No, you cannot produce snow in October

Snowtober, Snowpocalypse, Snowlaween- no matter what nickname was used, it was completely unnecessary.  The weather man warned that a random nor'easter storm would blow through the Saturday before Halloween.  I had yet to see one leaf fall (note the green foliage) and barely broken out my autumn wardrobe, it surely was not time for gloves.  Nonetheless, the rain froze on its way down and the wind was beyond cold; this was obviously Mother Nature's cruel joke on all girls who decided to dress up as a sexy cop, sexy nurse, or other form of generic costume in which you can place the adjective 'sexy' in front of.  So please keep your snow until at least December, I cannot be expected to enjoy a good pumpkin ale in 3 layers of clothing- it's just not natural.

No, you cannot make the street dirtier than it already is

If you live in Manhattan you can tell the difference between a city bus, delivery truck, and a taxi cab just by the very distinct and ostentatiously loud noises they make.  Every Tuesday and Thursday on my walk to work I am greeted by the New York Department of Sanitation's beloved street sweeper, a monster truck that comes trudging down the streets and avenues of the city, weaving in and out of cars who decided not to follow the alternate-side parking codes that day.  One would assume that this vehicle is used to clean the mean streets, leaving a shiny finish for pedestrians to stride upon.  Unfortunately, assuming that would be incorrect because this truck does nothing but slosh around the trash and grime pitted near the curbs.  Not only that, whatever 'cleaning fluid' comes out of the super-sized scrubbing brushes positioned below does not look at all sanitary.  Anytime I hear the roar of the engine approaching, I shimmy up against the closest building as the brushes spew out the fluid infusing with trash juice and debris, which in turn splash on to the sidewalk in attempt to soil my cute fall boots.  Once it finally rides by, the aforementioned liquid now gives the street an aroma of fresh garbage peppered with 5 dogs walked in that very spot that morning and lo mein left for the mice the night before. I didn't think it was possible but I'm pretty sure the street sweeper is actually making the street more soiled; how about we suspend service for a while so I can save my tax dollars and walk to work in undisturbed filth?

No, you cannot run a pet store on the street corner

Only in New York can a simple task like dropping a letter in a mailbox render difficult because of an unexpected obstacle. Today I crossed the street in front of my office to perform this everyday errand; if you time it just right, there's a few seconds of leeway to cross and return within one stop light cycle.  I've got this down to a science but was prevented from completing my usual mission when I noticed a crowd near the drop box.  There on the sidewalk were a multitude of animals accompanied by a man unpacking his cart full of their various cages, beds, and toys.  I stepped over a cat and dog fight and nearly tripped on a leash just to reach the mailbox.  Why yes, there's the pet store owner himself with 2 dogs, 3 cats, a canary, and the always necessary gerbil.  (Surely the gerbil has it best as his bed consists of a Cinderella pillow positioned atop a cardboard box pedestal.) 

You may be wondering why the man decided this was a prime location to park his furry friends?  When I walked by later on a coffee break, passerbys thought it sanitary to pet the animals and even compensate the man for letting them do so.  Oh the ways people find to make money here; if only I had a turtle and a few hamsters, I could quit my day job.

No, you cannot press the button after me

It’s a frequent trait that every human displays: impatience.  I myself do not fall short of this flaw; I’ve certainly channeled by previous road rage into walk rage on the streets of the mean city.  Though if ever there was one thing that brings out the antsy in us all it is waiting on an elevator.  We somehow believe by pressing the button multiple times in a row that the floating box will come down more quickly.  Along those lines of thinking, if you press the button harder the second, third, and fourth times, the doors may just be willed open faster.  I’m totally on board with this theory because, if anything, it routes my angst to the button rather than the wait time.

One unspoken law in the elevator waiting game is pressing the button when it’s already lit up, on its way to retrieve passengers.  Worse than standing idle is when some rando walks in and presses the button after you already have the aforementioned four times.  Do you think I like to hang out in lobbies staring at myself in the mirrored elevator doors while others whip by me with somewhere to go?  Do you assume that I am such an unpracticed citizen that the first action I take when walking into the elevator area is NOT pushing the button?  Confirm your building mate’s competence by hanging out like everyone else for a second.  If a couple of minutes pass and there seems to be no activity on the front, permission granted to press the button another six times; surely the sixth round will make all the difference.

No, you cannot forget your manners

I don’t know about your office but mine has a constant need to clean the bathrooms, which is timed perfectly to occur at the exact moment my morning coffee meets my bladder.  Though the sinks and porcelain thrones receive multiple wipe downs a day, I cannot figure out at what point the room becomes a disaster. Toilet rolls unraveled on the floor stretching across stalls, non-use of the seat protectors, stray paper towels clogging the sink- it’s amazing what professional women are capable of with only 2 minutes between meetings to take a bathroom break.

My friend was at a doctor’s office last week when she noticed a sign placed at eye level on the back of the stall door.  It’s not so much the reminder to clean up after yourself that is unyielding; it’s the use of the phrase ‘nasty ladies’ to address the female population and far too many exclamation points that makes me wonder if this was approved prior to posting. My plea to professional women everywhere is to remember your manners and practical rhymes learned in kindergarten- “If you sprinkle where you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie”; life advice that will always apply.

No, you cannot match your doll

It’s always a fun moment to open my email and find a gem like this.  My friend forwarded a photo taken on the subway of a man looking completely comfortable wearing a pair of python pants and a turtleneck while holding a doll in his lap with a matching ensemble. 

That was a sentence loaded with things that are wrong. 

I’m not sure which to address first, the outfit or the doll.  Let’s ignore the turtleneck, as torturing and unnecessary in September as it may be; no sane grown man should feel at ease walking out of his apartment in a number like this with a twin mini-me doll in tow. I wonder if the man is jealous that they happened to have a full python outfit to fit the doll but not one in his own size?  I venture to assume he made the outfits himself because I have yet to come across a store in New York that sells this type of pairing, though I’m sure St. Marks has something very close.  I would also like to note the innocent subway riders seated nearby, who seem to be trying very hard to ignore the fact that they are in the presence of a person with agalmatophilia.  As strange as it is, this is just another example of a moment where you almost allow yourself to get worked up about the ridiculousness of the situation, then remember you’re in New York and, frankly, this isn’t the strangest thing you’ve seen today.