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August 12, 2005
Guess I'm A Real New Yorker Now
Because of my new job (I guess after 11 weeks I should stop calling it new, right?), I have been spending a lot of time in our Manhattan offices instead of up in Stepford. I've had a lot of meetings down there lately, so I've been in "the city" between a third and half of the time over the last couple of weeks.
By and large, this isn't a bad thing; for one, the Manhattan office is much more casual and hipster, so I don't need to wear suits (hell, I look overdressed and stuffy when I show up in khakis and a button down shirt). Also, it's given me the chance to get out in the city and hang out with friends I don't see very often, like Ethan (Friday night was a blast, bro - who'd've thunk there were still places in NY where you could get two beers for $5 during happy hour?). And, I have to say this even though it makes me a piggish male... the talent on the streets of Manhattan during the summer is positively astounding. I may despise their attitudes, but New York women are delightful to observe.
And I even actually live as close to Manhattan as I do to the suburban offices, so the commute's no longer than usual... in fact, there's a Metro North station about a six minute walk from my co-op, so getting there's a breeze. But it's at this point in the story that things take a bad twist. It's at this point in the story where I seem to have become a typical New Yorker.
The normal routine is simple: take Metro North to Grand Central Station, then go to wait in the taxicab queue outside the 42nd Street entrance to the terminal. It usually takes about three minutes to get through the line, after which I take the cab to our offices downtown.
The other day, I was standing in the queue, waiting for a cab and getting ready for an early afternoon meeting. It was already a hot and humid day (those of you from Houston might not have thought so, but for us, 94 degrees is hot, and 60% humidity is pretty damn wet), even at noon; by the time I got to the front of the taxi line, I was already dripping sweat from my brow. At the back of the line, I saw a tiny, five foot grandmotherly type, pretty obviously a tourist, lugging a suitcase that was almost bigger than her. As she walked toward the taxi stand, the line was long enough that she had to stand behind where the velvet ropes end (they're about ten people long, so if you're 11th in line or beyond you have nothing between you and the street).
As a cab pulled into the line, I was relieved to be able to get out of the heat, and prepared to ask my cabbie to crank the A/C all the way up to 11. Suddenly, I saw something... the touristy grandmother was stepping into the street, tugging her giant suitcase behind her and trying to wrestle it toward the approaching cab. My cab. The one I'd waited five stifling minutes for.
Now, the ex-Minnesotan in me (who still comes out more often than I'd like... get raised in a place and you pick up its habits, even if that does mean I still have a damnable streak of midwestern "Minnesota Nice" in my blood even out here in cut-throat, take no prisoners, show-even-a-sliver-of-weakness-and-we'll-eat-your-young New York) thought to himself, "Well, okay... she's stealing your cab. But she's obviously a tourist and doesn't know the rules or protocols of hailing taxis at Grand Central. And besides, she's like 70something, Chris! She's probably scared half out of her nut being here and just wants to get to wherever she's going. And in this heat, if this old lady stands out in line for five more minutes, who knows what'd happen? Let her go; there'll be another cab in a minute or two."
But of course, I've been away from the midwest for going on eleven years now. And the northeasterner in me had an entirely different take on the situation. Guess which "me" won?
As grandma stepped into the street, without even thinking about it, my subconscious New Yorker asserted himself. "Hey, lady! You're cuttin' in the line there." Everyone else looked at her; she seemed oblivious. "Hey! You're cuttin' in line here! Whaddayou think you're doin'?" Now the rest of the line was looking at her, and the New York chorus began.
"What, lady - you don't have to wait in line like the rest of us?"
"Yo, grandma - the line's back here!"
"Oh, no you dih-int even just cut in front of me!"
The porter even got into the act, walking up and admonishing her that you can't just grab a cab from the back of the line. Meanwhile, as grandma looked up in either bewilderment or embarrassment, I stepped in to take my rightful place aside the now-stopped cab. She looked at me furtively... but before she could even spit out her excuse, I just glared at her and growled as I opened the door, "You were gonna cut in line in front of me?" She didn't say anything as I slammed the door shut and asked Habib the cabbie to crank the air up all the way and told him where I was going.
Yes, kids: I muscled an old lady out of a taxi cab.
I could tell you it was because I was hot and sweating like a mule, and thus my patience was thin. I could tell you it was because I needed to get to my meeting. I could even tell you that it was because I'd been having a really bad week and this poor lady just happened to be the trigger that set me off. But I think I'd be lying to you if I did.
I think it's just that after having this area as my home base for the bulk of the last seven years, my resistance has worn down and I have become what I have forsworn.
God help me, I think I'm a New Yorker.
Comments
oh, yeah.....you be a New Yawker, now, "dude"
Posted by: jillian at August 13, 2005 12:53 AM
Remember this Chris, it's survival of the fittest out there. Either kill or be killed.
Posted by: Corey at August 13, 2005 05:10 PM
Hey 'Mudge,
Real hipsters don't beat up old ladies.
Or wear stuffy suits.
And I'm gonna assume it was you that said "Oh no you dih-int", as thats a really hilarious thought.
Posted by: Sarah at August 13, 2005 10:48 PM
The suit's not my fault. And I didn't beat her up, I just yelled at her for stealing my cab and then sort of forced ny way back into the front of the line.
Posted by: Curmudgeon at August 14, 2005 11:33 AM
classic
"Welcome to New York."
If I were you, I might feel a little bad. But I'd get over it. Quickly.
Posted by: Cuzin Jose at August 14, 2005 02:11 PM
You'll notice it was a TOURIST who was taking your cab. Everyone in that line is pretty much a tourist. The New Yorkers would be taking the #6 line straight down Park Ave to the office. Much faster, and it's also air-conditioned.
Posted by: Derek at August 16, 2005 09:39 AM
Well, except for that to go into the subway station itself, befor catching the 6, is to walk into the mouth of hell. On a day when it's 95 outside, it's easily 110 to 115 down in the subway tunnel. Sitting in that for a few minutes before heading to the office just doesn't sound happy to me.
As much as I may believe that my sweat doesn't stink, there's just something about walking into the office drenched and with humidity hair that I just felt no one else would appreciate. ;-)
Posted by: Curmudgeon at August 16, 2005 09:54 AM
