Breakfast at Tiffany’s

Akillah Wali — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 09:54:48 -0400

Last weekend, I decided to take an impromptu break from reality and travel to the far away land of Philadelphia. I went to visit my friend Jennifer, who has, like me, had the great misfortune of being banished to the suburbs for the summer.

During the course of the weekend, I was reminded of our time together as struggling students. These memories led me to think about the future, and how I am handling the next chapter of my life.

Many of the associates I have made in the last two years have faded away. Most of them, I decided, were dead weight as I was headed into the future.

But that future has not begun to shine are brightly as I had anticipated when I moved to NY to attend school.

At times I wish it was a bit less of a struggle.

Sunday morning Jenn and I decided to go for breakfast, which was more of a task than either of us had anticipated. Apparently, the suburbs of the fifth largest city in the U.S. don’t unroll their sidewalks on Sunday until after 10 am.

Twelve dollars and a very interesting cab ride later, we found ourselves at the other end of the city in a diner that had every character you could imagine. Every possible character you could possibly imagine was a local at this joint, but the cream of the crop was our waitress, who had the two of us in stitches as soon as we sat down. Shortly after assuming our positions at the counter, our waitress caught one of the male patrons being less than subtle with his glances. Her disapproval of his behavior was all over her face. “I just hate the fact that men don’t even feel the need to be subtle about their attraction anymore,” she complained audibly. “A short glance is sexy, but just to ogle is downright tacky – and rude.”

Ah, the staring.

In my trips to the supermarket in upstate New York, I have noticed that men stare – a lot. We’re not talking a quick glance, either.

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Breakfast at Tiffany’s