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Sometimes I really hate New York. I especially hate how everyone thinks this city is so awesome.
Maybe I'm still an outsider. I've only lived here for eight months, and am a true Midwesterner at heart …
But consider this … New York is called the Big Apple … Except everything here is miniature. It'd be a great if only kindergartners lived here - but that's not the case.
Think of the restaurants. You go out to brunch with a friend to catch up and chat. But you end up squished into a table that's inches from two other tables. So you and your friend have breakfast with four strangers, hearing about disastrous Saturday night dates or the annoying mother-in-law of someone you'll never see again.
In Minnesota, there's plenty of space. There's even buffet restaurants with different kinds of meatloaf spread across three tables.
Then there are the New York grocery stores. They're always out of something essential - milk, bread, cheese - and require that only one person shop in an aisle at a time.
In Minnesota, I'd pack 15 bags of groceries into the backseat of my car and not return to the store for a month. That can't happen in this city. You only buy what you can carry. New Yorker's tell me the solution is to shop several times per week … but grocery shopping shouldn't be like going to the gym.
Even a lot of the dogs in this city are small. You've seen them - matchstick legs, bodies the size of beer cans, bundled up in sweaters, raincoats or floppy hats. You almost step on them when they are shopping with their owners. In Minnesota, THOSE kinds of dogs would just get lost in the snow drifts.
Then there are the mean people on the subway.
People push to get inside a train first … they won't give up their seat for old folks. No one makes eye contact … and forget about small talk.
In Minnesota … the long-haired guy at the bus stop knew I was training for a triathlon. The bus driver always wanted to know what big story I was working on.
I was thinking about this the other day while riding the train up from SoHO.
An old man came aboard and started singing for money. His layered clothes were dirty and he had a graying bandage wrapped around his hand. Despite his dark skin and patches of a beard, I could tell that even his face was dirty. But he was perfectly in tune. His scratchy voice dipped down deep, and he made his body follow, jiving to his own music. Everyone on the subway stared at the floor as he held out a metal can for money. He started up Rod Stewart "If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy, come on sugar let me know."
The man walked toward my end of the train, tapping a white cane in front of him. A woman sitting across from me … older - white, in her sixties - pursed her lips and closed her book as the man stopped in front of us.
I thought she was annoyed he had disrupted her reading. "Typical New Yorker," I thought, a little disgusted.
The woman put her book in a big purple satchel. "Incredible, she's moving seats," I thought. She got up and walked over to the man. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He stopped in the middle of his song - and said, "Oh thank you, bless you, thank you …ohhh bless you…" then went back to singing.
I stared at the woman. She sat down and pulled out the book. I gave the man a dollar and thought, maybe New York isn't so bad … and maybe I'm not so smart.
Back announce:
Ellen Gabler left most of her belongings in Minnesota ... and is still unsure of when she will leave New York to go collect them.