The year was 1995. Or maybe it was 1996. Perhaps my memory is fuzzy on that detail because it’s so clear on the rest.
I was young and fresh. Sort of cute maybe, but not cosmopolitan. My Scranton roots showed. I lived in Manhattan‘s Gramercy Park neighborhood where my rent was $950 per month and my entry-level salary was $25,000 per year. I was poor but somehow unconcerned, a combination of parental subsidies and youthful bluster-slash-cluelessness.
I took a second job working part-time at the Broadway location of Equinox checking IDs for the cheaper membership as well as the extra money. Once I checked in Michael J. Fox, but didn’t realize until he had proceeded through the turnstile. It was only when his member photo popped up on my computer monitor, that I said “Oh” aloud, recognizing him. He was so little in person.
I used the little bit of Equinox cash I earned to purchase personal training sessions. Of course.