Sacagawea


This one’s for you, Ry. And yes, I do take requests:)

In New York, the subway system portals are infamous for giving you miscellaneous change back. My favorite is the always-exciting Sacagawea. No, I would prefer not to have the lightweight, convenient dollar bill back in return. I would like to burden my wallet with change the size of an Oreo and get through the weird looks when I try to pay for normal things with my new ‘change.’

After one such evening of receiving this Indian treat, my good friend Ryan and I were off to a fun-filled night of cramming everything NYC into the little time she had there to visit. One of the first stops of the night was to one of my favorites, Chocolate by the Bald Man. A quaint little restaurant that buzzed with the smell of the giant chocolate melting fondue pot and a menu full of items like white chocolate ice cream and hazelnut waffles or private hot cocoa bars with the works. Our quick in-and-out was no such thing. After two hours of waiting for hot chocolate–no joke–and three interruptions of random waiters to see if they had seen ‘our girl,’ I began to feel that impatient rumble that plagues the native inhabitants of Manhattan.
I can’t say that I’ve ever done this before, but I didn’t wait for the bill. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t steal or just walk out. Instead, my behavior reflected the worse for what I felt. I looked at the menu, calculated the tax, and left my change on the table without ever having seen our waitress more than once. And to top it all off, I left my ‘money,’ my Sacagawea. As we rushed out of the restaurant, I remember fighting back laughter and the very unfortunate timing of feeling the need to go to the restroom but couldn’t turn back…no, not now, not after I just left a small Indian princess on a table in a city of millions. So as we ran down the streets (rebellious, I know), I couldn’t help but get into one of those contagious states of laughter thinking about our waitresses’ face once she returned to the table. Out of towners? Most certainly. And the nerve we had just to walk out and leave a questionable form of payment on the table. I tried my best to recount the story over the phone on our walk back in front of Trader Joe’s, But found myself just crossing my legs instead and yelling ‘Sacagawea!!’
I haven’t been blessed with one of these presents since that time. It’s as if God knew I could only abuse their power. I miss you, New York!

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