The day has finally come. The grand finale of the story of my first ever trip to New York City. Spoiler alert: Mickey Mouse returns! If you're just tuning in now to this series, you definitely need to go back and check out the comedic tragedy known as parts one, two, and three. I have had an absolute blast recalling this once in a lifetime trip and hope you have laughed just as much as I have! I present to you, my dear readers, the conclusion of my first trip to New York City...

After our very eventful ferry trip and horrific comedy club experience, we all agreed that the safest option for us was to end our day at Times Square. The glistening lights of Times Square both enthralled and overwhelmed me, bombarding my senses like I have never experienced before. As we continued to bask in the neon lighting, my mom spotted what would be our biggest mistake of the entire trip—Mickey Mouse.

I eagerly approached the oversized mouse and asked if I could get a picture, to which he responded in a squeaky mouse voice, “Of course! Tip, please!” Not quite understanding what muffled high pitched phrase Mickey uttered, I appeased my mother and let her snap a few shots before turning away to continue on to dinner. As I ventured off to follow her and my aunt, I heard a louder, yet still squeaky, voice call “Hey, tip please!” Not quite knowing what to do, I picked up my pace, only to discover that I had lost sight of my two companions.

Panicked, I began to run, as now a deep manly voice shouted “Tip! Tip, please!” I swear, it's in that moment I had an out of body experience. All of a sudden, it felt as if I was lifted above the bustle of Times Square and given the chance to witness a poor Midwestern girl, with a holey scarf wrapped around her neck that emitted a stench, that if it were to bottled as a perfume, would be entitled, "tiger striped blanket", dart in between groups of tourists as Walt Disney's beloved mouse sprinted after her. Despite being in the heart of the busiest city in the world, the only sound I could make out was the frantic beating of my own heart as a large gloved hand reached out and grasped my arm. As I came face to face with Mickey, I dug into my purse and pulled out a $20 bill, and shoved it in the character’s direction. The rest of my first trip to New York City is mostly a blur after that moment, as Mickey seemingly took both my souvenir money and my memory with him. And while I may have tipped Mickey, he unknowingly left me with a tip of his own—never trust the goodwill of a man in an oversized rodent costume.