7 Clips of My New York Life

Here I am, a month into my New York adventure.  Here is how my life is different:

1)      I spend about 2.5 hours on the subway each day, and I devote a lot of that time to wondering how New York has not yet been wiped out by some disgusting disease. How are we not all dead yet? Or at the very least, I find myself wondering how on earth everyone in New York does not constantly have diarrhea. Every time I touch the handle on the subway I think to myself, I should probably stop biting my nails. But then I zone out and my fingers find their way to my mouth and I’m probably that much closer to catching typhoid fever. Either that or my immune system gradually gets a little more immortal. Today I felt a lady on the subway breathe on my face though, and all I could think to myself was how badly and immediately I want to take a shower. But that’s a problem because…

2)      I haven’t showered in a few days. For some reason we are not getting any hot water lately, making showers completely intolerable—I have a theory that it’s because we live in church-owned property and so it’s assumed that, in solidarity with lepers, we want crusty skin. Based on the fact that my roommates do not smell rank, I can only assume that they have braved the icy water and gotten clean. I, however, am from California. Being from California doesn’t mean I can’t handle cold, it just means that I’m better than it and do not need to condescend to mingle with it. It has, however, reached a critical point and something must be done. I’m considering putting the kettle on and making a bath.

3)      The other week I was standing outside of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, trying to kill time, when a bride got out of a car and walked towards the doors. Because it had snowed so hard the night before, she had to hoist her skirt practically over her head so as not to get it dirty. And…well…thanks to her choice of underwear I accidentally got pretty stellar view of her ass. This, of course, made me feel morally obligated to attend her wedding…so I did. I watched this woman and her (now clothed) butt marry a very decent-seeming man, and she seemed very happy during the entire service. Hopefully her butt also enjoyed the Mass.

4)      Speaking of Mass, I have a cassock and a nun who waves to me whenever she sees me. If that’s not BAMF, I don’t know what is.

5)      Speaking of waving, people in my work neighborhood sometimes wave at me. I suspect it’s because I’m quite literally the only white person walking around, but part of me is hopeful that I’m going to find out soon that I’m actually the Harry Potter of East New York.

6)      At work I have literally nothing to do. And everyone is aware of this. I beg people to give me work, to let me help them with whatever task I can help with, but there simply isn’t anything for me to do. I’ve resorted to the tactic of drinking obscene amounts of water and then peeing every five minutes, just because needing to go to the bathroom lends a sense of importance (or at least urgency) to my day. It gives me an excuse to stride down the hallways purposefully. Otherwise, desperate for no one to resent me, whenever anyone walks by my desk I put my (empty) email inbox up on my screen and frown at it as if in deep thought. “Hmm,” says the look on my face, “I wonder how I can make these numbers crunch.” (Is that even a thing?) I narrow my eyes and scratch my shower-desperate head, as if to say, “Gosh, if I don’t resolve this problem we’re going to have all sorts of other problems.  Man, my work keeps me busy. There are just so many problems that keep me busy with diverse tasks and jobs, not to mention projects.” And then as soon as they walk past my office it’s back to daydreaming, thinking about how I wish Quakers still dressed like the Quaker Oats man, or reading papal encyclicals.

7)      I’m discovering that New Yorkers just do not give one solitary shit about farting. I cannot even tell you how many times I’ve been on a crowded subway and heard a loud bombshell, followed by the look in the bombers’s eyes that conveys a shrug and a “Yeah. What of it?” It's just a bit surprising, to say the least. Even for someone who hates New York, I always assumed that what I'd remember after my hopefully brief stay here would be the bright lights of Times Square or something glamorous. I'm not ashamed to admit that the first time I came to New York as a little girl, I remember singing this song (in Frank Sinatra accents) with my brother in the backseat of the car as we drove over some bridge, with the skyline coming into view:

 Part of me assumed that that'd be my takeaway from my life here. But I know me. I know that what I'll tell my grandkids about my time in the big city is the shameless church farter, or the SBD-dealer in a fine suit on the 3 train, or the people on the 1 train whose asses were attempting a three-part harmony.

Actually, what am I talking about, “New Yorkers do not give one solitary shit about farting”? New Yorkers don’t seem to give a solitary shit about anything.