I Got a Hug From a Stranger Today

My life is suddenly boring. I once held a job that brought daily challenges, each one bigger and more exciting than the last. I was the grab the bull by the horns, whatever it takes guy. I would charge in anywhere with a calculated combination of knowledge, corporate funding and bullshit to get the job done. I have done proverbial battle with entrepreneurs, corporate executives, fashion models, and even once with honest-to-God royalty. I cared about my job, knew everything about my clients, and had the answers before the questions were asked. 

It wasn’t so much the money, prestige, or beautiful women that kept me going, although they helped a great deal. It was the lure of the game, the challenge of the conquest, the art of the deal, and the thrill of competition. I loved playing, and I especially loved winning. If winning came with fat commission checks and frequent flyer miles then who am I to complain.

Then I got caught up in a tornado of downsizing and expense cutting. All of a sudden, my high-paying, fast-flying, decision-making position at a multinational became faceless middle management in a dull grey building. Small perfectly-steaming cups on the patio at Rue du something while the fashion model looked for her underwear on the way out became boiling, bitter blackness served in a paper cup. And my daily challenges range from talking the barista into a free shot of vanilla syrup, to trying not to pummel people who think that saying hump day in a funny voice once a week makes them an interesting person. In short, I’m now just another rat in the race, commuting, paying taxes, and constantly wishing I was somewhere else.

 “Hi!” She greets me with an enthusiasm that sane people usually reserve for good friends. “How are you?”

I know it’s just a greeting and she doesn’t want to know that my day has been a mindless progression from alarm clock to coffee shop. She doesn’t really care that my biggest decision so far has been to not shave, my biggest challenge finding a seat on the subway, and my only real human interaction a silver-haired woman who seems to think that we’ve been friends in some distant past. Not likely sister.

I quickly take a sip of boiling coffee, giving myself a few seconds to wake up and assess the situation. My mind is blank and her expression says that she’s about to be disappointed in me. I need to ramp this up. 

“I’m good.” It’s a lie, but a standard one. “How about you?”

It’s not my best opening volley, but I’m a little out of practice. I take a good look at her extra makeup and office-appropriate shoes. It’s not impossible that we might have been introduced at some point. She may have been an executive assistant, secretary, or bartender in some hotel bar where I spent someone else’s money. Either way she’s the only person I’ve spoken to today, and my competitive instincts do not like that she has the upper hand. 

Without warning she opens her arms for a hug. I am definitely not admitting ignorance now. Trying to be simultaneously non-committal and engaged, I stand with a twisting, one-arm half hug aimed at her oversized coat. She thinks I’m somebody worthy of a long-lost-friend hug. I’m not.

Dormant mental gears grind to life calculating how close we could possibly be and when I could possibly have known her. Have we worked together? Have I dated her daughter? Is she someone I’ve met on an airplane, in a board room, or on Prince what’s-his-name’s boat? Names and places of the past jumble together and the only clear thoughts I can form involve three and a half cubicle walls, and this nameless woman who already has the upper hand in our short relationship. This is clearly not my best work.

The preliminaries are out of the way and it’s time for someone to ask how so-and-so is, so we can continue the conversation like normal human beings. I see a twitch of her eye that tells me she suddenly isn’t sure who I am either. Score! 

I should admit that I don’t know her before she starts sizing me up as some weirdo who hugs random old ladies in coffee shops. But I’m not going to. She has had the advantage since we started and I finally see a chink in the armor. I offer her a seat, your move honey.

Swaying slightly, she realizes that sitting would commit her to conversation. Instead she says “No thanks” and stares over her cup as if trying to figure out which one of Uncle Bob’s kids I resemble while solving differential calculus equations on the white plastic lid. Dammit! She’s good.

I’m stuck. Standing commits me to leaving and walking with her. Staying makes me late for work. The only win for me is for her to either admit she doesn’t know me or to just turn and leave. She’s neither weak willed nor rude to strangers so my chances are pretty slim. Time passes into awkward silence. Tie.

“So, how are things at….work?” I’m playing the odds.

“Things are good, about the same as usual. Rebecca had her baby.” I don’t know anybody named Rebecca.

“Good for her. Boy or girl?” I’m practically forced into the usual response. I need her to leave instead of opening up more conversation. My options are quickly becoming insult her, lie, or rush out the door checking my watch. 

“A little girl, they are both doing great. You know, we were talking about you the other day.” Her barely-raised eyebrow dares me to respond. She’s winning and she knows it. Shit.

I opt for all three of my available options, a Hail Mary. Quickly standing, I explain with an overemphasized look at my bare wrist that I have forgotten the time and I’m running late. In the same breath, I tell her that it’s been nice seeing her and that we should catch up soon. Then I run. This is not the fast walk of late-to-work middle management, I’m breaking a sweat. 

Eventually, I slow to a walk as the brightness of post-battle adrenaline recedes and the dull, grey building fills my view. Chuckling fondly at the memory of her oversized coat and blue eye shadow, I mentally mark this one in the “you can’t win ‘em all” category. Thank you to a worthy morning opponent, and I sincerely hope that Rebecca and the baby are doing well.