The Seven Worst Moments In The Life of a New Yorker
Yes, they’ve all happened:
1. The pounding bass line that’s keeping you from sleeping on a weeknight has gotten so irritating that you venture, bleary-eyed and pajama-clad, into the brightly lit hallway of your apartment building only to discover that the offending apartment, the Party Animals, the horrific dubstep echoing through your brain like the Grinch harping on about NOISE NOISE NOISE — is coming from the apartment of your one friend in the building. You retreat back to your apartment, faced with the choice: do I call the cops on my friends? Do I pretend it doesn’t bother me? Do I say something? Why couldn’t it have been the frigid nasty couple in 23 who leave their packages blocking up the foyer for weeks!
2. For some reason, you think it will be a good idea to go to Midtown. Or at least, not that bad. As you emerge from the subway, you see dozens of cops in uniform standing at a barricade. What’s happening here? Oh no – it’s not – but it is. It’s a fucking PARADE DAY.
3. Seeing your train on the platform from halfway down/up the stairs, running and shoving people out of the way screaming “SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!,” launching yourself into the car and collapsing, panting, onto an orange seat, where you sit for another ten minutes – everyone staring at you – that train was being held in the station. You didn’t need to run. You never needed to run. Calm down, Thirsty McThirsterson.
4. Ramming your crotch into the turnstyle bar as hard as you can, only to learn too late that that beep that you thought meant “Fare Accepted! Go Ahead!” actually meant “Swipe Again, Asshole!” Have fun explaining the bruise on your vulva.
5. The awkward cha-cha of Bikes vs. Pedestrians: “Hey bicyclist, are you going to run this light? Should I cross? I’m stepping out into the street – oh, you’re going to hit me? Aren’t you supposed to stop at a red light? Oh, now I look like an idiot. Well, suck my middle finger, asshole, learn to drive!”
6. Waiting 26 minutes for the G train to arrive at 8:54 on a Monday morning, squeezing yourself into the over-full car, you barely miss getting your hair and coat caught in the doors chiming shut, sighing with relief as the train grinds into motion only to hear, “SHOWTIME!”
7. You put your foot down on the sidewalk, just walking like normal, and you feel a sickening squisshhhh.