What a very, very strange day.
Any day I come within ten minutes of being caught in a gun fight would have to be strange. If you've been watching the news, you are probably aware of this shooting outside the Empire State Building, which happens to be my place of work.
I was ten minutes early today, like usual. Early is good.
The day was quite surreal. At first we thought it might be a jumper, as there was a garbled announcement concerning some incident on the 27th Floor (one floor below me) and there was clearly many police cars and ambulances and an inert body on the sidewalk. ESB used to get numerous jumpers a year before they made it impossible to open the windows more than 5 inches.
Then the news starting coming in. Three people shot. No, 4 or 5. Thank goodness for NY1. There is someone in custody, also shot. No, maybe as many as 10. That's silly, but no maybe 8. A picture on ABC shows one of the guys in the light blue vests who hawks tours to tourists bleeding on the street. Oh god, I recognize that guy. Did the shooter work here? He must have worked here. Then it was ten again, two dead - the shooter and his intended victim. On the Post site, they interview another victim- a young woman from my neighborhood. From the description, it's clearly someone I ride the train with every morning, though we've never exchanged a word. Now we know there were eleven injured. If the numbers are right, at least 5 people were shot by police (Midtown is nothing if not dense with people, especially at 9am).
As a post-9/11 NY crowd, we were calling people to say we were alright before many knew there was a shooting, though some beat me to it. There was much affection is the relief of friends who called or sent a text in a panic. I was just too close for anyone's comfort. I make a comment on reddit about being glad that I got to work early, and I suddenly feel like I'm karma-whoring a disaster. And then I was productive at work. There was always at least one radio on. Everyone made it in ok, so we were immune from the height of panic or suffering. As such, work. The only employee who cried at the horror of the situation is French, decidedly not native. This is New York, and we are New Yorkers. It's not that we're immune to emotion, not at all. We just all feel somewhere inside that this is supposed to happen, except that its not, not ever (at least, not to the affluent, not to the white, and not here, or right there). When it does, we get another notch for the belt, "I lived through that one." Some always hit closer to home than others.
When I left work at 3 (I will miss summer Fridays) traffic was once again open on 5th Avenue. The amount of caution take was limited to blocking the fronts of several stores (the areas were there was the most blood, one must assume). There were tourists, as is expected, and the usual amount of traffic. Of course, there were also swarms of cops making up for however many tourists were scared away. There were also at least ten news vans.
The attitude on the street was very peculiar. Being were doing the things they were always going to do - shop, work, take photos, go home, met friends, gawk - but the atmosphere was oddly still, and filled with a certain trepidation. Cars seemed to more a little slower, people a bit more cautiously.
Of course, no one is about to get shot. Right. But even so.
Also, I got new boots in the mail.
I have no full-sized mirror anymore, so I had to use my camera.
Any day I come within ten minutes of being caught in a gun fight would have to be strange. If you've been watching the news, you are probably aware of this shooting outside the Empire State Building, which happens to be my place of work.
I was ten minutes early today, like usual. Early is good.
The day was quite surreal. At first we thought it might be a jumper, as there was a garbled announcement concerning some incident on the 27th Floor (one floor below me) and there was clearly many police cars and ambulances and an inert body on the sidewalk. ESB used to get numerous jumpers a year before they made it impossible to open the windows more than 5 inches.
Then the news starting coming in. Three people shot. No, 4 or 5. Thank goodness for NY1. There is someone in custody, also shot. No, maybe as many as 10. That's silly, but no maybe 8. A picture on ABC shows one of the guys in the light blue vests who hawks tours to tourists bleeding on the street. Oh god, I recognize that guy. Did the shooter work here? He must have worked here. Then it was ten again, two dead - the shooter and his intended victim. On the Post site, they interview another victim- a young woman from my neighborhood. From the description, it's clearly someone I ride the train with every morning, though we've never exchanged a word. Now we know there were eleven injured. If the numbers are right, at least 5 people were shot by police (Midtown is nothing if not dense with people, especially at 9am).
As a post-9/11 NY crowd, we were calling people to say we were alright before many knew there was a shooting, though some beat me to it. There was much affection is the relief of friends who called or sent a text in a panic. I was just too close for anyone's comfort. I make a comment on reddit about being glad that I got to work early, and I suddenly feel like I'm karma-whoring a disaster. And then I was productive at work. There was always at least one radio on. Everyone made it in ok, so we were immune from the height of panic or suffering. As such, work. The only employee who cried at the horror of the situation is French, decidedly not native. This is New York, and we are New Yorkers. It's not that we're immune to emotion, not at all. We just all feel somewhere inside that this is supposed to happen, except that its not, not ever (at least, not to the affluent, not to the white, and not here, or right there). When it does, we get another notch for the belt, "I lived through that one." Some always hit closer to home than others.
When I left work at 3 (I will miss summer Fridays) traffic was once again open on 5th Avenue. The amount of caution take was limited to blocking the fronts of several stores (the areas were there was the most blood, one must assume). There were tourists, as is expected, and the usual amount of traffic. Of course, there were also swarms of cops making up for however many tourists were scared away. There were also at least ten news vans.
The attitude on the street was very peculiar. Being were doing the things they were always going to do - shop, work, take photos, go home, met friends, gawk - but the atmosphere was oddly still, and filled with a certain trepidation. Cars seemed to more a little slower, people a bit more cautiously.
Of course, no one is about to get shot. Right. But even so.
Also, I got new boots in the mail.
I have no full-sized mirror anymore, so I had to use my camera.
And then I got carried away...
Also, there was my cat:
Now my husband has cooked up some Green Dragon, which he is about to test on himself. I am, of course, writing to you before I go cook up some bacon for burgers. Strange that the weed has been cooking for almost an hour and I haven't smelled - ah, there it is. And he says we'll talk about our cruise tonight. Heh.
And hey, this morning I was ten minutes (or 27 floors) away from gunfire.
As said, a very, very strange day.
Love to you. Be safe.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
I love the boots, and the woman in them