I am in the Apple Store in SoHo because the weather was nice enough for me to want to walk all the way here from 31st and 3rd and I hate the area around Grand Central, where the actual closest Apple Store to me is. My phone keeps deleting all of my texts on its own, and also I tried downloading Bumble in a fit of absolute self-loathing and my phone crashed. I’m mostly worried about losing everything in my Notes app.
The woman helping me has bright pink curly hair and gently grabbed my shoulder to get my attention because I was pretending to read at the Genius Bar—but I actually was listening to the conversation happening across the table from me. This guy was trying to guess where this woman’s accent was from. Argentina.
I decide to take the subway back to 33rd rather than walk because I did end up losing everything in my Notes app, so I’m too irritated to walk.
At least two people bump into me while crossing the street. I brush by a girl who was walking very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very slowly in front of me.
My friend tells me I “scurry” rather than walk, and one time I accidentally let out a shriek when a family of four European tourists stopped abruptly in front of the staircase I was trying to barrel up to transfer to the L train.
So, by “brush by,” I mean I might’ve actually thumped her.
A guy with about 400 shopping bags sits down next to me on the 6 and his legs bump into mine. I dramatically move my legs away to signal that I hate the fact that he’s basically on top of me, but he uses it to his advantage and fills up the space. I try to re-download apps on my phone, but Shopping Bag Guy keeps hitting my leg.
I accidentally graze the hand of the guy holding open the door for me as I walk into my building.
Nobody has touched me in over two hours. I haven’t spoken out loud in almost three. I accidentally fall asleep because I’m starting to get sick. Also I’m slightly hungover.
Still nothing. I go outside to read on a bench right by my apartment building that faces the water and Queens. My hand touches the cashier at a nearby deli as I hand him money for a drink.
I am excited because both my roommate and I are staying in, which means I get to have social interactions without putting on a bra or pants!!!! My hand touches the Seamless delivery guy’s hand as he gives me a giant bag of food. His hands are very rough.
My roommate and I are lying in her bed watching a movie on her laptop. I don’t think we ever touch, but this is the closest I’ve been to a human being in hours.
Saturday, around midnight.
The kitchen in my apartment is minuscule—which is fine because neither my roommate nor I can/will/do cook. The item we use the most is our kettle—which is constantly boiling water because we only drink instant coffee and/or tea (me, any kind of black tea; her, something fruity, the smell of which sometimes reminds me of cough medicine).
We bump into each other trying to maneuver around. My roommate has been up longer than I have and I woke up from a weird dream only 10 minutes before, so she talks at me. It doesn’t annoy me, I’d rather people talk at me than be alone for even a second.
Nothing since this morning. I go and sit in the Le Pain on Park because it is enormous and has outlets and has free wifi and the coffee is fine. The waiter drops the menu as he tries to hand it to me and we graze hands as we both bend down to pick it up.
We touch hands again as he hands me the personal pot of coffee I ordered. One time, in this exact Le Pain, I had a waiter who touched my shoulder every single time he spoke to me. I was also reading A Little Life at the time and was also absolutely obsessed with someone who only spoke to me during the week (?????), so my emotions were all over the place and I was ready to explode every time he lurched over the table to grab my shoulder. I haven’t seen him here since.
My waiter’s shift is ending, so he taps on my shoulder with two fingers to get my attention because my headphones are in and I listen to music at an incredibly destructive volume and obviously couldn’t hear him talking to me. He wants me to tip him now.
Nothing. I haven’t spoken out loud in an hour either. Sometimes I confuse texting people with real social interactions.
I force a friend to walk five blocks and one avenue over to come sit with me. She arrives hungover. We don’t hug because A) I see her all the time and B) I don’t like hugging people. I’m happy I get to talk out loud. Her foot accidentally kicks my shin as she recrosses her legs under the table.