Metropolitan Life | Observing an Urban Communal Sink

I found myself upstairs at the Whole Foods in Union Square, looking out of the massive floor to ceiling window upon the park that I used to look out a 7th floor window upon when I worked in fashion and was usually contemplating suicide, either by mini stapler or window. I was here now waiting for my boyfriend who had a doctors’ appointment of which in nature required an escort of sorts to help you woozily battle the underground train commute to wherever home is, which, arguably, everyone could use an escort of sorts to help battle this often unnavigable sea of misdirected straphangers and tracks, but of this certain nature I will not explain because I respect his privacy. And this simply isn’t the place. Stop wondering. You’re so annoying.

I found myself upstairs at the Whole Foods in Union Square, nibbling on a smattering of nut-based snacks and sipping a coffee that was way too big but still refusing to gulp it, which is the only way you can finish a coffee of this size while still maintaining its integrity. I recognize that I chose to order this size. I thought medium seemed sensible given the hour I was out and walking around in public. I overshot it a little. 

The wall adjacent to the glass window was adorned with a message that read “Our PURPOSE is to NOURISH PEOPLE and the PLANET” in a noticeably antiquated font. Adjacent to this wall was another wall lined with a microwave, a water fountain from the 50s that I hope no one ever leans over and puts their mouth near, and two industrial sinks. My eyes were led to said sinks after hearing industrial-powered stream of water emmitting from one for what I deemed longer than an average hand-washing. Standing in front of the sinks was a man with wild hair and a wide smile, washing a long patterened sock under the public nourishing spigot. He was filling the porous sock with water and smushing it out, smiling and looking around, filling it with soap and smiling and looking around, wringing it out and patting it with dry paper towels before washing it again, visibly entertained that this luxury was available to him. As I observed this activity, surprised that no one was stopping him, he was clearly surprised that his one pair of socks would be clean, for once. I noticed that his bare feet were half sticking out of a pair of very weathered sneakers. 

He wrung the sock again and then swung it around, flopping flotsam of god knows what upon the oversized coffees of onlookers who seemed to be too absorbed in their own devices to notice his presence, nor any unfamiliar flotsam upon what they probably thought were aptly sized caffeine habits before consuming another thoughtless gulp. 

I was secretly begging him to put said socks in the microwave for some speed drying that could end in flames, but also could end in his own fleeting feeling of entrepreneurship for the rest of the dirty-socked occupants of the second floor in Whole Foods. 

At some point in my onlooking I met eyes with another sane set of eyes across the communal tables, closer than me to the communal sinks yet still reasonably out of reach of the flotsam flinging. He put his head into his hand and scrunched his hair slightly to say, only in New York, right? And I smiled and shook my head, looking down slightly. Only in New York, I confirmed with my eyes. 

I returned my gaze toward the park and I was pained remembering so many times I looked desperately from the 7th foot upon the same park, when I was working in fashion and contemplating suicide via stapler or window. 

I scrunched my toes in my what I felt now were comparatively dirty socks.

I saw the clean-socked man return to the sink area and wondered what I would be watching him wash next but instead he was holding a small paper cup and grinning from ear to ear. He turned on the high-powered industrial communal sink and filled his cup, drinking happily while the ominous water fountain stood perched beside the sink, dry and untouched.

We all have our standards.