Manhattan can be a very cold place indeed and I am not referring to the recent cold spell in the weather. Night after night lonely souls sit in their undersized boxes in the sky. Once their doors are closed behind them at the end of the working day, the only other living soul they have contact with that night is the delivery boy, who comes armed with overpriced food and pidgen English at best. When I moved here I was forewarned not to build my social life around those living in the same building. Manhattan folk love their anonymity. They purposely don't want to hang out their dirty washing in public and many behave like ghostlike figurines, slipping in and out of their buildings without being noticed.
This morning I rode down to the lobby in the elevator with an extremely nice woman who lives four floors below me. We had conversed before since she attended the same summer camp my eldest daughter goes to, albeit fifty years apart. We continued where we had left off last time, conversing about our common denominating subject and ended up both saying good morning at the same time to the graveyard shift night doorman, who looked as if he was on his last legs. We walked out of the building together and carried on walking and talking until we reached the end of the street. I had every intention of walking to work, some thirty blocks due south and thought this would present the opportunity to part ways politely. I was enjoying her company profusely and was even contemplating abandoning my stroll to work to accompany her on the bus/ subway/ taxi, not knowing how she commuted. She was obviously thinking the same as I was and we both stopped and faced each other on the street corner. It was then she announced that she was walking to her gym, forty blocks due south. That put me in a bind.
If I announced that I too had intended to walk I would immediately stand out as a stalker who had a thing for older women. She had on sneakers and I work shoes. There was no way on earth that she would believe me if I stated that I was also walking . However the weather was glorious and I really didn't want to take public transportation. So with the thought of my co-op board forcing a sale of my apartment because I follow tenants around the city, I announced that I would walk with her. She was a little bit taken aback; probably for the reasons I just wrote about. She looked me up and down and then down again at my shoes, shrugged her shoulders and began walking .
We carried on idly chatting about my work, my charities I was involved with, my background, my kids and my upbringing. She was an excellent quiz master. And I got every answer right! About five blocks from my destination I finally summoned enough courage to ask one question back.
"What do you like about walking to work?" Yes, I admit it was rather a ridiculous question, way too vague and not really pithy enough to find out anything interesting about my newly acquainted neighbor. She paused in thought only, as she had a marvelous ability to think and walk at the same time. She carried on staring at the abyss and answered, "It is the only time I get to be by myself all day and properly think without being disturbed."
Not only was I a stalker but I was an intruder too and a little embarrassed! I quickly and quietly bode farewell and turned into one of those ghostlike Manhattanites from my building, sheepishly slipping away without being noticed.
Showing posts with label New York City. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York City. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Schools are Not Business Friendly
This morning was a very proud moment for me because my youngest son Bradley, aged 9, was giving a prepared speech to his whole grade and my wife and I were invited to hear him. What a thrill!
I usually get to work at around 6.45 a.m. Bradley was speaking at 9 a.m. Thursday night was a sleepless venture for me as I tossed and turned deciding whether to go to work first and then go to the school or arrive with my wife at 8.55 a.m after a leisurely morning at home. My boss is away in California and one other co-worker called in sick with Fridayitus, leaving our desk as lean as one of the cows in biblical Joseph's second dream.
I decided to go to work for a couple of hours and then scramble from Midtown East to the Upper West side where the school is located. If work became too busy I would have to forfeit the speech and slump at my desk and act miserable all day annoying my colleagues. I am an expert at that and so when I announced at the morning meeting that I had to leave for a couple of hours mid morning, it was greeted with astonishment and despair, which quickly turned to tacit agreement and compassion. My contemporaries had known me long enough to realize that if I were unable to attend my son's big moment, reverberations would be felt across the whole city, with its epicenter temporarily implanted on my desk to my immediate left and right.
I arose from my desk at 8.30am bemoaning the school's timetable. Don't the organizers of these events realize that parents actually have to work to pay for the tuition at these private schools? If I am not at my desk trading then I cant possibly make any money so in essence it was costing me money attending my son's event at school. I walked towards the subway station contemplating a conversation with the Principal of the school that I would have shortly after "The big event." I would demand a refund for this mornings tuition claiming that my attendance left me in no position to earn the money to pay. Of course in reality life doesn't work in this way. Schools are not business friendly. This event would be much easier to attend if it were at 7 o'clock at night but good luck in finding any teachers willing to stay late to accommodate working parents. It's not as if we pay their wages? Hold on a second. We do pay their salaries and give them holiday presents and give a donation to the school on top of that, which I hope trickles down in some manner to the teachers.
I arrived at school with all these thoughts whizzing around my head. I managed to compose myself for the sixty seconds that Bradley spoke. It was one of the finest minutes of my life. He was fabulous. I had huge pangs of pride that lifted my spirits and erased all negative feelings towards the school timetable. I returned to work full of optimism about the human spirit and about the virtues of fatherhood. It lasted until I sat down at my desk and looked at my screen that showed seas of red. The school trip had cost me fortunes and I am now writing to the school with a very detailed explanation of why I am asking for a one day tuition refund!
I usually get to work at around 6.45 a.m. Bradley was speaking at 9 a.m. Thursday night was a sleepless venture for me as I tossed and turned deciding whether to go to work first and then go to the school or arrive with my wife at 8.55 a.m after a leisurely morning at home. My boss is away in California and one other co-worker called in sick with Fridayitus, leaving our desk as lean as one of the cows in biblical Joseph's second dream.
I decided to go to work for a couple of hours and then scramble from Midtown East to the Upper West side where the school is located. If work became too busy I would have to forfeit the speech and slump at my desk and act miserable all day annoying my colleagues. I am an expert at that and so when I announced at the morning meeting that I had to leave for a couple of hours mid morning, it was greeted with astonishment and despair, which quickly turned to tacit agreement and compassion. My contemporaries had known me long enough to realize that if I were unable to attend my son's big moment, reverberations would be felt across the whole city, with its epicenter temporarily implanted on my desk to my immediate left and right.
I arose from my desk at 8.30am bemoaning the school's timetable. Don't the organizers of these events realize that parents actually have to work to pay for the tuition at these private schools? If I am not at my desk trading then I cant possibly make any money so in essence it was costing me money attending my son's event at school. I walked towards the subway station contemplating a conversation with the Principal of the school that I would have shortly after "The big event." I would demand a refund for this mornings tuition claiming that my attendance left me in no position to earn the money to pay. Of course in reality life doesn't work in this way. Schools are not business friendly. This event would be much easier to attend if it were at 7 o'clock at night but good luck in finding any teachers willing to stay late to accommodate working parents. It's not as if we pay their wages? Hold on a second. We do pay their salaries and give them holiday presents and give a donation to the school on top of that, which I hope trickles down in some manner to the teachers.
I arrived at school with all these thoughts whizzing around my head. I managed to compose myself for the sixty seconds that Bradley spoke. It was one of the finest minutes of my life. He was fabulous. I had huge pangs of pride that lifted my spirits and erased all negative feelings towards the school timetable. I returned to work full of optimism about the human spirit and about the virtues of fatherhood. It lasted until I sat down at my desk and looked at my screen that showed seas of red. The school trip had cost me fortunes and I am now writing to the school with a very detailed explanation of why I am asking for a one day tuition refund!
Venturing Downtown
Venturing Downtown
I work in the Midtown area of Manhattan and live on its Upper East Side. I rarely venture South of 42ND street during the week unless work deems it necessary. Even at the weekends my only customary venture down to lower Manhattan is to take my youngest son to hockey practice early on Sunday morning. Even when we have breakfast after, we normally grab a bagel uptown on the way home.
I have nothing against going Downtown. I actually prefer the vibe and the restaurants there in comparison with the rather staid, some what snobby atmosphere of Uptown establishments. Downtown, its inhabitants are by and large trendier, they eat later and they dress infinitely better. Chinos and Polo shirts are rare sightings down there unless worn by an unsuspecting Uptowner.
Much preparation work has to be done in order to haul oneself past 57th street in a southerly direction on a Saturday night. Suitable clothing must be chosen and then rejected by the wife. "Please stop dressing like you are twenty five and trendy. You are neither," was the previous flattering comment my wife made to me as I stood in the mirror admiring myself.
Timing is also of the essence in organizing an evening out in the bowels of Manhattan. Eating too early is a downtown cardinal sin. They stray towards the European model of never eating before 8.30 p.m. Eating too late tends to encourage Uptowners to fall asleep at the tables of trendy eateries or catch quick catnaps in their bathroom cubicles.
The mode of transportation to get to southerly destinations is also quite key. I have elaborated already in previous blogs of my utter displeasure at taking yellow cabs for more than five blocks due to motion sickness. I prefer the use of the subway but may have to settle for a car service if my wife is running late. She hasn't been on time in the past five years, so the chances of us taking the subway are slightly less than the chances of me being the next Pope.
Our reservation has been made and we are meeting our fellow dinner guests at 8.30pm at the restaurant. If you think we have a lot of preparation work to do in getting to Downtown on time and looking the part, try being our friends who are coming in from Long Island. They live in a town that I have never visited , which I hear is in the same State as New York City even though they speak weird and have hairstyles that were fashionable decades ago. They need a valid passport and a visa that they applied for six months previous just to be allowed entry to Manhattan. However, once they open their mouths and talk they may be refused entry to the restaurant.
I work in the Midtown area of Manhattan and live on its Upper East Side. I rarely venture South of 42ND street during the week unless work deems it necessary. Even at the weekends my only customary venture down to lower Manhattan is to take my youngest son to hockey practice early on Sunday morning. Even when we have breakfast after, we normally grab a bagel uptown on the way home.
I have nothing against going Downtown. I actually prefer the vibe and the restaurants there in comparison with the rather staid, some what snobby atmosphere of Uptown establishments. Downtown, its inhabitants are by and large trendier, they eat later and they dress infinitely better. Chinos and Polo shirts are rare sightings down there unless worn by an unsuspecting Uptowner.
Much preparation work has to be done in order to haul oneself past 57th street in a southerly direction on a Saturday night. Suitable clothing must be chosen and then rejected by the wife. "Please stop dressing like you are twenty five and trendy. You are neither," was the previous flattering comment my wife made to me as I stood in the mirror admiring myself.
Timing is also of the essence in organizing an evening out in the bowels of Manhattan. Eating too early is a downtown cardinal sin. They stray towards the European model of never eating before 8.30 p.m. Eating too late tends to encourage Uptowners to fall asleep at the tables of trendy eateries or catch quick catnaps in their bathroom cubicles.
The mode of transportation to get to southerly destinations is also quite key. I have elaborated already in previous blogs of my utter displeasure at taking yellow cabs for more than five blocks due to motion sickness. I prefer the use of the subway but may have to settle for a car service if my wife is running late. She hasn't been on time in the past five years, so the chances of us taking the subway are slightly less than the chances of me being the next Pope.
Our reservation has been made and we are meeting our fellow dinner guests at 8.30pm at the restaurant. If you think we have a lot of preparation work to do in getting to Downtown on time and looking the part, try being our friends who are coming in from Long Island. They live in a town that I have never visited , which I hear is in the same State as New York City even though they speak weird and have hairstyles that were fashionable decades ago. They need a valid passport and a visa that they applied for six months previous just to be allowed entry to Manhattan. However, once they open their mouths and talk they may be refused entry to the restaurant.
Homesick
Homesick
I spent this past weekend away from New York up in Canada. I was in their biggest city, Toronto. It is a really normal North American metropolis with tall buildings, highways, hotels, restaurants, petty crime and a somewhat scary avant guard youth. Toronto is Canada's answer to New York. Its the best that Canada can offer in a competition for which country has the best city. I may be super biased, but Toronto is best described as oomphless. It lacks a certain sophistication, a notable vibe and its pace of life is rather snail like in comparison to New York. I live in a vibrant city and most other comparable urban sprawls are village like.
Many other cities have nicer airports, cleaner streets and friendlier people. They also are less crowded, more affordable and have nicer schools, bigger supermarkets and are much more accessible. What they don't have is aggravation, attitude, arrogant residents and a rudeness that permeates most aspects of life in New York City.
Two days away from the chaos, irritation and annoyance of daily New York living is the maximum I can normally tolerate. I need to be immersed in it. I thrive off it. It's what makes me tick. I changed my flight and came back early as two days of normalcy drove me insane.
I spent this past weekend away from New York up in Canada. I was in their biggest city, Toronto. It is a really normal North American metropolis with tall buildings, highways, hotels, restaurants, petty crime and a somewhat scary avant guard youth. Toronto is Canada's answer to New York. Its the best that Canada can offer in a competition for which country has the best city. I may be super biased, but Toronto is best described as oomphless. It lacks a certain sophistication, a notable vibe and its pace of life is rather snail like in comparison to New York. I live in a vibrant city and most other comparable urban sprawls are village like.
Many other cities have nicer airports, cleaner streets and friendlier people. They also are less crowded, more affordable and have nicer schools, bigger supermarkets and are much more accessible. What they don't have is aggravation, attitude, arrogant residents and a rudeness that permeates most aspects of life in New York City.
Two days away from the chaos, irritation and annoyance of daily New York living is the maximum I can normally tolerate. I need to be immersed in it. I thrive off it. It's what makes me tick. I changed my flight and came back early as two days of normalcy drove me insane.
Food Delivery
It’s either raining or snowing or icing or freezing rain. I looked out of the window from my Manhattan office and saw something falling from the sky. It was falling at a 45 degree angle designed for maximum annoyance and capable of winning any fight with an umbrella.
The weather is so bad that I decided someone else can bring me my lunch today. I reached this decision at 11.30 am. I was ravenous. I called up a local establishment that I normally walk to once a week to pick up my own lunch. I asked them how long it would take to deliver and they said 45 minutes maximum. It’s now 2pm. No sign of the food. The delivery guy must have gotten lost on his two and a half block walk over here, or is sitting down in a public space in midtown munching on my salad. I hope he enjoys it too. I have eaten so much nosh waiting for my food that I am no longer hungry.
New York City is the delivery capital of the world unless the weather is bad . When that happens, don’t order in food. You start off starving. You end up eating loads of snacks and get very aggravated trying to contact restaurants who don’t answer the phone the minute the first snow flake lands on its sidewalks.
The weather is so bad that I decided someone else can bring me my lunch today. I reached this decision at 11.30 am. I was ravenous. I called up a local establishment that I normally walk to once a week to pick up my own lunch. I asked them how long it would take to deliver and they said 45 minutes maximum. It’s now 2pm. No sign of the food. The delivery guy must have gotten lost on his two and a half block walk over here, or is sitting down in a public space in midtown munching on my salad. I hope he enjoys it too. I have eaten so much nosh waiting for my food that I am no longer hungry.
New York City is the delivery capital of the world unless the weather is bad . When that happens, don’t order in food. You start off starving. You end up eating loads of snacks and get very aggravated trying to contact restaurants who don’t answer the phone the minute the first snow flake lands on its sidewalks.
Return of the Nodders
I found them. Well most of them. As if by magic we were all reunited at the express bus stop at 6.29am this morning. And yes, we nodded. They didn't seem to have missed me. I approached one of the women and asked her: "Where have you been?" I had a glint in my eye showing both relief and compassion. She quickly moved away from me and hid behind one of the larger gentlemen standing there.
So the nodders showed up on a day when there were no buses. We stood around for what seemed like an eternity with no sign of any public transportation. New York City slept and a large prehistoric being threw up slushy white stuff all over its streets and sidewalks. The city was paralyzed. I couldn't get to work via a vehicle faster than my own legs and all the nodders for whom I had toiled and fretted over ignored me as if I were a carrier of the bubonic plague. I protest. I will no longer nod back. I will never again initiate a nod. I am now an ex nodder.
And I walked to work disappearing on many occasions into two feet of snow that had formed at intersections. What a great start to the day. Destroyed illusions about nodders and sloshing shoes with wringing wet pant cuffs.
So the nodders showed up on a day when there were no buses. We stood around for what seemed like an eternity with no sign of any public transportation. New York City slept and a large prehistoric being threw up slushy white stuff all over its streets and sidewalks. The city was paralyzed. I couldn't get to work via a vehicle faster than my own legs and all the nodders for whom I had toiled and fretted over ignored me as if I were a carrier of the bubonic plague. I protest. I will no longer nod back. I will never again initiate a nod. I am now an ex nodder.
And I walked to work disappearing on many occasions into two feet of snow that had formed at intersections. What a great start to the day. Destroyed illusions about nodders and sloshing shoes with wringing wet pant cuffs.
Snow
There are a few disadvantages (though not many) to living in New York City. One occurs during the imminent arrival of a snow storm. Certain things happen here that you can't really explain. Airports start shutting down hours, if not days, before the first snowflake has fallen. Workers in high rise offices start debating whether or not the forecasters are better or worse at predicting the weather than economists are in their field.
And most astonishingly, those who live in New Jersey already announce that they are not coming to work if the snow exceeds 3 inches. Even those who live just across the Hudson have developed: "I can’t possibly go to work if it snows” disease.
So as I am the lone Manhattan representative on my trading desk , my management immediately concludes that I will be the only person able to get to work in the aftermath of an accumulating snowstorm.
It needn't matter that snow could be piled up two feet in front of my apartment building's door. It is expected that I should at the very least be able to ski to work if the need arises; don't kid yourself -- I have seen that many a time before.
All those from the supposed hardest soon-to-be-hit suburbs compare how many inches they will see by the following morning.
My standing joke is to Mario who sits opposite me. He leaps out of his seat announcing that he has just spoken to his wife and she expects at least 6 inches this evening. My response is always: "Your wife always expects 6 inches Mario, but she only ever sees 3 or 4."
Oh you can have so much fun with Suburbanites!!!!
And most astonishingly, those who live in New Jersey already announce that they are not coming to work if the snow exceeds 3 inches. Even those who live just across the Hudson have developed: "I can’t possibly go to work if it snows” disease.
So as I am the lone Manhattan representative on my trading desk , my management immediately concludes that I will be the only person able to get to work in the aftermath of an accumulating snowstorm.
It needn't matter that snow could be piled up two feet in front of my apartment building's door. It is expected that I should at the very least be able to ski to work if the need arises; don't kid yourself -- I have seen that many a time before.
All those from the supposed hardest soon-to-be-hit suburbs compare how many inches they will see by the following morning.
My standing joke is to Mario who sits opposite me. He leaps out of his seat announcing that he has just spoken to his wife and she expects at least 6 inches this evening. My response is always: "Your wife always expects 6 inches Mario, but she only ever sees 3 or 4."
Oh you can have so much fun with Suburbanites!!!!
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