What better time than now to tell you about my serendipitous moment with Jimmy Fallon?
The Year: 2003. It was Christmas time during my freshman year at New York University.
Thirty-Fourth Street was lit up with strands of red and green lights and packed with tourists.
My best friend, Emily, had taken the Long Island Railroad, and when I picked her up from Penn Station, she gave the bums a tentative glance.
I was going to assuage her concerns. I had just finished my first semester, and felt on top of the world. Manhattan was my kingdom, and I was going to show my best friend how I reigned as queen.
We walked along Sixtieth Street arm and arm, our heads held high, immune to the cold and unaware of our innocence. Bursting through the old time-y double doors, passing by the opulent and playful oddities, we announced our arrival. We were the most important people there.
I walked straight up to the distracted hostess…
…and put my hands on my hips…
…and right as the hostess looked up with a condescending smile, I felt someone push against my arm to get past.
I was the queen in her kingdom. No one was going to get their table before me.
I pulled up to my tallest height, pushed my elbows out a little more, and would. Not. Let. This. Person. Past.
Just as I was about to give this guy a piece of my New Yorker mind, I caught of glance at the line-cutter.
Giggles erupted. It was Jimmy Fallon.
Too high to notice, Jimmy probably didn’t have a clue what just happened, but Emily and I went from confident, controlled ladies of Manhattan to hysterical, little girls. We rushed out of the restaurant as quick as possible.
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