Giving blood took longer than I thought it would. Pam moved me to first in line, but it was a quarter past ten by the time I finally exited the Red Cross, donut in hand, to catch a cab into Midtown.
I figured I would do a round of our four clients in the center of town, drop off the gifts—shaking hands if anyone was around—and then run back to do some grocery shopping. I’d swing by home, drop off the food and check on Luke while I grabbed a bite to eat with Irena, and then head down to the Financial District for the final two client gift drop-offs and maybe a holiday drink or two.
I was buoyed by the feel-good sensation of giving blood, or perhaps high from a lack of oxygen and red blood cells, and my trip into Midtown took on a cinematic aura. I gawked out the window of my cab, watching the holiday shoppers bustling by on the streets, caught up in the excitement of New York at Christmas. Everyone was bundled up in hats and scarves in the intense cold, shopping bags in hand.
My first stop was next to Rockefeller Center, and after dropping the gift off I spent ten minutes staring at the tree outside, even offering to take pictures for a few tourists, enjoying the buzz of the crowds.
My route continued up past the Plaza Hotel, along Central Park, then looped back downtown. I had been texting with Lauren about what we needed for food, but she had stopped answering my texts. Finishing my rounds in Midtown, I hopped in a taxi and had it drop me back in Chelsea at Whole Foods. After cruising up and down the aisles for half an hour, filling my shopping cart and getting into the Christmas spirit, I finally arrived at the checkout line.
It was huge.
I waited ten minutes, trying unsuccessfully to check e-mail on my phone a few times, before asking a frustrated-looking woman in front of me, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” she replied over her shoulder. “Seems like they’re having some problems with the computers.”
“Mind watching my stuff while I go and have a look?”
She nodded.
I left my cart and wandered up toward the cash registers. The crowd’s agitation intensified as I moved forward, ending in a knot of angry shoppers.
“Why can’t you just take cash?” one of them said.
“Sir, we can’t let you take anything out of the store unless it’s scanned,” replied a frightened cashier, a teenage girl who was helplessly waving around a bar scanner.
I slipped in behind the registers to address the cashier directly. “What’s happening?” I asked.
Turning to me, she said, “It’s still not working, sir.”
She was flustered and must have thought I was a manager.
“Explain to me exactly what happened, from the start.”
“The scanning devices just stopped working. We’ve been waiting for technical support for an hour, but nothing.” In a hushed voice she added, “My cousin on the Upper East Side texted me and said their store was out as well.”
An angry customer, a large Hispanic man, grabbed my arm. “I just want to get out of here, bro. Can’t you take cash?”
I held up my hands. “Not my call to make.”
He looked straight at me. I expected to see anger, but he looked scared. “Screw this. I’ve been waiting an hour.” He threw a few twenties onto the counter in front us. “Just keep the change, man.”
Grabbing his shopping bags, he pushed his way through the crowd. People around him were watching, and a few of them began to wind forward to leave money at the counter too. Others just started leaving, taking whatever they were holding without paying.
“What’s going on?” It wasn’t like New Yorkers to start stealing.
“It’s the news, sir, the Chinese,” replied the cashier.
“What news?”
“That aircraft carrier thing,” was all she could add, but by that point I was already pushing my way toward the door, suddenly and irrationally fearful for Luke.