The Disconnection: Encounters with Strangers

Leaf Me Alone

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 03:49:00 +0000

Culture shock from city slicker to suburbanite is a totally valid feeling, and that is what my husband and I went through when we first moved to South Orange. Besides the initial feelings of typical "New Yorkerisms" such as: "where are the duane reade stores?" or "how do we buy groceries for a week?" we had no idea about service providers.

On move-in day, one of our very nice neighbors came up to me and introduced herself. She quickly ran down her family tree and number of kids she had, and then offered to give us numbers for services. "Services?" I asked innocently.

She nodded her head, "That's right, snow shovelers, leaf pickup, gardening, roofing..."

My mind was spinning. I totally forgot we had to take care of a lawn! I looked over at my new front yard, and it was FILLED with dry leaves (whereas all the neighbors had perfectly manicured leaf-free grounds).

Fast forward one weekend later and I was on the phone with Servicemagic.com (our savior) to look for a lawn service. Now don't get me wrong--I have no problem doing, actually, let me correct myself, I have no problem with MY HUSBAND doing lawn work (haha). But after 20 minutes of raking a season's worth of leaves, he gave up.

A few days later I was hanging out in my living room with an old friend. Suddenly, she looked at me funny and said, "There's a random man in your back yard!" I turned and sure enough, there was a stranger walking around. He looked at me through my living room window and picked up a pile of leaves, then dropped them and continued to shuffle around. If I had been alone I would have freaked out!

I ran to the backdoor and peaked my head out to see what was going on. The man looked at me and said, "Hi, you called me for a quote on leaf pickup? You're Mrs. White, right?"

"Um...no. I am not Mrs. White but I might have left you a message for a quote."

"Oh sorry, wait...isn't your husband out of town on business?" he asked.

This was starting to get weird. My friend I stayed in the doorway and I replied, "No, you must have me confused with someone else. My husband is not away." (Nor was he home at the time, but I wasn't going to admit that!)

The guy scratched his head. "Well I can give you a quote on leaves if you want it. I will call you later, okay?"

I could tell the man felt really embarrassed--especially since I had no idea who he was before he decided to walk around my backyard unannounced throwing my leaves around. As an ex-New Yorker, I couldn't help but be suspicious at first.

So, I ended up hiring a young teenage boy who goes to landscaping school. I guess they teach how to make house calls too because he rang the bell when he showed up for a quote!

Where Have I Been?

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 00:24:00 +0000

Hello world!
It seems like it has been ages since I've blogged (because it has I guess!). There have been a lot of changes in my life, mainly that I no longer live in NYC (see move-in day pic below). I am now an official Jersey girl, living in South Orange (it took us 4 grueling months to close and 2 years to find our dream home!). With that said, I have had no time to blog.

I've decided to pick things up a bit now that I am more settled--crazy things happen in the burbs too you know and I still work in the city! Also, I am working on a series of short stories and may post excerpts here from time-to-time to get your feedback. So, cheers to a happy, prosperous new year! I think this is going to be a great year!

xoxo,
nubia

Unbearable Sameness of Being?

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Sun, 06 Feb 2011 02:31:00 +0000

For the first time in months, I walked the streets of New York City and I was in the moment. It was sudden. I walked out of the 86th and Lex subway stop from a different exit--I went left instead of right--and at once, it was a new experience.

I overheard snippets of conversations: a group of 20-somethings laughing, a single woman chatting on her invisible hands-free phone (so I assume), a child complaining to his dad. It all took me by surprise (I forgot how loud and busy the streets can be after work).

The reason I had gone east out onto 86th street was that I had decided to get this month's book club reading from Barnes & Noble. The Robber Bride by Margaret Atwood. It's atypical that I have time to run errands or really do anything after work because either I am A. too tired, B. the store is closed or not on the way home, or C. I am rushing home to cook dinner. To keep up with my non-traditional post-work escapade, I did something else differently.

The Barnes & Noble checkout clerk, who looked like your typical bookstore employee (vacant face, worn sweater, socially awkward) asked me flatly, "Do you want to be a member of Barnes & Noble?" As if he were thinking, 'I know you will say, "No" so what's the point asking anyway?' After years of declining, this time, I actually said, "Sure!". It almost surprised me as much as it did him. I could have sworn he wiped dust off before handing me the application.

My days are so cyclical. Wake up, shower, eat, commute, work, commute, eat, sleep, wake up. I have been in a ring. Taking the same walk to the train station, standing in the same spot on the platform, the same route home. It's so easy to get into a pattern. When I walked out of the store, I had a choice: left towards the same route home I always take down Lex ave OR go right and walk down 3rd ave. I chose left because it was probably 1 minute faster--I guess change will have to be a work in progress for me. What about you?

Cheers to Unattainable High Hopes: Thanks for nothing MTA!!

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Fri, 31 Dec 2010 22:26:00 +0000

I have a new commute; I exit at 28th street instead of 42nd Grand Central, which really just means I get to be around crazies a little longer each morning.

On my second week going to the new job, a 50-something wily Caucasian man entered at 66th and yelled crazily, "I need a SEAT! Where's a SEAT?!" A path cleared for him as he dragged himself to a tiny slit along the row of seated commuters.

"I need to get to City Hall!!!" he continued, yelling at no one in particular. We ignored him.

I looked at the woman standing next to me, who happened to be an off-duty MTA worker. She glanced over at the man, then turned to me and rolled her eyes. "They need to take all the crazy people and let them ride on a separate train..." she said in a low, exasperated voice.

I laughed and nodded in agreement. As the old man continued to angrily ask the train if we were in fact on our way to City Hall, there was another interruption at 59th street: two women with large strollers were forcing their way into the over-crowded train, yelling at everyone to "MOVE IN!!!"

The tired MTA worker glanced at me again and shook her head. It looked like she couldn't wait to get off. And neither could I. At 42nd street, she looked at me as if to say, "Good luck!" and she got off.

So here we are, on the cusp of 2011 and MTA fares have increased to $104/unlimited monthly from $81. I hope the MTA puts that extra $23 per person to good use in 2011: I want cleaner trains and stations (like in Spain!), no weird substances dripping on me while standing on platforms, and the option to eject annoying commuters from the train at the push of a button. Here's to a happy, healthy, and fun 2011! CHEERS!

(photo: my favorite jam band in Madrid's Anton Martin metro stop)

Pump It!

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Mon, 29 Nov 2010 00:12:00 +0000

Hellooo everyone! It has been a busy Oct/Nov and I apologize for lack of posts--between quitting my job, getting a new job, and a Spain vacation, it has been crazy! I will write a great Spain-themed post shortly, but first, I would like to share an odd weekend I have had on a controversial theme: breastfeeding.

Saturday I was Xmas shopping and stopped into a mommy breastfeeding store because my sister-in-law's belly is about to pop out a baby any moment now. I walked inside and immediately felt out of place...breast pumps, nursing tops, and nipple creams were everywhere and I was a deer caught in headlights.

When asked if I needed help, I stuttered, "I um..well..I am not pregnant, of course, haha! But, um..my sister-in-law is and..." CRAP. I sounded like a retard. Plus, I had just remembered that I wasn't even sure if she was going to be breastfeeding! How can you text that to someone: "Hey, you gonna breastfeed your unborn child? Because, if so, I will get you nipple cream for Xmas!"

I just retired to saying, "I am just looking!" And walked to the back of the store in a daze. I heard a male's voice and looked up. It was a TV showing a video about breastfeeding. The man, obviously a doctor, was talking about toddler breastfeeding. Then they video cut to a playground scene where I 3-year-old boy slid down a slide and then ran to his mother who pulled up her shirt so he could quench his thirst! I was horrified!

"Is that normal?" I asked a sales rep. "Yes. Well, mostly for foreigners. Mothers in NYC don't have time for that! Or they do it in secret," She said, laughing.

Unbelievable. Don't get me wrong--I hope to breastfeed my child (if or when I have one) and my mom told me I was breastfed--notice I said she TOLD me. Do I remember? No; and I am pretty sure I would have some psychological issues if I did remember. But everyone is different and entitled to their own parenting styles.

So, I opted to go elsewhere for her gift. It would have been a nice idea but, in the end, it's better not to get in the middle of a mother and her hungry baby.

The Time of Our Lives

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Thu, 04 Nov 2010 02:55:00 +0000

Waiting for things: it's a part of life and it sucks. I often think about all the things we wait for: getting on the subway, in line at stores, to grab lunch, at traffic lights, to get a cocktail, at the elevator...the list goes on. Some one calculated that we spend about an hour a day waiting for things--that's a lot of time!

So, that brings me to my encounter. I was standing in line at Duane Reade pharmacy, which normally has HORRENDOUS lines, and the woman in front of me started looking at the impulse items in the line. The short brunette picked up a mini hand sanitizer stick, then quickly dropped it and looked over at me.

"They always put the most absurd things here for us to buy...what are these items called again?" she asked me.
"Impulse items," I replied.
"YES! That's what they are. And look at these rag mags!" she said, pointing at The Inquirer and Star magazine.

But sometimes distractions are good while waiting. Take this morning for an example--I woke up 45 minutes late and got ready in 15 minutes, racing the to train at 9 am. The 6 train was on the track when I slipped through the turnstile; I jumped on the train only to learn that it couldn't depart. I jumped off, ran downstairs to the express 4 train, and it showed up immediately--SCORE! As people got off, the dispatcher said, "This is the last stop for this train!" CRAP!!!!

The number of commuters waiting to get on increased exponentially. We waited. Not knowing why the train had to depart the station backwards back uptown. Not knowing when the next downtown 4 train would come. Many peered their heads impatiently down the track tunnel, looking for a glimpse of light from an oncoming train. Where were the impulse shopping items to look at when you needed them?!

It felt like hours passed. Okay...actually, it was only about 5 minutes, but it felt endless. I finally gave up and ran back upstairs to catch a 6 train that actually DID continue downtown. Total wait time = 15 min; Total commute = 40 minutes. In reality, waiting 15 min for public transportation to arrive isn't bad--we New Yorkers are spoiled, but, in a fast-paced city that never sleeps, every minute counts.

Lean, Mean, Newsie Machine!

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Fri, 08 Oct 2010 02:50:00 +0000

This post is well overdue! Ever wonder how most New Yorkers get their morning newspaper? It is delivered mano a mano at the subway entrance by overly-animated newsies. It's not always the best way to start your morning.

My stop offers two newspapers: Metro and rival AM NY--both are quick 20-minute reads with the same news, but Metro keeps the pages together with staples, so I prefer that one over AM which always falls apart on me! Every day, I avoid the AM NY newspaper girl and grab the Metro paper instead. Shouldn't be a problem, right?

On Monday, I ignored the AM NY paper that was pushed in front of my face as I headed to the subway entrance. "AM NY! IT IS FREE!!!," yelled the female newsie in a strong NY accent. She was wearing a flannel-looking scarf over her head and wore the red AM NY frock.

I shook my head and showed that I was holding Metro. That angered her. She looked at me and yelled, "TAKE IT! IT IS FREE! DON'T IGNORE IT! MACY'S COUPON INSIDE!" Other commuters around me looked bewildered and they murmured things like: "What is wrong with her?"

Getting yelled at reminded me that I had been avoiding my usual exit at my NR subway stop (35th and 6th street exit) because there is a male AM NY newsie who always scolds me if I don't take his paper. I don't know how they train newsie staff at the AM NY headquarters, but I am sure "Scare Tactics" is part of their manual!

Smokin' Ambition

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Mon, 20 Sep 2010 03:49:00 +0000

"Newports! Marlboros! $8.00!" yelled an african american male on the corner of 37th street and 6th ave, holding a plastic bag full of cig cartons. His gaze met mine and he excitedly rushed over, "Hey! How are you he asked?" Here it goes...I thought.

"I'm fine." I said flatly, not making eye contact. I was waiting for a friend on the corner. The man looked down at my hand and saw I was married.

"Oh, you are married. Wow. Well, how is it?" he asked, trying to make small talk. "NEWPORTS...LOOSIES TOO!" he continued. Business professionals and tourists walked by ignoring his sales pitch.

"It's great." I replied dryly. Then I realized this guy must be from out of town because he picked the worst spot to traffic cigarettes. "Is this your job?" I asked, now thinking I might as well figure out what the hell is going on here while I wait for my late friend.

"Well, yesterday my buddy and I decided to come here from Philly. Today New York, tomorrow LONDON!" he yelled, grinning.

Pretty ambitious...eh? Too bad business wasn't booming. Although cigarettes are about $12.00 a pack now in NY, nobody was buying.

I looked at him and said nicely, "This isn't really the best spot to do this," meaning, you need to go into areas where people are seeking dollar discounts on smokes--the only discounts people want in the fashion district are on wholesale clothes!

"Yaahh, you're right," he said nonchalantly, "I'm gonna go to construction sites. All those guys do is sit around smokin' all day anyway." And with that, he turned around and vanished. Now THAT, I thought, is definitely something Philly and NYC have in common: idle union workers!

1 Brat with a Side of Smart Ass

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 01:49:00 +0000

For those of you who are New Yorkers, you have probably heard of the Shake Shack--maybe you waited in line for 2 hours to get a ShackBurger with special sauce or you walked by the long line and shook your head wondering why the hell it's worth waiting for. The hubby had never had it and a new branch just opened up on 86th street and Lexington, so we took the plunge this Labor Day and stood in line!

After specifying exactly what I wanted to the hubby (Shackburger and cheese fries!), I ran to grab a table. The place was packed and the line was out the door; I couldn't chance us not having a place to sit once our food was ready!

As soon as I sat down, I noticed havoc was being raised in the booth behind me. Two brothers--about 10 and 13 years old--were yelling at each other. You know, the usual sibling rivalry...the mother was doing a bad job handling the situation.

"I'VE HAD ENOUGH!" the mom yelled. "You boys have been bickering since the car!! SHUT UP!!!"

The younger brother said pitifully, "Well what's the point of having a brother if he isn't nice to you!?" Good point Plato. The older brother seemed unphased by his sibling's need for brotherly love; he simply replied, "Shut up!"

Once again, the mother's temper got the best of her and she belted out some blood curdling screams about "SICK and TIRED of the BICKERING..."--nearby burger-stuffed shackers watched in annoyance and disgust.

The older brother looked at his mother and yelled, "YOU don't even belong HERE!"

My Gawd! If I had said that to my parents, they would have smacked me! Then I realized that the mother was no better than her sons. Instead of being the parent and disciplining them, she stooped to their level of "bickering". She was creating bratty monsters!

After the Mansons left, the hubby and I reflected on our own potential as parents. We agreed that it's better to have our children understand early on one important thing: Mommy and Daddy are always right! No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

VIPEEE of the Month

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 01:54:00 +0000

When you're at the nail salon, the last thing you want to be reminded of is your mortality. You just want to sit back & relax. That didn't happen as I overheard the nail salon workers yelling about a customer in Chinese; an elderly woman had just urinated in her seat!

I thought the woman (let's call her Potty) had already left, but a minute later she re-appeared from the bathroom. She slowly sauntered back to her chair, which the employees had just wiped clean.

"When you gotta go, you gotta go!" said Potty. I looked and she had a huge wet spot on the back of her pants. She sat back down and refused to let the nail stylist fix her smudged nail polish. "I can do it!" she said, and started applying the red polish.

Then, Potty happily shared some more personal information about her incontinence. "I have DIA-RRHE-AAA you know! Do you know what that is?" she asked loudly to her nail stylist who was just sitting there dumbfounded. "DIARRHEA...it's when you got a lot of liquid and you can't keep it in!"

My nail stylist looked at me, horrified, and we both felt sorry for her colleague. Next, Potty and I got to sit across from each other as our nails dried under the dryers. All of a sudden, I smelled something foul. I looked around and EVERYONE smelled it too, except Potty...

A young female caretaker finally walked through the doors with a wheelchair to pick up Potty. "Oh, there she is!" said Potty. She got up to leave and when she turned around, there was a huge brown stain on her pants. We all wanted to say SOMETHING to her, or even to her CARETAKER....but instead we cringed as Potty squeezed into her wheelchair. The caretaker, who definitely needed a lesson in senior care, sheepishly wheeled Potty away--I wanted to yell, "DEPENDS! Only $39.95 a case!"

Those %&*!@

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 17:17:00 +0000

Public outdoor spaces in the city. Havens? Not exactly. During the summer, everyone and their mother is outside, sunbathing in bikinis in the park, cramming into sidewalk cafes...if you don't have private outdoor space you gotta share it. It's no so bad, we are thankful for it. But one evening I just wasn't in the mood to be around crazies...

As soon as the hubby and I sat down in the little community space by our apartment, this was in earshot:

"Those MFs! Those mother f---...they would jump out the window if you told them to! I don't have a stove, so I can't cook. All I eat are potatoes. The people I live with are *#$#*&$ crazy. My hair is falling out...I have something wrong with my leg...."

I whispered to the hubby, "Is she talking to herself? It looks like she has headsets on."
"I am not sure," he replied.

The woman was in her late 40's and was staring straight ahead as she continued her monologue in a monotone voice:
"I need to go to the doctor but I don't have time...and then I can't sleep at night from the pain....I don't have a stove...Are you there? Are you there?"

So...either she had been talking to herself or the person on the other end had fallen asleep!! I couldn't take it anymore, so we left and walked home. All of this to say that the hubby and I are now looking into moving and getting some private outdoor space...in Brooklyn! Wish us luck!

Checking Out!

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Fri, 25 Jun 2010 23:52:00 +0000

The AC unit went kaput in our office on Thursday and we were told to go home and work remotely--since I had to go downtown after work, I decided to work from the NY Public Library on 40th and 5th. Free wifi and AC--YES!

AS SOON as I sat down in the "quiet room," a man with a baseball cap and sunglasses sat down across from me. He gingerly plugged in his blue cell phone across from my laptop. "METRO PCS!" said the digital voice from the phone as it began charging. Everyone at the table angrily glared at the stranger. It gets worse.

Then the stranger, let's call him "Metro" put on his earphones to listen to music through his phone. A security guard walked by and said, "You'll have to take those off sir--it's not allowed."

Then Metro opened up a plastic bag. I looked up and realized he had somehow gotten a big bag of bread (10 rolls) past security! I couldn't believe it! The signs everywhere specifically say, "No music, no eating, no cell phones." He pulled a roll out and began eating it, smacking his lips loudly. He had the table manners of an ogre (sorry Shrek)!

When he was done with the roll, he began licking his teeth loudly and making sucking noises. Satisfied with his afternoon snack, he stretched his arms back behind his chair and hit the senior citizen sitting behind him (he didn't apologize); it was now nap time.

Five minutes later Metro woke up and looked at his phone. 'Dear God,' I thought to myself, 'What now? I really don't feel like moving. I was here first!'.

Metro made a phone call. I couldn't take it anymore. I leaned over the table, glared at him and whispered angrily, "If you don't turn that cell phone off right now I am going to get security to kick you out!"

"F**-you! I know you ain't talkin' ta me! You keep on talkin' I don'care!" He yelled back.

I yelled, "This is ridiculous! You aren't allowed to use your phone, you can't eat here, and you are disturbing everyone!" I gathered my things and stormed over to the security desk outside of the room to report "the man sitting at seat number 745."

Afterward I did what any other New Yorker would have done: I ran away and hid in the back of another room while they escorted Metro out!

(photo: reading room at the NY Public Library)

Nickle and Dimein' You

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 00:29:00 +0000

Sunday the hubby and I went to our favorite unhealthy burger joint (what burger joint is actually healthy anyway?) Johnny Rockets. While eating, we noticed that the girl sitting in the booth behind us was taking forever to leave after receiving her check. Minutes later, the girl stood up and walked towards the door, she turned back to look at her table nervously, then ran off.

This is what she left (see image)--9 sets of dimes and nickels on a $10.00 check! Ain't she ever heard of the Penny Arcade at the bank? I don't even know why someone would WANT to carry around that much change. Maybe she robbed a phone booth...

photo credit: Christopher James Wilson

UES Art Ramble

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 04:05:00 +0000

It's been a few weeks since my last post, and I apologize--it is because I have been helping my husband prepare/launch his first solo art show. What a task! I spent my Saturday walking around my neighborhood, asking for restaurants and stores to hand out or display our postcards publicizing the show. I was surprised how open and excited people were to display our invite.

The first person I gave a postcard to was Gregg Lundahl who is running for NY State Assembly. He was on the corner of Lexington and 85th, looking for democratic signatures to get on the ballot. As I signed my name, I asked him if he liked art. "Yes, I do!" he said.

Of course, since I am a cynical New Yorker, I assumed he was just agreeing to be nice. I pulled out a postcard and invited him to my husband's art reception. He looked at it and said, "Oh wow, he's good." I smiled and said, "Yes I think so too. He is a realist painter."

Lundahl then mentioned a few major artists who have similar styles, Sargent, etc.--that's when I realized he REALLY did appreciate art! We chatted about helping NY schools improve their art programs, and he said he would try to make it to the reception.

For a long time I've been contemplating how great it would be to move away from the UES because I yearn for something new, different, a little more off-beat. This past weekend I really felt like for the first time this 'hood was my home and the people in it were part of my life. Hmm...or maybe i just drank too much Grappa as I wrote this. Salute!

Cheers to a Jolly Good Time in London!

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Fri, 28 May 2010 20:44:00 +0000

Last week I had the pleasure of visiting London for business--I was so psyched! You won't believe it but the weather was great; sunny skies, warm days, I even got a little tan while I was there. I enjoyed an English breakfast every morning and all the locals were pleasant--had a great conversation with two retired women who did the "backstage tour" of the National Theater (they shared they were appalled at being addressed as "guys" by the guide instead of "ladies and gentlemen", what a 'cultural gap!').

The best part was on my second evening, after enjoying a great Italian meal outside with my boss. As we walked up the cobble stone streets of Convent Garden, a local British man rushed up behind me; he was very tall and was black.

"Excuse me," he said in a hurry, "Have you got any lotion?" He pulled out his hands; they were terribly dry, streaked with white and gray marks on top of his chocolate brown skin. I looked at them in disbelief that such a put-together-looking man could have left the house without applying lotion!

Before I could respond, my boss said, "You're ashy!" He looked at her surprised (this is a common term in the black community and my boss is white) and asked, "Where are you girls from?"

"New York City!" we replied. I continued, "I always have cocobutter on me, hold on, I should have a stick." I was laughing to myself because I have very dry hands, so I keep lotion in my purse always (as most black women do)!

Unfortunately both my boss and I had left our lotions in our other purses from our business meeting earlier that day. Come to find out, the man was on a date when he realized his hands were terribly "ashy." I looked at the man and said, "Why don't you go to Boots drug store? Just use some of the lotion there."

"There's a Boots here? Why didn't I know that?" He asked laughing in his strong British accent. I told him that it was just three doors down; he hugged me and my boss, thanked us, then ran off towards Boots.

What an encounter! Traveling always reminds me that no matter where you are, you can meet people who have the same day-to-day issues that you experience at home. Have any of you learned some similarities in other countries/cultures that are memorable?

Shootin' the $ In the Loo

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Tue, 18 May 2010 21:51:00 +0000

Lately people keep calling me when I am either entering or in the bathroom--weird, I know, but it keeps happening! Normally if I don't know who is calling, I don't answer; I should have stuck to that rule of thumb yesterday.

As I entered the bathroom of my hair salon, a NY number called me. I answered. The caller said, "Hello, Mrs....I am calling from the New York Philharmonic (NYP). You recently saw Alan Gilbert conduct a concert, right?"

Recent as in I saw him almost 6 months ago! "Yes...actually, you caught me at a bad time. Can I call you back later?" I asked nicely.

NYP: You can't call me back on this number. I was wondering when you will be giving us a donation.
CE: Donation?
NYP: Yes, it is very easy to do! Just give us your credit card number and we can process it over the phone.

Then I did something just awful. I lied! I am sorry readers, but I was in the salon, trying to go to the bathroom--it had been a long ass day and I was getting pissed (no pun intended)!!! So I said: "Well, I may be losing my job soon, so I don't think donating money to you is a good idea right now. Goodb--"
"Well you can just donate $25!" said NYP quickly.

CLICK! I hung up the phone. Seriously? Someone says to you that they may lose their job in this God awful economy and you respond by STILL asking for money?

Yah, yah, yah, I understand, it's a non-profit. But so are museums--do museums call people and ask for a donation? NO! They ask for it when you arrive or you become a member. So why would I give the Philharmonic a donation when I could just put that towards a ticket and get some musical enjoyment out if it? So what did I learn from this? Bathroom + phone calls = a shitty affair

Last-Minute Shopping the Odd Way

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Thu, 29 Apr 2010 22:13:00 +0000

Last Saturday was my one-year wedding anniversary with the hubby. Things have been so hectic with work, his new art show, etc. that I really hadn't had time to plan much. Two hours before we were going out to the Boat House, I rushed out the door on an errand...

Minutes later, I was standing in Victoria Secret. As I entered, I noticed a man walking and talking loudly on his cell phone--the last time I saw a man in VS he stole a table full of thongs, so I decided to get out of this guys way. A sales clerk asked him if he needed assistance. He ignored her.

"I guess he's been here before," I said jokingly to the clerk.
"Do you need any help?" she asked nicely. I always feel weird about someone helping me choose lingerie, but she looked eager to please so I said, "Sure."

She pointed out a French maid outfit for me. "I already have that one," I said. "Oh, did you get the feather duster with it?" she asked excitedly and then winked at me slowly.

"Um...no, I didn't know you could get that here...plus, it wouldn't have fit in my suitcase--i got it for my honeymoon." I answered.

"Oh, too bad! Take a look at this pink and black piece. It has a sheer back..." she cooed and winked at me again.

"Yah, that one's nice. I'll try it on," I said, quickly grabbing it. I was starting to get weirded out by the winks and anxious as time was running out.

"Yes, and then you can wear some heels and have a martini for your husband in your hand when you see him!" said the clerk, winking at my slowly AGAIN.

As she started looking for more hot numbers for me to try on, I had to escape! "Well, I am in a rush; we are going out for dinner and drinks in an hour! Thanks for your help!" I slowly started backing away and headed for the dressing rooms.

"If you need me, my name is Mimi!" she said.

Mimi obviously lived in a wonderful fantasy world, where wives owned cute feather dusters and enjoyed prancing around in stiletto heels for their husbands. Good for her. Here's my reality: I hate dusting, I'm too clumsy for stilettos, and my husband always makes the martinis!

Seeing Eye Commuter

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 03:14:00 +0000

"You're going to have to move sir!" I said impatiently one morning to a stubborn man standing by the subway door as I was trying to exit. I had been politely weaving through the other riders until I reached the door and this man expected me to SQUEEZE through the tiny slit between him and another straphanger--someone needed to move!
"Alright fine!" he yelled back and finally stepped out of the train so I could exit. I could hear him mumbling obscenities behind me as I raced down the platform.

As I grumbled along the way to the next train, I saw a blind man stalling at the steps leading to the NR trains. 'Oh no,' I thought, 'this is going to be bad.' Commuters were rushing down the steps to catch the express train I had just left and those ascending the steps (like me) were hastily trying to make their transfers.

"Are you okay? Where are you trying to go?" I asked nicely.
"This isn't the escalator is it? I need the steps that lead to the NR train," the young, Hispanic man asked--he was probably in his 30's.
"I'm going that way too; come with me." I held out my arm; he took hold of it and walked with me.

As we got to the second flight of stairs, he said to me, "Thanks for helping. The last time someone helped me, he took me up the escalator, which goes to the wrong line." We reached the platform and the downtown NR train was there. I tried to hurry us along to catch it, but the doors closed in our faces! I looked at the blind man and said, "Oh well, we will catch the next one."

Normally I would have been a little annoyed about missing the train, but not that morning. I was helping someone get to his final destination, and that was worth slowing down my commute.

Meat? Check. Fruit? Check. Trash Talk? Bring it!

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 23:06:00 +0000

I've said it before and I'll say it again--I hate grocery shopping. When I was a kid, I hated it because my mom would always say, "We won't be here long," but three hours later we were still going down EVERY aisle in Giant (a very appropriately named grocery store in MD) to complete our shopping list.

Years later, I still cringe as I walk through the doors. I just want to get in and out--and so do all my neighbors; it's always an obstacle course in our tiny grocery stores with tiny aisles that aren't even big enough for shopping carts.

Recently, I was walking out of the cereal aisle and a man in his mid-40's bumped into me. Without thinking I said, "Excuse me," even though he was the culprit. He scoffed at me and kept on walking. So, I said what any other annoyed New Yorker would say, "You bumped into ME!" And walked away.

Unbeknownst to me, my husband had heard the altercation and walked up to the man who was still mumbling obscenities under his breath. My annoyed hubby said, "Excuse me?" The man responded: "Oh, not you. I was talking to that rude woman over there who bumped into me."

"Oh You mean MY WIFE?!" said hubby angrily. The stranger got quiet; I was so startled at hearing my husband yelling that I ran over. Then I realized what was going on.

I looked at the man and said, "I'm not rude, you're rude! I said excuse me and you didn't even acknowledge it! Who do you think you are? You're nobody important so get over yourself!"

With that, hubby and I triumphantly turned around and continued shopping. Then I realized something...this is why New Yorker's LOVE Fresh Direct--no lines, no hassles, no assholes!

(photo credit: www.kofax.com)

Gotham City's Next Superhero?

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 04:26:00 +0000

A middle-aged man with long black hair walked on to the 4 train Tuesday morning, carrying large, round origami-like paper shapes in his hands, about 2 feet long each. I thought maybe he was selling his art on the subway; I should have known better.

As he entered, he requested politely to the crowd, "Please make adequate use of the space in the center of the train, thank you..." People moved inward slowly, not even begrudgingly as his was so cordial. He continued, "Come on little ones, come inside." Only problem was, there were no little ones.

Then the stranger made an announcement in the silent car full of half-asleep straphangers; he held a folder in front of his face as he yelled: "I AM AN ARC ANGEL! Sent here to ward of demonic spirits. FEAR NOT everyone as I am here to PROTECT you all!"

Ironically, I did not feel any safer. At the next stop, the "arc angel" suddenly exited the train, screaming down the platform. I guess he wasn't so fearless after all.

Weathering the Storm

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 23:13:00 +0000

It was a whirlwind February, with work kicking my butt while I prepared for a trade show in Orlando, which was this week. From getting offered half-eaten dessert at a 4-star restaurant to being transported to Orlando Airport by an ex-stunt man-turned Reiki specialist-turned limo driver who visits nudist colonies, I met a lot of interesting people.

On Wed, I knew the snow was coming to the northeast, so I switched my flight and high tailed it outta there. I was happy to get on a flight, but of course, it was delayed: “Attention travellers, we are waiting for the flight attendants to arrive from Cincinnati,” said the airline.

We all moaned--the magic of Disney had dissipated and people were pissed. I said, “They should serve us free cocktails while we wait!” The girl next to me who was playing Farmville on Facebook nodded and said, “Yah, that would be great. I’ve already had 10 or 12 glasses of wine!” And then I realized that what I had been smelling for the past 10 minutes was her awful breath.

45 minutes later, the flight attendants arrived and the angry mob lined up to get on board. While we waited for the rows to be called, two Japanese families pushed their way through the line. A man next to me sneered, “ugh…those people are all the same, I can’t stand them!” Wow, racist much?

The wine drinker (winey) looked at me, sighed and said drunkenly, “I wish they would hurrryyy up and let us on. I have no patience for this. I need anootherrr drink!”

“Yah, I might as well have one too at this point!” I said. We finally started moving.

“Where are you sitting? The last time I flew, my neighbor said I was drinking too much,” winey complained while swaying back and forth. I ignored her question and answered, "Well, 10 glasses of wine is like 2 bottles!"

We were finally by the airplane door. Winey kept trying to look at my seat number and said, “Well, I hate flying, so I have to get drunk to deal with it!” She flung her head back laughing and fell against the walkway wall, her suitcase almost crashed down (I saved it). She composed herself and said, “I hope they serve wine on here, hehee!”

Winey made it to her seat, luckily in the back away from me; I was happy to have my window seat, and crossed my fingers that no one sat next to me (no one did!); angry passengers yelled at a large family as they spent almost 5 minutes in the aisle stowing luggage--I finally hit the father on the arm and told him to move out of the way, so people could pass and the angry mob clapped. Are there any other places where people are as impatient, drunk, and annoyed as travelers in airports?

Subway in Paris: the American's Survival Guide

noreply@blogger.com (Claire) — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 04:14:00 +0000

By Claire Sulmers
I've been living in Paris for a little over a year now, and while the French far surpass Americans in cheese and wine production, one thing is clear: Parisians do not know how to use the subway!!

While the French may look down their noses at the American style of dress or the loud way we talk, they lack complete and total social decorum when underground.

I lived in New York for four years, and while I had my small share of subway run ins, there seemed to be unspoken rules that helped everyday operations flow seamlessly: wait for people to get off before you get on; wait for the train to stop before you make a path for the door; whoever's standing over the seat is the proper recipient once the former occupant leaves.

In Paris, however, it's every straphanger for themselves!

During rush hour, from 9-10 am and 5-6 pm, Parisians will rush the door, trampling shoes, knocking bags, and pushing to get where they need to be. There is no consideration for their fellow subway rider, and everyone conducts themselves as if life will end if they're not the first person on or off the frequently scheduled trains.

Today, for example, I was riding on the train, silently playing on my iPhone (bonus, they do have cell phone reception down there!). Of course--before the train grinded to a halt--everyone pushed past others to be the first one out. Thinking myself more cosmopolitan, I waited until the train stopped, then got up to leave. Before I could even step forward, a crowd rushed the door, making it almost impossible to get off.

Battling the incoming crowd and fearing I would get stuck on the train, I put my hands in front of me to push through. On my way out, I must have pushed a teenage French girl entering, who then pushed me back and turned around to scream at me in rapid French. A man coming in behind her took her side and yelled at me, asking why I would even dare to try to get off the train! Not able to pop off at the mouth, I simply put my hand up and said, "Desolé!" (French for sorry), and turned on my Itunes. As all this was going on, it seemed as if the whole train had stopped to watch.

I would have taken it personally or blamed my culture, but I've seen French people do similar things to each other. One day I sat and watched as an older lady pushed a younger one by mistake (in a rush to prematurely get out the door). She apparently continued to push the young lady, so as the Madame exited, the younger woman spatted, "Conasse!" (b*tch). Instances like this make it clear that it's not just me who gets frustrated with the lack of consideration and respect practiced on the Paris Metro.

My Paris-born friends simply shrug their shoulders, saying, "That's just the way things are." But it doesn't have to be. I'd recommend the Paris Metro seriously look into publishing signs explaining the proper, most respectful way to use the train. Life is stressful enough without fearing a punch out while riding from Point A to Point B.

~Claire Sulmers

*Recommendation: If you ever visit Paris, simply avoid the train during rush hours. At any other time, trains are empty and come about every two minutes. Evade confrontations and travel in peace.

Source, Source, Source & Source

Travel Lessons

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 18:38:00 +0000

Miami never ceases to amaze me. The palm-tree lined boulevards...the beach...the beautiful sunny days. My hectic business trip did allow for some fun experiences--eating lunch three tables away from designer Jean Paul Gautier, having cocktails at the Mondrian Hotel's trendy, all-white poolside lounge, and driving a silver Jaguar to media appointments--I can't complain.

Aside from those material things, I was most touched by the Haitians I encountered. After Cubans, Haitians are the biggest immigrant population in Miami. I asked my Haitian cab drivers if they had been in touch with their families after the earthquake. One driver told me he knew his family was alive in Haiti; another only replied: "I have no idea if they are dead or alive. I can't reach them."

On my flight returning home, I noticed two Haitians sitting in first class; a young girl, about 4, whose right leg was bandaged and propped up and an older woman who might have been her grandmother. They looked tired, yet triumphant. I smiled at them as I walked to my seat, they nodded and smiled back at me, as if to say, "We made it outta there!"

Meeting Haitians was what really made my trip memorable--not the glitz and glam of Miami. Their hardship and perseverance reminded me to appreciate every day and the happiness or challenges they may bring.

Bienvenido A Miami

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 02:57:00 +0000

Hello everyone! Tomorrow morning (at the God awful time of 4 AM to be exact), I will be off to Miami, Florida for a biz trip. I'm sure I will have a lovely story for you upon my return as some of you may remember my last Miami post. Hopefully there will be less blood involved this time! Bon voyage and have a great weekend everyone!

New Year, New Experiences

noreply@blogger.com (Cityencounters) — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 01:58:00 +0000

For the first time ever, I spent New Year's Eve in downtown NYC. In the past, I've been out of the country, in a dif city, or stayed in. They always say that on New Years the crazies venture into Manhattan from all boroughs (including the 5th, New Jersey) to act a fool in over-priced clubs and bars...

With that in mind, the husband and I went to a small Spanish tapas restaurant, Las Ramblas, in west village and counted down to the new year while stuffing 12 green grapes in our mouths for good luck (a fun, but difficult Spanish tradition!).

At closing time, we left and walked towards the 6 train because we figured we wouldn't get a cab. We hailed a taxi just as it turned its "off duty" lights on; yet, he rolled down the window and asked, "Going somewhere in Manhattan?" YES!

Right after jumping in, a man approached the cab and started banging on our window. We freaked out and told the driver, "Go, go! He's trying to break in!" The confused driver froze; the stranger wouldn't leave and he wasn't spewing drunken obscenities, so we rolled down the window.

"I just left my umbrella in there," he said calmly. I checked and there it was by my foot. We laughed and my husband apologized, "Sorry man, we know it's a tough night to get cabs so we thought you were breaking in!"

What an auspicious start to the new year: a friendly cab driver, a non-violent stranger, and proof that the city can be tame even on its famed "wildest night of the year." Here's to a wonderful 2010!