Crazy is spilling out all over NYC

mannequins, madness, and a moment of truth

I’m a longtime New Yorker with a deep passion for this mad City that embraces every kind of outcast and turns them into celebrities and club kids. Today I was wrestling with a sticky Board issue while walking from Times Square to my office south of Macy’s and I passed a tiny store with a big sale on tights.

Not above a little impulsive shop-therapy, I decided to stop in. There were two employees busily tidying the shop. The non-binary cashier was spraying Windex on the shiny stainless surfaces and wiping them down with paper towels. The manager, a young woman with bobbed dark hair and a surprising lack of piercings or tattoos, was pushing a mop around the floor, putting it down, picking up bleach wipes and swiping at various displays and surfaces. I paid little attention to their industrious tidying, immediately spying a pair of antique bordello-print stockings with a lovely rose pattern in a dusky wine color that were in my size and only $9.

I brought my find to the sales counter. The two employees continued cleaning without a pause. I stood there. I went on my phone to check work email. I responded to two urgent matters and still the people were cleaning. I cleared my throat. The woman finally acknowledged me with a deep sigh.