How not to carry lunch. Also: about "CentUp"

A couple of months ago I joined a writer’s collective, which is like a writer’s space except you get your own permanent desk and also you get to say you’re in a “collective.” It feels good, guys. Collective. Good mouth feel.

The collective is about a half-hour walk from our place, or a couple of subway stops, but now that’s it’s sort-of spring I’ve been walking. I bring my laptop, of course, which is shoved into my backpack, and I also bring lunch, which is usually in a separate cross-body lunch pail thing that I bought for Scott and promptly stole for my own use. Marriage! In addition to the various straps of my laptop backpack and lunch-pail-bag I’m almost always listening to a podcast on my phone, because we all know there’s nothing worse than being alone with your thoughts/feelings.

On my way there today I stopped for a coffee and because I’m not a sick monster I removed my earbuds so that I could hear the nice barista tell me how many twenties I owed her. Somehow all my straps and wires got tangled, and while I waited for my coffee I sorted it all out. I thought. (Foreshadowing.) I left, coffee in hand, earbuds back in my ears, feeling like a normal human being who knows how to carry things. The rest of the walk I was getting some odd looks, and I couldn’t tell if they were admiration or pity. (Or both? Is that possible? And what would that look like? Someone work on that expression for me.) There were some sad smiles directed my way. Or maybe that guy just had a sad face? I figured that either 1) I looked amazing or 2) my fly was wide open. #2 was a negative so I decided to feel good about myself, even though I was encumbered and feeling increasingly sweaty.

When I reached my destination I got a load of myself in the mirror by the elevator and saw that my lunch pail had shifted at some point. Or I moved it. It was probably my fault. It was no longer across my body. The straps were now dangling from around my neck, the lunch sack landing between my boobs. How could I not notice that it had hiked all the way up there? I was carrying last night's leftover like a St. Bernard would carry his barrel of whiskey. Maybe people figured my mom hung it there right before pinning my name to my coat sleeve. Or maybe that’s where I keep my external heart pump. I was a little embarrassed, but more than anything I was surprised that people were giving me looks that seemed maybe sort of positive. People are good. Most people. The ones in downtown Brooklyn, anyway, where you're allowed to look a little off. If I had been in Soho I’d probably be set upon by German tourists, or a gang of hungry models.


On a totally different note, I wanted to explain this CentUp button you may have noticed at the bottom of each post. CentUp is a way for you to express your appreciation of my work via sweet cash while also giving to a good cause. Each contribution you make is split 50/50 between myself and whatever charity you choose. (Currently CentUp has a choice of seven charities, but they plan to expand their lineup over time.) You can donate as little as a penny, or as much as a trillion dollars. OR MORE. Infinite dollars.

But seriously, even donating a little lets me know which posts you particularly enjoyed and want to see more of. And then I can post more. Plus you're helping the world. Try it out!  When you create your CentUp account, you automatically get a dollar to try the button and see how it works. You don’t need to enter any credit card information for this step.

Here's an informative video about CentUp. Enjoy! from CentUp on Vimeo.