My Thank You Sir Paul McCartney Moment

    The envelope of photos went to the second floor of a small brick building on the West Side Highway around Charles Street. Blip of an exclusive old faded pink red brick, with a view over the highway of Hudson River Park and the river. 

On the street, I rolled up slowly as there was a Black Car and driver, near the door, specifically looking me over. I circled back to the nearest pole, while he asked if I was delivering there. Man do I owe that man a lot. The indifference I showed, compared to his generosity, in return, is unfathomable. Because no matter how many times people say the right things, to take packages off your hands, it's uncomfortable letting others take charge of your decisions. Especially when you haven't even entered the address you're sent. Clearly in my memory, he even said “they prefer” he “take the deliveries.” But I could go up. Have a good time. And I know I said "huh," thinking, of course, I’m up and out without a bother.

Inside, my next thought after turning right, and going up two steps, was "oh no" an old freight elevator I have to operate. But I was thrilled the simple enough doors opened and closed themselves. Money. Second floor my bicycle messenger's pace angles swiftly right into an office, seen from the elevator, where people are grouped in a half-moon discussion. It wasn't too large a room and once inside the open door, I assessed from the left the first woman was civilian. Next two men, photographer and assistant, so, at that point my eyes were swifter to the right. Also passing past the woman in the chair between the passed over man, and woman with her back to me, at the desk, on the phone. To not bother her I looked backward left, this time ready to gauge volunteers for the package. And this time when I reached the moon's middle, Paul McCartney’s looking me right in the eyes with a grin that planted a huger one on my face below eyes with stunned recognition. And I know I made it through the whole sentence in my head, thinking Paul McCartney is looking at me should I say something. No, be professional is why I’m there. So I turned back to the desk, and put the flat cardboard box down. Manifest on top. The phoning woman easily signed with the pen in her hand. Usually I know the people? I’d sign Paul McCartney’s name. Was I ever tempted. I’d have been fine with that. Even if they’d lost the package. But I was responsible to more than entertaining myself. Marcy and Jessica who’d sent the package, foremost.

So I’m going out the door, Mr. McCartney is still smiling with me as I nodded my goodbye. The photographer led the charge back on reality saying, "you were saying," and Paul said "yes I remember" and they talked. But darned if when I turned back around at the elevator to look, he's smiling right at me still. Unfortunately I'd pushed the elevator button before I turning around to see his smiling. But it was as if the elevator doors had eventually opened and closed precisely on the conclusion of our smiling event.

Ridiculously I came out the downstairs door as if on air, and I the only one in the world there. So by the time I realized I had been allowed up, and should thank the Police Department's Driver, he was gone. Most likely seeing what, if anything, I'd done. Thanks man. 

Thank you Beatles

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