No, you cannot be that lost

With 10 stories, 7 restaurants and an entire city block under its foundation, the Macy’s of Herald Square in New York city proudly boasts the name “America’s Largest Department Store”.   As the holidays quickly approach, hoards of visitors from around the world come to see the spectacle that is home to the Thanksgiving Day Parade and Miracle on 34th Street.  As you can imagine, these  wide-eyed and bushy-tailed voyagers have no clue where they’re going. 

Cue the clever yet unnecessary app! 

Macy’s has unveiled an indoor GPS iPhone app that gives turn-by-turn directions to guide the eager shopper through perfume counters, clothing racks and shoe departments alike.  Listen, I’m in the technology field and think this is actually a creative use of the GPS feature but let’s re-evaluate the repercussions of this.  Now instead of trudging through the chaos with semi-alert tourists, you will be dealing with a bunch of head-down autobots attempting to get to Aunt Annie’s on the 4th floor while never once looking up.  To make sure this has a creepy factor, they will also be able to track your every movement around the store and bombard you with ads of things you clearly don’t need nearby.  Very clever retail trick, Macy’s; fortunately I only get into the store about once a year and now with your handy app I’ll be in and out to use your public restroom in a flash.

No, you cannot panhandle in public

Manhattan is full of panhandlers; if you've ever walked down Canal Street you can clearly vouch for this statement.  Usually though, the realistic fakes are hidden behind a door, down an alley, past the hanging chickens, up a dark stairwell- three knocks and a whistle later you'll find yourself a Pucci purse for a 1/4 of the real thing.  While walking through Herald Square last weekend my afternoon stroll was interrupted by a block worth of bag thieves and a gaggle of tourists aiding them in breaking the law.  Purses were sprawled out all over sheets on the side of 6th avenue; the unassuming travelers didn't stand a chance.  Who can pass up a counterfeit handbag that has been massaged with the scent of car emissions and splashed with the omnipresent trash juice of New York City?  A housewife from Iowa surely cannot.