Trigger Happy

Besides having a stressful work day that involved having FedEx pick up a shipment from a DHL warehouse, I was running late for my doctor's appointment, i.e., appt. was at 3:40 pm, which was the time I left my office! The office said: "If you don't get here by 4 pm, the doctor will leave."

The first cab I tried to jump in had a paying customer that was taking FOREVER to leave. So, I used my nifty taxi hailing reflexes to get another cab and jumped in! "3rd Ave and 80th please! I'm in a rush!" I yelped.
"My credit card machine doesn't work, is that okay?" asked the driver as he sped up 6th Ave and 37th. I looked in my wallet--$8.00, shit! Instead of getting out, I said, "I'll just have to use a ATM machine once we get there."

The news flashed on the cab's TV screen; normally when the credit card function doesn't work, the TV doesn't either...but it was. "Are you sure your machine doesn't work?" I asked.
He replied, "Well, if you try it later and it works, you pay me double, if it doesn't work, you pay nothing!" he said, laughing.

"Um...so does it work or not?" I asked suspiciously.  He paused, then finally answered, "Look, this isn't my cab."

Jesus Christ. I looked at my watch, it was 3:55 pm and we were finally heading through Central Park to the east side. "So is that why you don't want to use the credit card machine? Because you won't get the money?" I asked. He didn't answer.

I looked at the meter, it read $7.59. We were at the intersection of 73 and 3rd Ave. I knew I had no time to go to an ATM and make it to the doctor. I pulled my money out and asked, "Can you just let me out here? I will run the rest of the way. I only have $8.00."
"Don't worry, just give me what you have. I'll take you the rest of the way." he said nonchallantly.

45 minutes later, I was in patient room #4 and had just received a steroid injection in my right hand for "trigger finger," modernly dubbed "texting tendinitis" (I Googled it). So my new LG Rumor that slides up for "ease" of texting has done me wrong. I wonder if I can get out of work on disability?

Good Will to Good Riddance

It was time to get rid of some clothes I never wear--instead of throwing them away, I decided to donate them to a thrift store in my neighborhood. Should be easy to do, right? Wrong.

I didn't even make it through the doors of thrift store #1 because there was a sign that read: "Not accepting any donations. We are full. No exceptions." Wow, I thought, I guess times are so tough all the Upper East Siders are hard pressed to get a tax break!

I then walked over to third avenue and 82nd street and tried thrift store #2. "You missed the donation hours. It's until 1 pm on Saturdays."
I asked, "What about during the week?" "11 am to 3 pm on weekdays," the worker replied.

I was feeling dejected. As I waddled up the street with my big, white trash bag full of clothes, I decided to try one more time. Determination! I walked into thrift store #3 and a sales rep directed me to the donation area in the back. I approached the woman and she said dryly, "It's too late."
"Well, the guy in the front said it was okay," I said with an attitude. The sales woman sighed, annoyed. "Look," I said, "do you want the donation or not? I'm not going to force you!"
"Okay...let me see what you have..." she replied.

Five minutes later, the woman accepted half of my goods and gave me a tax receipt. What an ordeal--only in New York City do you have to be a salesman to donate to thrift stores!

NJ Transit - No Where Better To Go?

It's always a culture shock when I leave the city after two days and then return. I was in "the country" (as my sister-in-law loves to call it) of central Jersey this weekend--it was nice to get away, but it was quite a task to get there.

Although we ran, we missed our connection in Newark (thank you conductor for telling us the wrong track), then spent 45 grueling minutes among the friendly inhabitants of Newark--one in particular was very excited to let everyone know she wanted to "Kill people!....Crazy people too!"

"Change for coffee?" another local asked the hubby, who took one whiff of the intoxicated panhandler and decided not to contribute to his Irish coffee addiction.

Alas, we returned to Manhattan on Sunday. As we rode on the 6 train from 59th and Lex, a man sitting in front of us yelled at a boy by the back door, "Is that bothering you or something?!" Hubby and I couldn't see what the kid was doing since his back was to us, so we immediately thought he was pissing! God no! We lifted our feet and moved our bags.

When we walked off the train, I turned around and noticed the "don't lean on door" sticker was removed from the back door; I was relieved, and for a split second I thought, "Is that all he was doing?" Newark taught me scarier things can happen outside of the subways of NYC.

Get Out of MY %$@#* SPACE!!

By C.Wilson
No one said the streets of NYC are quiet, but when voices can be heard above honking cars, I know something is up.

There were two men shouting back and forth about a parking space in front of my apartment. One man (apparently the first to get to the space) vacated his car to yell through the parking poacher's window. Just inches apart, they volleyed insults and statements about civility.

When the argument failed to settle the situation, the man that already abandoned his car to prove his point, defended his rights to the coveted parking spot by standing in it.

After I realized this one-man protest could go on for hours, I suddenly remembered recent headlines about innocent bystanders getting shot. The good New Yorker that I am, I snapped this picture and rushed into my apartment!

Praise Jesus--and have a drink

I'm not one of those NY'ers who drool over Fashion Week events, although I am not one to turn down a chance for free food/drink either! Speaking of free, I had the chance to help out at a FW event in Time Warner Center a week ago. It wasn't the most exclusive (yes, there were strollers and babies crawling on the floor), but I did enjoy some tasty cocktails.

While sipping away with my co-worker, a twenty-ish young guy with a bookbag walked by us and gave me a strange look. He turned around and asked me, "Are you an actress? I noticed your face--a director would love to work with you."

I tried not to laugh as I turned to him and politely said, "No. I work in PR."
"Well you should be. I'm trying to be an actor," he replied. Then he looked at my co-worker and asked, "Are you a model?" She said, "Yes I am," with a straight face and I almost cracked up laughing.

"Where are you from?" I asked him.
"I am from the Mother Earth," and he moved his hand in a circle around his head. "But I'm really from the tri-state area." (meaning New Jersey, I thought to myself). He continued, "It's really tough to get into acting here. I was just an extra in the Disney movie, "Step It Up," but they might cut me out of the scene--I had a side-ways cap on hip-hop style. Do you two go to church?"
"No." my co-worker and I said in unison (this kid was a chatterbox!).
"Well, I'm not religious but I go to church because a lot of actors and artists hang out there. You should check out my church, here's a card, it's called Journey Church."
"I don't care," said my co-worker dryly.
The aspiring actor replied, "I love New Yorkers, they just never care! Well, see you two later!"

As he walked away, I noticed a pamphlet sticking out of his bookbag pocket that said "God" in the title. Interesting, I thought. He almost had me fooled for a non-believer, I guess his acting skills weren't so bad after all.

Weight Gain

It took me over a week to realize this story was blog-worthy, don't know why (I think I am having writer's block). Nevertheless, I was at the gym doing my normal workout, when I noticed an older woman enter. She looked like your typical 50-something botox-injected, post-plastic surgery, "I'm in denial about my old age" Upper East Side victim--not that there's anything wrong with that...

She was inspecting all the 45-pound bar bells on the weight-lifting seats, but couldn't find what she was looking for. She turned to one of the body builders and asked, "Where is the 30-pound bar?"

"It's over in the corner" he said, pointing to the right side of the room. She walked over to it, looked at it and said, "No, that's not it. It doesn't have my name on it!"

Everyone within ear shot looked at each other puzzled. As if she could sense their confusion, she giggled and said to no one in particular, "I write my name on it so that I know which one is mine." After she failed to find the one she wrote her name on, she settles for the barbell in the corner.

Before starting her set, she pulled out a black permanent marker and wrote her initials on the circular edge of the bar. I guess that's personalization at its finest. They say humans spend a few hundred hours a year looking for things. What do you find you are always misplacing or looking for?

Not So Kosher

By C. Wilson
It was a warm, sunny day and I was meeting a friend for lunch on 35th and 7th avenue. As I entered the restaurant, I noticed a yellow "Closed" notice taped on the door.

After realizing the NYC Department of Health had altered my plans to eat lunch at Mr. Broadway Kosher Deli, I sat outside on a bench to wait for my friend.

While observing people passing by, I watched construction workers leaving the deli for lunch (smart); then a family approached the closed deli.

Now picture this: The closure notice was posted on BOTH glass doors, it's bright yellow and EXTREMELY visible. After the husband/father scanned it, he looked at his wife, shrugged it off and held the door open for his family as they entered. I guess some people's eating standards aren't quite as refined as the Department of Health's--either that or the literacy rate has decreased drastically in this town.