No, you cannot leave me barefoot

The month of August was a whirlwind as I was rarely in the city.  I was sure in all of my travels that the stories of real people doing really ridiculous things would flood in, leaving me with a mean case of temporary carpal tunnel from all of the blogging to be had.  Funny enough, it took coming back to the city that never sleeps and hearing a co-workers morning commute horror story to confirm that New York never fails to deliver great material.

It was Friday morning; everyone woke up praising the weekend Gods because, though it was a short week due to the Labor Day holiday, four days is really all any sane person can take.  As I was logging into my email and getting the day started, I overheard a co-worker relaying a story about the shoes currently on her feet and how they were not her favorite.  Never missing an opportunity to distract myself with a convo on shoes, I asked her why she wore them if they did not suit her taste.  It was not the time to be asking this question.

Earlier that morning as she stepped off the express train to cross the platform for the local, a distracted commuter stepped on the back of her shoe, causing it to come right off her foot and fall through the very small space between the train and the platform.  The almighty subway voice is continuously reminding people to ‘mind the gap’ when stepping off the train, which is virtually ignored seeing as the ‘gap’ is really only 5 inches wide.  The man pushed right past her running towards the closing doors of the local train, not even offering a quick yet heartless apology.  As it starts to compute what has just happened, my co-worker was faced with a fight-or-flight situation, options including:

1. Catch an uptown train back to her apartment, where the station is five blocks from her front door. 
2. Make a mad dash for the local train as previously planned.
3. Jump on to the track, retrieve lost shoe, and use super upper-body strength to propel back on the platform.
4. Cry.

Because New Yorkers tend to take the fight rather than flight options, said co-worker goes with #2, giving the consequences of this choice a few more stops to set in until reaching her final destination.  Once in Union Square, she is forced to hobble onto the platform, up the subway stairs, and through the concrete jungle they call a park, all with one shoe.  Every female in Manhattan knows the cardinal rule: you may be out on the town in your cutest pair of 5-inch stilettos, to which no surprise will kill you 2 hours in.  You will form blisters, wobble at the ankles, even chance mild bleeding, but at no cost will you take off your shoes and walk barefoot through the streets of New York.  This is not college, people; there are REAL germs here.  Knowing this, my co-worker really had no choice but to hobble to the nearest store to obtain an intermediate pair of anything in order to get through the day.  Being 8:30 am, the nearby H&M’s and Gaps of the world were not yet open for business, leaving just one option- the Payless Shoe Source an avenue and 2 blocks away.  Though the possibility of contracting a mild foot fungus was high, she walked tall- past the Green Market vendors, past the bum outside of the McDonald’s, past the piles of trash which had been leaking their guts onto the sidewalk since 2pm the day before.  She just kept walking.  Poised as a petunia, she was almost there when a naysayer with no heart yelled, “Hey, where’s your other shoe?” as he passed her by.  Clearly this woman did not leave the house and forget one shoe.  Did this man also yell to the guy who walks around with a cat on his head or the woman who pushes her rainbow-colored poodle around in a shopping cart? Did he ask them why they did these strange things?  No, he did not; he decided to zero in on the one thing that, though odd, was more than likely not the product of crazy town thinking.  Ignoring this defeating question, she made it to the Payless where the cheapest, work-appropriate shoe left much to be desired.  After shelling out unnecessary cash, she finally found herself in the office, explaining a story about why these shoes just weren’t her favorite while I questioned why her foot was not currently soaking in a vat of hand sanitizer.  In hindsight, knowing where the original decision to catch the local train would take her, I’m pretty sure the slim possibility of death in option 3 now seems more appealing.

No, you cannot take a nap at a concert

There's nothing like a country concert in Jersey- the boots, the cowboy hats, the guidos and guidettes who seem somehow out of place.  It was an overcast day at the New Meadowlands Stadium, home of the New York Jets, where a slew of interesting tailgates were occurring.  Looking around, I wondered whether some of the people there actually liked Kenny Chesney or simply had heard there was an outdoor party they should attend in the parking lot that day.

Upon entering the packed stadium, we made our way to the third tier with all of the other broke 20-something Manhattanites, finding our seats along with a few empty around us.  As the Zac Brown Band sang us a little Chicken Fried, two men claimed the seats next to us, though their sureness of this choice looked unstable as obviously they were not supposed to be sitting there.  When the actual owners of the seats came a few minutes later, the nomads moved on to empty spaces a couple rows below, along with five other friends.  There they proceeded to smoke and carry on, disturbing our fellow concert-goers who simply came to have a good time and hear some great music.  Eventually, those seats were also taken by the actual ticket holders and all but the original two gentleman (word used loosely) were left to watch the show.  I suppose all of this moving rows tired them out- one of the men left the show completely, while the other, as you can see in the photo below, decided to take a little snooze.  I can't comprehend how one can fall asleep in a packed audience of 55,000 and blaring live music, but this man quieted my nasaying as he proved it can be done.  Saddest part is, his friends left him there and did not return to make sure he was conscious and/or had a ride home.  If the music bores you that much, it's probably safe to say you should have stopped the party at the tailgate.

No, you cannot display your full moon in public

In 1992 New York's highest state court ruled that women can be top-free in public; fortunately during this unnecessary case they did not approve of baring the bottom half, as I'm sure this would have resulted in naked people roaming Manhattan at all times.  While out in the Lower East Side this weekend, my friends and I spotted a large fire engine and 12 firemen standing idly on the corner.  You'd think there was some sort of emergency with all of the commotion, but alas they were a little too preoccupied to be putting out any fires.  There, standing outside of Spitzer's, was the real show stopper- a girl with her ass completely hanging out, dress flapping in the wind.  Best part was not only had she been standing there for quite some time, but had fully mooned the entire squadron of FDNY Engine 9, Ladder 6 without one of them pointing out her wardrobe malfunction.  I felt bad forcing my friend to stop texting and start taking some photos, but this moment doesn't come often enough to go without notice.  Let's learn something from our illegal friend here, shall we?

1. Avoid dresses made with back closure apparatus 
2. If you feel a breeze in places you usually don't, it's probably a good idea to assess the situation
3. And most importantly, always sport cute underwear because you never know who may see it

No, you cannot pimp your child out at a bar

If you've ever been to the Hamptons, you've been to Cyril's.  If you've been to Cyril's, you were more than likely there on a Saturday afternoon- sun shining brightly in the midday sky, drink in hand, 20-somethings with next to nothing on.  This my friends is a beach party; you don't come in your Lily dress, wearing heels or a bow tie, and you certainly don't bring your child.  In the backyard of this seafood spectacular is where you can find a bar dedicated to concocting only BBC's (look it up) and a live DJ ready to let that rum topper go to work.  Apparently this man saw the non-sober afternoon soiree as the perfect place to introduce his 1-year old son to the ladies.  As you can tell by the faces of the men surrounding the dance circle, they were not happy about this small but lethal competition.  Just as the dance-off had begun, the tiny tot was scooted out into the middle of the floor, abounding encouragement coming from whom I assume is his father (though alcoholic uncle attempting to pick up chicks is a viable second thought.)  Don't get me wrong, it was absolutely adorable watching the little man get into the music with a crowd egging him on, random girls picking him up and slinging him around the dance floor, aka gravel.  It just seems this would be more appropriate if at a wedding or a child's birthday party, not in a popular bar full of unruly frat boys and girls 3 sheets to the wind roaming around.  Just saying.

No, you cannot be a seat hog

I've been through my fair share of airports in the past 6 months, taking witness to the good, the bad, and the unnecessary.  I don't believe you can step foot in one of these flying facilities without seeing an off-beat character or two, making for some of the best people-watching hubs around.   Take my friend Jami, who just last week was traveling when she came upon a man in quite the precarious position.  Waiting in the airport for hours at a time can make one tired, tired enough to take a short snooze before the second-delayed flight of the day finally decides to board.  (Viable option, though I would recommend using this as an opportunity to visit the bar kiosk conveniently located near the gate for functioning alcoholics and parents with screaming children alike.)  If a nap is in order, it is commonly performed in the upright position as it is not polite nor sanitary to get creative in this environment. 

Unfortunately for Jami's fellow traveler, the decision to take up an entire seating section only ended in personal dismay.  He was too late in learning that this was not his comfy futon at home but rather three seats separated by narrow arm rests which were intended to only rest arms, not serve as a McDonald's play place for grown men.  I wasn't there to bear witness, but I'm assuming after this man realized he was stuck, a large power struggle commenced which ended in the chair's victory.  I would also like to note that he has become so comfortable in his horizontal hover that apparently shoes were no longer needed.  The take-aways here are obvious:

1) Don't hog the seats at the airport; there are far too many people that don't want to sit next to each other for you to take up an entire row.
2) Wearing shoes in public places is mandatory, not by the Department of Health, but rather by your body's immune system and the prevention of nightmares regarding foot fungus.
3) This could have all been prevented if he would have stopped by the aforementioned bar, as shoes and common sense are enforced when drinking in public.

No, you cannot claim a circus tent as your umbrella

On a rainy day in the city you can expect to find numerous umbrella casualties in the trash bins on every street corner.  For some reason or another, the wind whipping between skyscrapers does not lend for friendly conditions on your protective shield.  Umbrellas come in all shapes and sizes, colors and patterns, but there is an agreed upon code between New Yorkers which says, when in the open state, umbrellas can extend a maximum of 18" - 24" inches from the dry person's body.  It is when a person breaks this unspoken rule that things get a little messy.  Sidewalks are only so wide here, not to mention the random piles of trash bags, scattered puddles, and scurrying puppies to avoid.  Then you run into the man who feels that in order to stay completely dry it is necessary to carry a golf umbrella the size of a small kiddie pool over his head.  Or better yet the old lady with a monstrosity in her hand flailing around in the wind, coming straight at you with no regard for personal space or possible eyeball loss.

Take the two men pictured below who both ricocheted off of my regulation-sized umbrella under an unavoidable scaffolding during after-work foot traffic.  I personally do not appreciate your gargantuan cover up; it may keep you dry but tends to take out the rest of the population as you stroll by.  An umbrella is meant to be a small and portable protection from rain, not an apparatus which could serve as a carnival ride for small children.  Lucky for you, also found on a rainy day in the city are pop-up stations selling the correct size umbrella for $5!  Do yourself a favor and invest in one, which eventually will end up in the corner trash bin, therefore allowing me to avoid being inappropriately groped by your poor choice of collapsible fabric.

 

No, you cannot interrupt my precious work out

My friend Kathryn is a semi-professional Yogi and lately has been telling me about the unnecessary behavior of her fellow classmates.  Smacking gum crassly in a serene studio, belching loudly in the middle of a downward dog, organic moans during a full wheel pose- all forbidden interferences while attempting to become one with your inner self.  I take a group class here or there and have found not only excess noise as a disruption, but also the general population's inability to follow a beat.  Growing up as a dancer, I am versed in the practice of a congregation of individuals collectively moving as one.  I completely understand that not everyone has had formal training nor is going to a class for any other reason than good ol' fun exercise.  Though this is the case, I would like to consider asking all gyms to require at least partial rhythm as a prerequisite to entering the room's threshold.

Nothing ruins a workout more than when class has begun, there's a good flow of energy in the room, and WHAM!  there's that random person who walks in 10 minutes late, not only looking surprised that there's no where left to stand, but also creating a ruckus while attempting to collect a mat, body bar, and various free weights to participate in the proceedings.  This person can never find a space on the perimeter of the room so they meander their way into the middle, (somewhere closer to you, nonetheless), laying their mat down inches from where valuable floor territory has already been claimed.  20 minutes into the 45 minute class they are finally ready to synchronize with the others; though they try their darnedest to step onto their right, hop on their left, and spin around quickly, they remain 4 counts behind the music for the remainder of the course.  No sooner does the latecomer get on track when you notice the flailer that has been in the front corner of the room all along.  This person is legitimately making up their own moves with no regard for the instructor's direction or the downbeat of the music.  You then realize you were thankful for the distraction of the latecomer; personally, I'd much rather watch somebody catch up in the race with some sort of uniformity than flutter aimlessly until they reach the finish line.  Sorry flailer, if I was the one checking rhythm and comprehension skills at the door, you would have found yourself on a stationary bike far away from the group exercise room.

No, you cannot force your pet to support gay pride

It's Gay Pride week here in the Big Apple, which is basically an enormous outdoor party that gives anyone in the LGBT club free reign to act a fool in public while wearing 60% less clothing than usual.  I happen to live in Chelsea, the epicenter of these shenanigans, which year after year forces me to either stay in my apartment all day or take the chance of over stimulation by rainbow-colored things accosting my eyes. With the passing of the same-sex marriage law this week in NY the party grew to immense proportions, causing every Tom, Dick, and Harry (or is it Harry Ann?)  to come out in support. 

While walking in the West Village from brunch the day before the parade extravaganza, my friends and I noticed a small group of people stopped in the middle of the sidewalk staring into an apartment window.  Sitting in the window was a white cat straight out of a Fancy Feast commercial wearing a gay pride-inspired jester collar, complete with tiny bells, around her neck.  She was staring at the passerby's with a look of utter disdain, sitting so still I would have thought it was a statue if not for the assumption  that nobody would actually buy such a ridiculous window ornament.  Personally, I'm not a big fan of cats but after surveying the annoyance being fired out of every pore of this miserable animal's body I actually felt a little bad for her.  It's one thing if you want to support gay pride week by donning rainbow apparel and belting the YMCA at the top of your lungs, but it's a whole other ball game if you get your helpless animal involved who has no formidable opinion  on the matter.  Unless you've seen your cat batting for the other team with the neighbor's feline out in the alley, I think it's best to leave her out of it.

No, you cannot groom yourself in public

Brushing hair while walking down the street, painting fingernails in bars, even picking a wedgie or two- all personal things I've seen performed in public that can be dismissed as semi-passable.   Then there are the things you should only do in the confines of your own home.  Take for instance the time I was riding the Long Island Rail Road when I heard a faint snipping sound coming from a few rows in front of me.  After craning my neck into the aisle to figure out what it was, I was appalled to find a woman clipping. her. toenails.  Not only was she clipping those suckers off, she was letting them fall right onto the floor to mix in with the other various articles of filth.

My friend Alex stumbled into her own unsanitary situation on her flight to New York this morning.  Being sequestered on a plane for over an hour with no sign of take-off leads one to look for alternate forms of entertainment.  While searching for something more interesting than the Sky Magazine stuffed into the seat pocket in front of her, she noticed that her neighbor had too decided to find a distraction.  Compact mirror in hand, this woman took to shaping her eyebrows with a pair of tweezers, all while buckled as the seat belt light was still on.  Listen, nobody wants to see signs of a unibrow but there is a time and a place for erratic tweezing and a seat 5 inches away from a place that I cannot escape from is not that place.

No, you cannot solicit something as free that is already free

Sunday was a gorgeous day in New York, all the better to partake in outdoor activities.  My roommate and I decided to take a leisurely bike ride in Central Park (which is actually not so leisurely towards the hills around 106th street.)  About half way through our 2nd lap we decided it was time for a mandatory margarita break.  We sat on a terrace in the park, listening to some random man play a piano covered in aluminum foil while sipping on our overpriced limey libations when we noticed a woman with a sign that read 'Free Hugs'.  Although her poster offered a complimentary cuddle it seemed no one was taking her up on the proposition.  Even her friend/manager sat down in defeat as the scheming to get innocent park-goers to hug a jovial, sweaty woman only proved to be done in vain.  You have to give her kudos for being such a good samaritan, though I don't think any sane person is going to give or receive hugs from strangers in this city when it will more than likely lead to a mean case of bed bugs.  No time for hugging lady, my 2-hour bike rental is up and the awkwardness of this situation is far too inevitable.