Tag Archives: living in new york sucks so hard

Is It Racist?

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Yesterday morning, I got to Grand Central fairly late, so the morning rush had mostly passed, and I got a comfortable spot on the train. It was held at the station for a few minutes, though, so my comfortable spot soon became cramped as more and more people came down to the platform and tried to pack themselves into the train. Just before the doors closed, a large black man crammed himself in as far as he could, but it wasn’t enough. The doors kept trying to close and then opening back up again, and the man kept thrusting his belly farther and farther into people’s backs to make room, hoping he would finally fit.

A white lady near me got annoyed finally and said, “Get out! There’s not enough room for you.” The man said, “There would be enough room if people would move in.” I disagreed with this, as I was crushed against the person next to me to the point that I couldn’t retrieve my Kindle from my bag, and I was at the point in my book where a vampire baby was about to be born to a human, so you know I would’ve done anything I could to get to it. The woman also disagreed and said, “Where am I supposed to go?! The huge empty space over there?” She was being sarcastic. The guy said, “All of the hot air coming out of you sure is taking up a lot of room.” The woman said, “Oh, great. Another one of them with an attitude.”

The black woman next to me whipped her head around to look at the white lady so fast that I could hear the wind she created whooshing by me, but . . . surely that’s not what she meant, right?

Just Your Average Day on the Bus

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I saw a woman on the bus today who had my hair! It was a pixie cut that had grown out into loose S-shaped waves woven together like a basket. Obviously she was black, and obviously it was a wig, because this sort of freak hair doesn’t occur in nature.

When she got off, I noticed that this jerk who always steals seats from little old ladies was sitting in one of the single-person seats. I stared at the ugly cluster of moles on his neck and felt a sudden urge to ask him, “Are you developmentally disabled?” Because I really think it would help me understand him. But after Charles’s warning yesterday that I’m going to get punched one of these days, I decided not to tempt it.

And then, as I was going down the stairs into Grand Central, first an old woman was blocking the entrance while she talked on her cell phone, and then the guy in front of me on the stairs was walking waaaaaay too slowly, so I looked around him and saw that he was reading his paper as he descended.

Kill! Kill! Kill!

exCUUUUUZE MAAAAAAY!

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(I’m not going to make you click on the link to Examiner.com to finish the story like usual, but if you want to earn me a little cash, anyway, here’s the link. Thanks!)

The platform was crowded at Grand Central this morning, and it would’ve certainly been reasonable for me to hang back for the next train, but I could see through the windows that people weren’t moving to the center of the car to make room, and I wasn’t going to let them think that was okay.

So I pushed my way on with everyone else, and I fit just fine. The guy behind me kept rearranging himself, though, so I was getting pushed into the woman in front of me. Who, by the way, was one of those stop-immediately-inside-the-door-and-block-it-for-everyone-else types. I figured that being punched in the ribs a little is one of the most charming aspects of the morning commute, but I guess I got shoved into her one too many times, because she turned and said with the grossest pinched-nose accent, “EXCUSE ME!” Except it sound like, “exCUUUUUZE MAAAAAAY!” I was a good three inches taller than her, and I was still pressed up against her, so I looked down at her in all of her blue-eyeshadowed glory with my most intimidating face and said, “It’s not my fault, lady; I’m being pushed. Calm. The fuck. Down.“

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, yeah. “Calm the fuck down.” You think being told to calm down in an argument cuts? Insert the word fuck at 8:30 a.m.

I had to stand there next to her until we got down to Union Square, and it was uncomfortable, sure, but I felt justified, and she had luckily turned her head away from me. When the train doors opened, people left, we repositioned ourselves in different parts of the car, and I got my Kindle out to continue reading book 4 of the Twilight series. (What?) I didn’t think about her again.

And then, safely inside my office building, guess who walked into my elevator. Future work BFFs!

Keep it together, New York City. My dad already thinks I’m stupid enough for living here.

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Saturday: a bomb scare closes down Times Square.

Sunday: someone kills himself by jumping from Kamran’s apartment building.

WTF, NYC?

Smoke Signals for Hipsters

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The other night, my friend Meredith and I were walking through Williamsburg, our neighborhood in Brooklyn, and when we turned a corner near the BQE, we were met face-to-face with this:

Burning Car

We of course each took photos of it, because we’re country girls who thrive on the destruction of modern-day conveniences.

But what surprised me was how many people came out of nowhere to stand and stare at this thing. Plop a couple thousand movie stars down in the city, and everyone pretends they’re too busy to care. But burning rubber is hipster perfume.