When people ask where I’m from I always say “New York.” After all, I was born on Long Island.
Sure, I only lived there 6 months, but I was born in New York. I’d like to think I’ve got New York in my blood,
so the iron in my veins aligns to point me in the right direction down the
avenues and streets of Manhatten like a built in GPS. Turns out, I need to
learn where the hell I’m going like everybody else. And god forbid I enter the subterranean depths of the subway system. Luckily, I'm excellent at cab-hailing.
For how severely dangerous New York cabs are, they are,
ironically, the only automobiles that I will completely ignore the seatbelt in.
I mean, how helpful is it really going to be? Even in the backseat
with your seatbelt on you’re gonna go through the partition. It’s less than a foot away to begin
with. Face it, if your taxi is in a serious crash, you’re dead.
NY cabbies take every opening, every opportunity to get
where you need to go faster. Coming
back home to Atlanta drivers after a week of taxi-ing was one of the more
frustrating experiences of my life. It’s the opposite in Atlanta. It’s a race
to see who can get where they need to go the slowest. Drivers in the South will purposely impede your progress
to further their own secret goals.
There’s a weird phenomenon going on in the city. I did as
much research as I could, within reason, but I couldn’t figure out for the life
of me what was going on: Even
completely sober, every single NYC bar and restaurant bathroom feels like it’s
on a ship at sea. No matter where it was, the entire room seemed to pitch and
yaw. I examined the floors and
they did not appear to be funhouse-style, but I could never quite get my
footing. Why would someone design a bathroom, the one room where balance is the
most important, as wobbly as possible? Luckily, years of video game playing,
and urinating (not at the same time) has given me excellent hand-eye
coordination.
Recap of the review to come. Happy Mother’s Day Y’all.
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