Tag: These are the people in my neighborhood

Miss USA

Leave a comment

Another symptom of my reverse culture shock is that I still have trouble remembering not to be nice. I would say that this is also a remnant of my years in retail; I automatically have an “I can help you!” face that causes people to ask me, “Do you work here?” in stores, even when I have my coat on.

So I smile and make eye contact often…and, given the ugliness that we are surrounded by these days, I guess I’m okay with that.

Today, I held the door for a gentleman behind me, and he smiled and said, “Thank you, Miss!” in a very exaggerated fashion. I quickly glanced at him and was debating whether he was about to ask me for money, then kept walking. He called out, “Miss?” and I thought, “here it comes…”

(In the interest of full disclosure, I was walking towards Starbucks. The other thoughts that flashed through that mind in that moment were, “He’s going to ask me for money and I’m going to say ‘no’ even though I’m about to walk into Starbucks and pay $3 for tea* and Jesus is not going to be pleased with my choices.”)

But no.

“Miss, are you Miss USA?”

My smile got even bigger as I laughed to myself at the thought of this. “No, I am not!” I assured him.

“Because you look like Miss USA.”

I hope that I said “thank you”. I certainly couldn’t stop grinning.

Just another day in Brooklyn!

(*Yes, I am buying $3 tea, aka “Trenta Shaken Black Tea with extra ice, please!”, even though I am barely making my rent. Don’t judge me. No, wait. Judge me. It’s ridiculous. I blame Dunkin’ Donuts for having tea that I am certain is not really brewed.)

My virgin ears…

Leave a comment

I guess it’s safe to say that I am still working through a bit of reverse culture shock being back in NY…which makes sense, since I just spent over 15 years living in what is commonly referred to as the “Northern Bible Belt”.

I love a well-placed curse word as much as anyone else. With that said, if I had a dollar for every time I heard the f word used in the past twelve hours, I would not only be able to make my own rent, but probably could pay yours as well. (Assuming you live anywhere other than NYC, of course…let’s not get crazy here…)

The F bomb* is a delicate flower, and should be carefully cultivated to be used at the perfect moment. It hurts my heart to see people use it so casually, cheapening its beauty.

See, New York? This is why we can’t f*&king have nice things.

Continue reading →

The lady in 3J

Leave a comment

On the day I picked up my keys to move in to my current apartment, the landlord looked at me and said, “Oh, and the woman downstairs has a habit of knocking on the ceiling with a broom handle if you make noise.” He then proceeded to inform me that the last three people who lived in my unit moved out because of this.

When I posted this on Facebook, one of my friends who knows me very well summed it up perfectly:

“Shit.”

As those of you who know me are aware, I am not the most light-footed walker, nor am I capable of maintaining an “inside voice” on a regular basis. I did not see this ending well.

I moved in and was on high alert, listening for the thumping to begin. As it turns out, however, the pounding has been quite tame and not at all consistent. At times, it has felt like kind of a reverse Tell-Tale Heart, where I am struggling to figure out whether this really IS what I am hearing. It took me a few months to realize that one of the thumping sounds I was hearing was actually the elevator (the elevator itself is a whole ‘nother blog post).

But over time, I have indeed noticed a pattern. A friend came over, and we were talking, and there were a few thumps (me: “Did you hear that too?”). I drop an empty can of seltzer or the remote, or break a plate in the kitchen, and there it is again. Thump, thump, thump. Sometimes just one or two for emphasis, sometimes in a cluster of three, occasionally a half dozen staccato taps in a row. She has even done it when I have let the end of my charger cord drop to the floor…I am bewildered as to how she can hear something that light falling to the ground, but such is the life of a thumping broom lady, I suppose.

I am very careful to walk gingerly around my apartment. I don’t talk on the phone, so that isn’t a concern. As far as dropping things? I’m a klutz. That’s not going to change anytime soon. But the thumping is limited, and not unbearable.

(I will say that, because I might have a TEENY TINY problem with authority, it has crossed my mind more than once that I ought to get some tap shoes and give her a show every time she thumps on the ceiling. I don’t dare, of course, but the temptation is always there.)
Continue reading →