I first met Jordan in film school down in the criminally south state of Florida. He was the first friend I invited to my apartment, and, coincidentally, was the one who Misty said would be willing to have an affair with her if she asked. Jordan and I butted heads often, but there was something there that always solidified our friendship, and at the end of the day, if either of us were asked, we would still call the other a “solid dude”. We also gave great impressions of each other, unmatched by anyone else, or so I’m told.

Jordan and myself were among the lucky few who graduated film school and migrated to New York to live Friends style and take it over Mary Tyler Moore style. Our first Independence Day myself, Jordan, Chris and Shane went out and, for whatever reason, collectively decided to get Jordan drunk on several Jameson and Cokes, resulting in shock and awe at the price of New York drinks at the end of the night and a wasted Jordan slurring “I’m not payin’ for any a that!”

We worked together in the heart of Times Square, placing captions on music videos overnight and taking regular smoke breaks outside in the winter, him complimenting (or just commenting) that I was wearing shorts, leaving the fact that they were plaid out of the equation. Not having any superiors present allowed for Jordan and myself to take frequent philosophy breaks that turned heated, from email etiquette to owning a smart phone, and a judgmental Conan O’brian watched us through the blinds like a young George McFly.

When it came to two things we always agreed, however, and one of them was city living. Jordan told me one night in the eyes of the almighty Conan, how it frustrated him that the trains ran so slow late at night, but then shrugged and said, “But I can’t really complain. I mean at the end of the day I get to ride a roller coaster to work, so…”

To this day when I hop on a train late at night and it makes frequent stops in-between stations, apologizing for the delay, I think of that conversation with Jordan. So if I’m transferring from one car to another some night, and we hit a bump or a sharp turn, causing me to lose my balance and fall to the tracks, instantly crushing my head beneath the electric wheels, I’ll have died thinking of my friend Jordan.


3 responses to “Jordan…

  1. I’m honored to know that, should you die horribly at the hands of the MTA, you will think of me.

    This is a pretty neat idea for a series of pieces. I approve!

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