It was this week, exactly a year ago, that I was in LA about to begin the long journey of becoming a Bikram Yoga instructor. Oh, what a road it’s been since then. Nine weeks of torture in LA, six months of teaching in Baltimore, and most recently, three and a half months of scrounging for classes in New York. Though I’ve been treated pretty well over the past few months, I still wish for some more consistency in my life.
I’ve been lucky enough to have a packed schedule of classes, even with the five classes that I lost in Hoboken last month due to a malfunctioning sprinkler that left the studio flooded (with water rather than sweat.) I was fortunately able to pick up some additional classes here and there to make up for the lost income.
As for the studio owner with whom I was previously having difficulty…the last time I saw him, I genuinely indicated that I was still interested in trying to work something out so that I could teach at his studio. I was convincing myself that I could trade a less than ideal work environment for the convenience of a good location. All of that changed last Thursday when I was taking a class at his studio. It was my first time to take class with this specific instructor. The studio owner also happened to be taking class that evening. The teacher was doing a great job. The class was full of motivation and stimulation, and also laced with her abundant knowledge of the human body and the yoga. There were specific demonstrations and in-depth explanations of the medical benefits of individual postures. But meanwhile, the studio owner was silently torturing the poor girl. Apparently, he was misbehaving the whole time. It all culminated in the teacher crying and barely being able to complete the class. I don’t see how any studio owner would benefit from diminishing the power and authority of an instructor in front of an entire class. If he disagreed with something that she was doing, he should have pulled her aside after class, in the privacy of the office. In conclusion, I think I’m officially finished with him. It’s not worth it. I was in a bad work situation for too long; I refuse to put myself back into that position…not after the past nine months have been so positive.
I was not fortunate enough to be able to secure and reschedule an interview at the brand new Whole Foods across the street but the doors are now officially opened and the convenience alone is a bit overwhelming. In the first nine days that the store was opened, I had crossed the threshold to food-heavan about fifteen times. Fromagerie, Candy Shop, French Fry Booth. There are two restaurants upstairs. One has fresh sushi with a revolving conveyor belt -- what? There's an in-house cabinet of aged meat (I’m not even entirely sure that I even know what that is, but it’s impressive all the same.) I've never seen so many grapes in my life. It is truly a wonderland of food…77,000 square feet of food, glorious food: please sir, may I have some more? And people are serious about their shipping. Last week, my sister and I were innocently hanging around the guacamole sample station when I was attacked...pummeled by a cart. Then I heard an "excuse me." Now this wasn't an I-just-accidentally-bumped-you-with-my-cart "excuse me." It was clearly a you're-in-my-way-and-I-want-to-get-through "excuse me." My sister confirmed that the perpetrator first intentionally rammed me, then twisted the knife with the "excuse me." People are crazy.
Speaking of perpetrators…I can’t say, for certain, specifically how the event unfolded but what I do know is that my wallet is gone. It’s the first time that this has ever happened to me. I don’t feel violated or betrayed...more just embarrassed. I had it in my hands while I was on the train on my way back from teaching two classes in Connecticut on Wednesday and, by the time I got home, it was gone. I immediately rode my bike back up to Grand Central while scanning the dark asphalt for any unexpected objects…smashed plastic bottles, Starbucks thermal coffee sleeves, everything but my wallet. By the time I made it back to the train station, the train was still waiting on the track for its next departure. I scoured the train, but there was no wallet. After playing the card-canceling and license-replacing game yesterday I was still regularly checking in with the Grand Central lost-and-found until today. I spoke with Chase who indicated that someone attempted to charge $152.80 at an Indian restaurant three blocks from my house at 12:20am this morning. (And that’s a lot of money for a cheap East Village Indian joint.) After deciphering the broken English of the restaurant manager, I now know that the patrons paid with cash after the card was declined…most likely the $146 of mine that was in the wallet at the time that it was found/stolen/whatever. The irony is that, when I last had the wallet in my hands, I was reading the section of Bikram’s brand new book where he was discussing Karma. It’s all because, earlier in the day, I got into a big fight with a trash truck-driver for deafening me with his horn.
But onto the good news…though I’ll have to live without a job in the across-the-street Mecca of foods, I did end up with a pretty good hour-and-a-half interview for Trader Joe’s. I was so inquisitive about the method in which they maintain order in that place. I swear: it’s busier than FAO Schwartz at Christmas. He told me that, at any given moment, there are between thirty and sixty employees on the floor. And if you’ve ever been in the store, you’ll know that the store is not big. At about 9,000 square feet, Trader Joe's is less than a third the size of the Union Square Whole Foods. It may be a bit of a circus in there, but they made me an offer and I’ve accepted. Now I just wait to be scheduled for orientation. And if there is nothing else good about it, I’ll end up with a free Hawaiian shirt. (But I’m dreading filling out paperwork and being forced to admit that I no longer have a photo ID. Damn those wallet theves. But at least they have good taste in food: Indian Curry Mahal.