A Momentary Half-Knotted Hero

Yesterday, I went to a job interview at the Empire State Building. I've been going on job interviews since I arrived in New York, but it's great to go to one in such an iconic building. When I arrived, the building was encased in fog, adding mystery to the already heavy stature of an edificial legend. Built in 1931, that building has seen the Depression, world wars and the rage of giant simian romantics. I haven't seen any of those things (without the help of Peter Jackson).

Since I was going to an interview later that day, I rolled a tie up and put it in my bag that morning. I didn't want to wear it to work, lest I reveal my obvious search for another job, and I didn't have time to go home and change into a suit. So, when I arrived at the ESB, I needed to find a place to put on my tie.

There was an alcove full of pay phones in the lobby. What better place to make my transformation from disenchanted cube-jockey to self-starting and vigilant job candidate? I ducked into the alcove and got to making the necessary knot. I felt like Superman, in reverse. The tie was red, even.

As I was completing my transformation, I heard a voice behind me.

"Can you help?" said the meek, heavily-accented young man in glasses.

Sometimes people need heroes in half-knotted ties.

"Yes. I will help." I answered dutifully, admiring the crap out myself.

"I call Turkey." He showed me his calling card.

Having been through the same frustration in another country, I could empathize with his plight. Plus, the people of Turkey have been going through a lot lately, and had been so kind to me when I was there (see previous entry Crossroads). This was my opportunity to give back. I read the instructions on the card, and pointed to the numbers on it that he needed to dial.

He seemed to be trying, but made an "eha" sound. It hadn't worked. I tried to show him again. It didn't work again. My cape was becoming threadbare. I gently took the card from him, and took control of the situation. If you want something done right, after all, it's best to take responsibility away from the bespectacled and confused foreigner.

I entered the correct access numbers and codes... and a-ha! It worked!

Now he could call whomever he pleased, and let them know of the kindness of American strangers. "Now. You call Turkey."

"Turkey?" he said, with a hopeful, arched brow.

"Yes," I nodded slowly, pleased. "Turkey."

He dialed two numbers, shrugged, and said "Ehhhhhh... try... again??"

Unfortunately, I had to go to my interview. I tried to tell him exactly what to do, and I wished him luck -- both in a language he clearly did not understand. On my way out after the interview, I looked in the alcove again hoping to find him chatting pleasantly with Turks afar. He wasn't there.

I walked out the revolving door, and there across the street in a storefront window was a bright neon "S" -- of Superman fame. Clearly the store sold overpriced souvenirs, but I saw it as a jab by the universe at my failed heroism. I started to make excuses ('it's not like Superman speaks Turkish!), but I realized that's something a hero wouldn't do. So, I just promised myself to keep trying to make things better for myself and others, and walked up Fifth Avenue slower than a speeding bullet, leaping tall curbs in a single bound.