Drive-by used to be a term reserved exclusively to describe a shooting. It’s use has evolved recently to include birthday parties or birthday party parades as they are called on Instagram and Pinterest – the result of social distancing measures brought about by COVID-19. This afternoon I sat on my front steps, waiting. Surely the only pre-requisite for a drive-by birthday party parade is that you are born on the day that the parade would be held.  One car and a man on a bicycle passed by our house – neither looked our way, neither were prepared for the parade.

I realized maybe less quickly than I should have that there would be no parade. I wasn’t disappointed, I was a bit relieved. I have recently become a crusader for the earth, so the thought of vehicles driving by our house at a low speed with their signs made from murdered trees, markers and glitter, is unnerving. To clarify, when I say I am now environmentally aware I mean, in the last year I started recycling in a bid to get into heaven and join the ranks of the righteous, self or otherwise. A lot can change in a year.

***

I had fifteen minutes until closing. I walked faster. Why had I left this until the last minute? Tony took longer on my hair than I had planned for. When he turned my chair around to face the mirror I smiled. It wasn’t exactly what I was looking for but Tony was beaming.

“Do you love it?” he asked.

“Sure do” I lied. I thought it looked ok, but my feelings were not strong enough to risk hurting his.

I took it all in as he passed me the debit machine – $189 USD for a trim and blow out. Holy shit. For frame of reference that is about $264 dollars Canadian and that was before tip. I looked like Rene Russo in the Thomas Crown affair, circa 1999. Again, not exactly what I was going for.

I arrived at Party City on West 34th Street five minutes before closing. I stood in line hoping the staff would fill thirty balloons with helium for me on extremely short notice. The woman ahead of me in line was not friendly. I watched as she interacted with a cashier named Matt. I fully expected her to say, “do you not know who I am.” All of the self important people use that line.

“No, I’m sorry ma’am, we can’t fill the balloons for you tonight you’ve missed the cut off time” he said. I don’t think Matt was actually sorry. He was a lot of things, he was patient, he was in a position of power, sort of, and he was a saint of a man for not telling the woman to ‘fuck off.’ Believe me, had he, I would have given him a standing ovation – I was already standing, it wouldn’t have taken much to continue standing and loudly applaud him.

The woman turned around and walked by me in a huff, “Good luck” she said, “they’re useless!”

It was my turn. I wasn’t ready to give up, nor was I willing to give in to the disappointment that had already begun to take over my body.

“We’re just about to close ma’am, how can I help you?”

“I’m sorry that woman was rude to you.” I said.

“We’re used to it.” He replied.

“Either way, she was pretty bitchy.” I smiled sympathetically. “I do have a favour to ask, Matt. It is a big one and I understand if you can’t do it. I hate to even ask.”

“What is it ma’am?” he asked. I could hear the curiosity in his voice.

“You can call me Kate. So, here is the thing, I’m from Canada, I’m in New York City for my birthday. I’ve booked a photographer to take some photos of me with thirty balloons on my birthday, tomorrow. I will be 37, so 30 balloons doesn’t make a lot of sense, but I need 30 balloons tonight. My hairdresser took way longer than I had anticipated, so I’m just getting here now. Do you think you could help me?”

Matt looked at me. His colleague Holly whose name badge revealed that she was night manager was standing beside him. They looked at each other, Holly nodded and Matt replied with a smile, “of course we can help you Kate, happy early birthday!”

As I stood there I watched a pigeon drag a piece of bright pink ribbon along the floor. There was a pigeon in Party City in NYC. I don’t know why this surprised me. Anyone who knows anything knows that pigeons like to party.

George the security guard looked like he was about 78. He sat next to the door and seemed to be sleeping as a couple of stragglers walked in. The store was closed. I knew his name was George because Holly called to him twice by name and asked him to do his job.

Holly’s boyfriend was in the store waiting for her. She introduced him to me. He was going on and on about how much he didn’t like the Captain Marvel movie, “The blonde was all wrong, not hot at all, a bit of a whale.” He said to whomever would listen. I didn’t like him. I didn’t know Holly but I figured she could do better.

Matt put extra-large Party City balloon bags over top of the balloons and handed them to me. After thanking him profusely, I took the escalator out of the store. As I reached the top of the escalator I ran into George.

“Have a good night, ma’am.” George said.

“Hey, George, could you take a photo for me please?” I asked.

“Sure can.” he replied.

Mid-photo Holly popped out of no-where, “George, what are you doing?” she exclaimed.

“Sorry Holly, I asked him to take a photo for me.” I responded.

“Oh, no problem. Have a good night ma’am.” She said as she went back into the store.

I smiled at George, “Thanks George.”

I left the store and began my half-mile walk back to the hotel with 30 balloons.

Half a block down the street there were six or seven men sitting on trash bags swearing amongst themselves, loudly enough so that everyone could hear them. They saw me and my balloons and stopped talking.

“Happy birthday, lady.” One exclaimed. A couple of them started to laugh. The man who had wished me a happy birthday shot them a stern look, “show her some respect, assholes.”

I smiled as I passed by and said, “have a good night.”

When I was almost out of ear shot the one guy shouted, “f*ck you, Kevin!”

***

I waited outside my hotel for fifteen minutes for my taxi to arrive. I had tried to get an Uber, to no avail. It hadn’t occurred to me that 30 balloons might not fit inside a cab. My driver was of no assistance. He opened the trunk for me and got back in the car. I fit a few balloons in the trunk and squeezed myself in the back with the rest of them.

“Where you going to, lady?” The cabbie asked.

“Brooklyn” I replied.

“At this time of day, are you crazy?!” he said more as a statement and less as a question. He was annoyed.

I was in the back seat with 23 balloons, we had already established I was crazy. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Traffic on the bridge will be horrific. I will be stuck over there and won’t make any money,” he said.

“How much is the trip?” I asked.

“35 dollars.” He replied.

“I’ll give you $75 for your trouble.” I offered.

He smiled. I had bought myself a new friend who was now more than happy to exchange pleasantries. It was my birthday, I was happy to spend a few extra dollars to stop my driver from making me feel badly for wanting to be in Brooklyn for 10 in the morning and not knowing any better.

***

I sat on my hotel bed crossed-legged eating some of the cupcake the hotel staff had left for me in my room. I had been watching Billy Joel concert ticket prices on Stubhub for the last month. If I was going to go to the show I wanted a good seat, however I didn’t want to pay the price for a good seat. It was two hours before the show and the price of floor seats were materially lower than they had been when I looked the week before. I pulled the trigger. I bought one. It was an aisle seat, on the floor, at Madison Square Garden.

Billy Joel and I have the same birthday. He was celebrating his 70th birthday and I my 37th. It was the best concert I’ve ever been to. The energy in the room was unparalleled.

I met a couple of New Yorkers, Sammy and her dad Eddie who had the seats next to mine. They were lifelong Billy Joel fans. They took me under their wing, shared their popcorn with me and a lot of laughs. They were the company I needed to make the night feel like I was with family on my birthday.

***

I was with my family this year on my birthday. I’ve been with my family every day since March 13th, which is rare with my usual travel schedule for work. My birthday was a good one. It was low key. I slept in. I did a workout with Jen Widerstrom and friends. Olivia and I grabbed a coffee and spent the day relaxing. I watched The Blind Side, naturally. When the kids went to bed Heath and I watched Jerry Seinfeld’s latest special on Netflix and then I closed out the evening with You’ve Got Mail, one of my favourites.

There are many things that I am thankful for on my 38th birthday. The first is health, my family, both immediate and extended are healthy and they are safe. We live in a country that seems to be navigating the pandemic in a cautious and prudent manner – the economy, well, it is as one would expect it to be right now and who knows what it will look like when all of this is over. We are resilient. We will manage.

Heath and I have been able to keep our sense of humour amidst the panic and tectonic societal shift. We have nearly every streaming service known to man, and man has it come in handy. We have the food we need and plenty that we don’t need as well – obesity scare 2020 was brought on by this subcategory of ‘food we don’t need’ and the proximity of our pantry to my office (aka our bedroom where I work… at a desk, to clarify).

I have a mask tailor – a friend who has made me several. We have turned half of our living room into a gym area where I have been doing twice weekly virtual training sessions with Lindsay. It looks terrible, but who is looking? This is more of a concern of the past, we can’t have anyone over these days so it doesn’t matter. Actually, it probably never did.

We are puzzle people now, Heath more so than I am. I get hyper focused on one piece and have an inability to move on until I figure out where it goes. I have read books. I have written, a lot. We haven’t run out of things to talk about. And the kids, well they seem to be doing alright, they are expert level players at both Mario Kart and Animal Crossing. Humble brag.

Stay healthy and safe out there, folks!

Kate