The Science of Ordinary
It was a day like any other day– and by any other day, I mean a day that's more unlike any other day in existence, but lacks human recognition to ever achieve the merit of becoming unlike any other day... if that makes any sense.
Driving down 300 S was a young man by the name of Charles Wagner. Charles was an attorney-- actually– an attorney to be. He was driving through Manhattan one day, on his way to grab lunch with his parents, and just as sudden as you've met this poor fellow, his car was rear-ended. Usually in a time like this, both parties would pull over, step out, observe the damage, and exchange information. Well, Charles pulled over, but the guilty party did not. Looking through his mirrors, he could see a silhouette in the opposing car's windshield of a man cursing loudly and banging his fists against his steering wheel. But on this usually unusual day, the man slowly drove off, with his head somewhat tilted away from him.
He avoided eye contact as he passed. Through the corner of his eye though, he could see Charles, just standing there, no doubt staring at him with an extremely confused look on his face. The man driving away, or Douglass Whitacre, as most people referred to him as, didn't care. He was at the end of his rope, due to a fight he had with his 'significant other' last night. She hasn't been too significant since they got married last July. After a simple fight, she stole his credit card, and drove off to her best friend's house in Buffalo. To eat ice cream and cry at the poor woman, no doubt. Doug didn't know where he was driving, himself. He was driving just for the sake of driving. He really should stop by work though. With him being a mechanic, it would only seem stupid for him not to.
A soon-to-be elderly couple sat helplessly on the side of the road, staring at their car. They never knew so much smoke could spill through the hood of one. Nancy Wagner was nagging her now frustrated husband, Dale Wagner. Dale had reassured her time and time again that he had just got his radiator fixed two weeks ago, but she didn't want to believe it– mainly due to the fact that local residents were staring at the miniature smokestack radiating from their 1996 Buick from their windows. Just as Dale was opening his mouth once again to calm the nagging monster, a passing car slowed down to see if they needed any help. It was a white Honda Civic with minor damage to it's front bumper. A young man came out, with a seemingly guilty look on his face, and asked if they needed any help. With a small inspection of their Buick’s front engine, the self proclaimed mechanic told them that it was a simple fix, and that he could run down to his shop real quick to grab the tool necessary to quickly fix this damage. He jumped in his slightly damaged Honda Civic and drove off, with a promise to come back with his toolkit.
At a four-star restaurant, nestled in the corner of 400 S and Richmond Blvd, a young woman, about the age of twenty, looked confused at an empty waiting room of the Les Cheri. There was a one o’clock reservation for a party of three under the name of Wagner, yet no one had showed up.
It's a funny thing how things in a big city work out.
One person can perceive another as heartless, while another group can consider that same heartless man to be a miracle. It all really depends on how well you know the person’s life. Not that life is an easy thing to comprehend. Everything someone does has in impact on everything everyone else does. From a fighting couple, to a rear ended car, to a frustrated hostess, one simple act can lead to another.
Things like this happen in cities every minute, of every day. What seems like another ordinary day, is actually an amazing and complex work of art. All you have to do is look at it.
It was a day like any other day– and by any other day, I mean a day that's more unlike any other day in existence, but lacks human recognition to ever achieve the merit of becoming unlike any other day... if that makes any sense.
Driving down 300 S was a young man by the name of Charles Wagner. Charles was an attorney-- actually– an attorney to be. He was driving through Manhattan one day, on his way to grab lunch with his parents, and just as sudden as you've met this poor fellow, his car was rear-ended. Usually in a time like this, both parties would pull over, step out, observe the damage, and exchange information. Well, Charles pulled over, but the guilty party did not. Looking through his mirrors, he could see a silhouette in the opposing car's windshield of a man cursing loudly and banging his fists against his steering wheel. But on this usually unusual day, the man slowly drove off, with his head somewhat tilted away from him.
He avoided eye contact as he passed. Through the corner of his eye though, he could see Charles, just standing there, no doubt staring at him with an extremely confused look on his face. The man driving away, or Douglass Whitacre, as most people referred to him as, didn't care. He was at the end of his rope, due to a fight he had with his 'significant other' last night. She hasn't been too significant since they got married last July. After a simple fight, she stole his credit card, and drove off to her best friend's house in Buffalo. To eat ice cream and cry at the poor woman, no doubt. Doug didn't know where he was driving, himself. He was driving just for the sake of driving. He really should stop by work though. With him being a mechanic, it would only seem stupid for him not to.
A soon-to-be elderly couple sat helplessly on the side of the road, staring at their car. They never knew so much smoke could spill through the hood of one. Nancy Wagner was nagging her now frustrated husband, Dale Wagner. Dale had reassured her time and time again that he had just got his radiator fixed two weeks ago, but she didn't want to believe it– mainly due to the fact that local residents were staring at the miniature smokestack radiating from their 1996 Buick from their windows. Just as Dale was opening his mouth once again to calm the nagging monster, a passing car slowed down to see if they needed any help. It was a white Honda Civic with minor damage to it's front bumper. A young man came out, with a seemingly guilty look on his face, and asked if they needed any help. With a small inspection of their Buick’s front engine, the self proclaimed mechanic told them that it was a simple fix, and that he could run down to his shop real quick to grab the tool necessary to quickly fix this damage. He jumped in his slightly damaged Honda Civic and drove off, with a promise to come back with his toolkit.
At a four-star restaurant, nestled in the corner of 400 S and Richmond Blvd, a young woman, about the age of twenty, looked confused at an empty waiting room of the Les Cheri. There was a one o’clock reservation for a party of three under the name of Wagner, yet no one had showed up.
It's a funny thing how things in a big city work out.
One person can perceive another as heartless, while another group can consider that same heartless man to be a miracle. It all really depends on how well you know the person’s life. Not that life is an easy thing to comprehend. Everything someone does has in impact on everything everyone else does. From a fighting couple, to a rear ended car, to a frustrated hostess, one simple act can lead to another.
Things like this happen in cities every minute, of every day. What seems like another ordinary day, is actually an amazing and complex work of art. All you have to do is look at it.