That man right there, officer

One writer for Bwog had to tell her story.

Early last Saturday, at the start of Family Weekend, my mom texted me– and I quote– “HIII DARLIN I’M HERE BY A GATE WHERE ARE YOU??” After I begged her for further details, she said, “I am by a guy selling art. He looks like [his name could be] Sebastian. Should I ask him for directions?” Immediately, I figured out her location and told her to stay where she was. And don’t talk to anyone.

We both decided that it was time to eat after some quick catching up. Although I was hoping that having a parent in town would entail going out for every meal and temporarily forgetting the $5-per-week budget I had set for myself, my mom insisted on trying the food on campus to get the “real Columbia experience.” And in all seriousness, I was somewhat excited to introduce her to what had become my temporary mom, taking care of me for 15 mediocre meals per week: Ferris Booth.

We did the usual rounds. She got a sandwich from behind the counter, some yogurt, and hummus and carrots to split. I got yogurt with granola, dried cranberries, and a banana. Looking back, we had a lovely meal, filled with reminiscing about the past and daydreaming about the future. We were innocent and naive; we never could have predicted the consequences our choice that day would have.

As soon as we stepped onto the subway, I knew something didn’t feel right. I could tell my mom felt the same way, but neither one of us wanted to ruin the day by asking to turn around.

Our first post-Columbia stop was Times Square, on the prowl for discounted tickets at the TKTS booth. After the sobering realization that Broadway is Broadway and a 40 bucks per person budget just wasn’t going to cut it, we decided to walk down to my mom’s favorite store in all of New York City: the 11-floor (that’s three full acres) Macy’s on 34th Street.

The walk was rough. Our stomachs cursed every step; the charming city smells were more repulsive and upsetting than usual. But we powered through, committed as we were to reaching the Macy’s sale racks.

It was in the designer coat section that shit got real. While trying on a $2,400 coat– living her best life– my mom turned to me with a sudden panicked flush and said we needed to find a bathroom. I, at the time wearing a coat of comparable bougieness, nodded in agreement. Within moments we were racing to the elevators, en route to the nearest bathrooms– located in the children’s department on the floor below.

Scene of the crime pt. 2

Understandably, the staff in the coat department thought that we were carrying out some poorly-crafted plan to steal the coats by visibly fleeing with them on our backs, and came yelling after us, threatening to call security. Scared beyond belief but entirely focused on reaching the bathrooms before disaster struck, my mom and I threw the coats behind us, rounded the corner to flee down the escalator, and entered the children’s department.

Like maniacs, we navigated through the sea of toddlers, tweens, and strollers, with mothers gasping and scolding us along the way.

By a stroke of good luck, we finally reached the bathroom. From this point on I’ll spare you the gruesome details. I will say two things with confidence: 1. The young children in the bathroom that day will hear the sounds of our yakking in their nightmares for years to come and 2. The remnants of our Ferris breakfast will forever have a new home on 151st W 34th street.

Family Weekend was a lovely experience, this unfortunate event aside. And I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised how the weekend went down (and came back up); after all, they say that the connections you make in college can take you anywhere. I just never thought that this magical destination would be a 3’ x 5’ stall in a department store bathroom.

Love you Mom – Welcome to Columbia!

Ferris via Bwog Archives
Macy’s by Mike Strand via Wikimedia Commons.