn’t pull it off either.
“See, my problem is my hands are too fat,” he replied.
He stood up and dusted off his suit.
“Listen, there’s a hardware store nearby. Let me see if they have something we can use.”
Bless him.
As he started to walk away, I noticed two younger guys standing in the middle of the street, mouths agape, watching me in my hunchback stance.
Good.
One of them closed his mouth and wandered over toward me.
“Have you tried to lift up the grate?” he asked in Italian.
I had before, but it was bolted down. I told him this. Then, doubting myself.
“Or maybe it’s just really heavy?”
He knelt down next to me, seized the iron grate, and hoisted it right off the pavement.
Oh.
I bent over and plucked Leftie out of the muck, thanking him profusely.
He nodded and re-joined his stupefied friend.
The handsome stranger from earlier backpeddled. At least he hadn’t made the grate call either.
“So you’re okay then? You got it?”
“Yes, I did. Thank you so much for helping me. You’re very kind.”
He said it was no problem and headed back to his car, driving off.
I resumed my walk, half embarrassed-laughing, half hyena-laughing, thinking about how stupid that whole thing just was.
Maybe I should take more walks and simply listen to the sounds of the city. Maybe I should work on my biceps.
Maybe I should just appreciate the fact that when life brings you to your knees and forces you to pull out a tampon in the middle of the street, there are always kind strangers willing to kneel down beside you in the mud and sacrifice their dignity as well.
I wonder if he noticed Tweezer girl.
