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When I graduated high school, I got a job working as a waitress at a restaurant in Manhattan, and got a little studio walk up not too far from Central Park. I kept running in the park every morning, as I worked the lunch shift. Junior waitresses just didn't get the more profitable night shifts early on in their career. I was making money, I was surviving ... but I was very lonely. I ran to keep my mind off of it, among other things.After I had been working for a little over a year, I started getting the night shift at the restaurant. Which was a good thing, because I started to make more money. But it also meant that I crashed into bed at 1AM most nights, and didn't get up until noon. So I ran in the early afternoon.Every day that I went running, at the place where I was deciding to end my run, there was a middle aged man. Salt-and-pepper hair, often not well maintained looking. But he wore expensive clothing, and that clothing changed every day. So he wasn't a poor helpless bum. The. There is no possible way that she could have left it there by accident, I thought to myself, concluding Now I have a problem if I’m to abide by principle #3. The problem intensified when early Sunday morning I received a call on my cell from a frantic female. “Hi, Jerry, this is Julie; I’m really, really, sorry to call you so early, but can I come talk to you, please? I really, sob, sob, choke, need to.” “Sure,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “Do you need a ride?” “No, I’m already in a cab; I’ll be there in five minutes.” I was worried and perplexed. What could be wrong that she would call someone so frantically, and why me? I cleaned up myself and my condo, at least as much as I could in five minutes. When Julie arrived she had bruises on her face and arm, and had obviously been crying. As I ushered her in I asked the obvious question, “What happened to you?” “I don’t want to bring you my problems I just needed to get out of my apartment for a while.” “Hey, I’m happy.
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