I was carrying two grocery bags from Whole Foods.
It was finally a blue-sky kind of day, though deceptively chilly when the wind whipped around a building. But that's typical spring weather, and I was simply content to wake up to something besides the miserable, ever-present grey.
So when I was asked to walk several avenues across the island to purchase party supplies for the editorial department, I didn't mind in the slightest. Pesky sunshine rays had been whispering in my ear, "Come indulge!" all day long.
The green Amex felt heavy in my wallet, weighed down by purchases I couldn't even dream of making as a poor grad student. I was sure that today's $60 shopping spree was nothing in comparison.
Ow... These bags were getting heavy.
I rounded the corner, and glanced up to see 601 W. 26th in the distance. Despite the commute, I had come to enjoy this looming building full of all types of important people, from book publishers and magazine companies, to Homeland Security.
Oh no. These bags we're going to break. "Just make it the elevator," I told myself. "Just make it there, then put...bags...down."
Ha! Made it.
I slumped against the elevator wall and massaged my fingers. We zipped up the floors, only stopping once. I was alone in the car when the 9th level button lit up, signaling my arrival.
As the doors slid open, I reluctantly grabbed the heavy Whole Foods bags. I heard footsteps rush to catch my elevator followed by a set of slower yet more pronounced clip-clops.
I glanced up and saw a woman stick her arm out, as another blonde lady walked my way. She spoke right as I leaned over to secure the packages around my wrist.
"Hellooo," she said, almost with a smile.
I probably looked frazzled. The wind had blown my curls around for the last hour, and heavy bags pulled my arms down, bunching up the sleeves of my coat. I had a guest pass in one hand and my phone in the other.
But it didn't matter.
Because MARTHA STEWART was talking to ME.
Yes, a millionaire was gracing me with conversation. The owner of her own omnimedia corporation was acknowledging the poor, lowly intern, who at the moment, also happened to look like a crazy bag lady.
Now…. that was about the extent of our dialogue. I did manage to mumble out a "hiiiii," or something along those lines.
But that one simple phrase? That little "hello" with an extra emphasis on the "hel" and a slight lowered tone on the "o?"
I'll never forget it.
And that's all New York needed to say this week, my friends.
New May issue, just out on stands.