I’ve adapted to living in New York the way one adapts to a new stepparent.
You’re not 100% comfortable with the situation at hand, you wish you could skip the awkward getting-to-know-you phase because you know you’ll be seeing a lot of them from here on out, and quickly figure out that it’s in your best interest to get on their good side. Because they could be a potential ally, and also they know where the good alcohol is kept (anyone who’s been lured into one of the many “$5 frozen margaritas!” establishments in New York knows how important the latter is).
So adapt I did. Since moving here I have discovered that ramen is 71¢ at CVS, but only 49¢ at Duane Reade. I know that 11th avenue is a windy hell that should be avoided if you don’t feel like flashing the entirety of New York. I also know that despite warnings regarding the nutritional content of 99¢ pizza, you could do a lot worse.
But in many ways, I’m a terrible New Yorker. I feel like I need to apologize to the city at large for being a fraud. And since a blog is cheaper than therapy, here we go.
New York, how do I fail thee? Let me count the ways:
- I have sent multiple tourists in the wrong direction with such conviction that when I realized halfway through my navigational sermon I had made a mistake, I was too embarrassed to correct it so I instead sent them steadfastly to the West Village through Central Park. Uptown.
- I keep trusting the Google Maps metro time.
- I still call it the metro.
- I once ate at a food truck. Not a glamorous one, either. One of those ones by Times Square that will serve you a hot dog with ketchup and a healthy side serving of the bubonic plague.
- I’ve not been to Brooklyn since moving here.
- I use an umbrella in the snow and have to cling to the walls to avoid sliding everywhere because I STILL DON’T OWN SNOW BOOTS.
- I have yet to befriend a single tortured artist, fabulously eccentric old woman who wears bags as hats, or H-list celebrity.
- I actually like the rats. I think they’re cute and a refreshing change of wildlife from the satan-spawned pigeons.
- I don’t know where the 7 goes. I suspect Narnia.
- I deadass forgot about the Empire State Building for the first four months I lived here, and I still have no idea where it is located.
- The one and only time I’ve seen a Broadway show, I fell asleep.
- I voluntarily live in Midtown.
- I’d rather eat my black leather ankle boot than try a bagel with lox.