Rain manners.

Living in New York City I am constantly shocked and disgusted by how oblivious people are to other people. 

If it’s raining, yes that’s lousy.  Inconvenient even, oh, and messy.  But does a single regular sized person need a golf-sized umbrella? Absolutely not.  If it’s raining and you’re walking up Seventh Avenue in mid-town and you’re beneath the seemingly endless miles of scaffolding, close your umbrella.  If the option is to close it and walk like a normal human, or leave it open and likely stab several strangers in the head with the nubs of your umbrella’s edge – most people would realize the obvious choice.  In NYC however, it’s safer to wear a masked helmet during the rain than to hope for awareness from others.   If you are walking in the rain, in a sea of other commuters slugging to work under their umbrellas, pay attention.  If you are taller than the person coming at you, raise your umbrella’s edge above theirs.  If you are shorter, do the opposite.  Why is that not obvious?  Why are there people who just stamp down the center of the sidewalk, inevitably going in the opposite direction of 90% of the people around them, and who NEVER, not even once, even consider that their umbrella should move even an inch.  I can’t even count the number of times I’ve nearly lost an eye.

I also will never understand New Yorkers in elevators.  If you shove yourself onto an already full elevator car, and push a button higher than a floor that’s already lit, you will be asked to move out of the way when the doors open.  Surprise!  The people you’re shoving into a corner so you don’t have to wait another two minutes for the next available car? Yeah, those people will need to get off before you.  So move out of the way.  And don’t be surprised about it.  And don't be a jerk about it either.  

If you are riding an escalator and don’t feel like walking, move to the right.  Do not get on the left side of the escalator watch twenty people hustle up in front of you and neglect the twenty standing right behind you silently seething that you are in their way.   Move the hell over.  Pay attention. 

I used to dislike children.  Like a lot.  I’d actively go out of my way to not ever be near them.  When I got my job at Disney World a few of my friends voiced concern over the shear number of kids that I’d interact with daily – ah, the things we do for a paycheck…. But I realized, during my tenure with The Mouse, that I do not actually dislike kids.  I dislike shitty parents.  If you have a shitty kid, it’s because you are not doing your job as a parent to teach them how to be better humans.  If I could change one thing about humanity it’s that I would ask for everyone to be more aware of others.  While you're teaching your kids about sharing, and not hitting and saying "please", perhaps you could toss in a lesson or two about thinking about other people and being aware of their surroundings.  And to never text and walk.  One of these days I am going to trip those idiots on purpose and not help them up.  Somehow I feel like the masses will applaud me for it.  And I will take a bow for sure. 

Two things about New York City.

I was a junior in high school the first time I visited New York City.  My mom and I were nearing the end of a two week road trip to look at college campuses, and my dad flew in to meet us in The Big Apple.  I don’t remember where we stayed, or what we ate.  I don’t remember how long we were here, or what the weather was like.  I don’t remember seeing any of the sights or even shopping.  From that few days I remember only a couple of things.  

First?  We saw the Scarlet Pimpernel on Broadway – I remember waiting in line at TKTS to pick out what show we’d see.   And I remember sitting between my parents as the overture started and the curtain rose.

And second, I remember my dad buying a sandwich for a homeless man.  He didn’t stop and think about it, or talk much about it afterward.  We were walking down some street in midtown and a guy was standing outside a deli asking for change.  My dad stopped, asked him what he’d like to eat and went inside to buy it.  I remember thinking how kind that was.  No big show or presentation, just lunch for a guy who hadn’t had breakfast.  I also remember my dad saying something about how it’s always better to give someone food than to give them money, since you’re never sure what they’ll spend it on.  I carry granola bars in my bag for that reason.   Well, that and I get very crabby when I’m hungry, so it’s nice to have an emergency snack.

Today I had to take a mid-afternoon walk.  My day job has been pretty stressful this week and I realized at 2pm that I hadn’t eaten lunch or left my desk all day.  So I put on my coat, and hat and scarf and gloves, because spring is still nowhere to be found and went walking around Union Square.  I found myself in the Trader Joe’s so I could pick up something for my nephew dog, and a woman in line behind me was an inch away from starting a fist fight with the woman in line behind her.  For cutting.  The woman behind both of them.  Oh, only in New York.     After that, my sense of anxiety hadn’t lessened – if anything it was higher.  Outside the deli by my office asking for change was a homeless man I’ve seen before.  As I’ve done before I walked by him with a sense of purpose, and then, for whatever reason I remembered this one thing my dad did a million years ago and I went back and asked him what he’d like for lunch.  A meatball sandwich with mozerella- LOTS of mozerella later, I felt more like myself.    I may not be changing lives or singing on Broadway (yet) but at least I’m not picking fights at Trader Joes or living on the streets.  I don’t have much money, but I can definitely spare $6.53 for a man who hasn’t eaten in two days. 

May we all take a lesson from my Pop and be a little nicer to others– especially those who have less than us.

McD's and dirty faces

When I was little, and I stayed home sick from school my mother would get me a happy meal at lunch.   That was the only time we got McDonald’s really.  My mom was so careful about what we ate that she’d mark on the family calendar when we ordered pizza – so as to never exceed our once a month rule.  Because ordering pizza twice in a month?  Preposterous.  Perhaps that rationing is why I got so fat in college… oh well.

But I think because of my Happy Meal sick-day regimen, now that I’m an adult, anytime I feel less than stellar; all I want are chicken nuggets and French fries.  I don’t know why my body craves something that makes me feel like crap when I’m already feeling crappy, but it does.  As if I don’t feel lousy enough, let’s add in the worst edible offerings to upset things further, shall we?

Yesterday I had one of those days where I felt like the universe was out to get me.  I started crying on my walk to the train – pulled myself together.  I cried on the train – pulled myself together. And took two walks during the day to avoid crying at my desk.  I missed my morning workout because I forgot to turn on my alarm when setting it (helpful tip – if you want it to go off in the morning, you need to turn it on) and I felt lazy and fat and terrible.  Emotionally I was also a wreck, so clearly, passing a McDonald’s several times on each walk did my will power no good at all.  That place is like a sick or sad person magnet.  I stopped in, of course, and then, not immediately because it takes my body a full 15 minutes to realize what I’ve done, but 15 minutes later I wished with all my might that I’d just gone elsewhere and ordered a salad.

I am paying for yesterday’s mistake today. 

Oh, speaking of today - for the third year in a row, it took me seeing four people with soot on their face before I remembered it was Ash Wednesday.  I just kept thinking they were dirty, and how did they not notice? 

If I ever walk into a church again I will be struck by lightning.   Happy almost Lent.