Rachel: I wanna play a Dynamite.
Hilary: Rachel, you can't. You're too white to play a dynamite.
Rachel: I could get that Michael Jackson disease, only backwards...
Hilary: ...
How is it that I have been living in the city for 5 months, seen 8 Broadway shows, gotten trashed at blockheads, gone on a city-wide scavenger hunt, walked through Central Park 50 times, and haven't yet been to a museum or gone ice skating?
Yesterday was a terrible day. I literally had a misunderstanding with every single person I came into contact with. Except for Brooke, but that's mainly because I don't think she listens to a thing I say.
I take the same train at about the same time to work every morning. It is almost always packed, and I almost never see the same people (which is astonishing to me - I pay attention to people, and there are rarely repeats). This morning, as I was getting on the train, my book slipped out of my hand in my usual semi-klutzy demeanor and slid along the ground, just about falling into the space between the platform and the train. Before I had a moment to even react and go after the book, another train passenger grabbed for it, saving said book from it's gruesome fate. I was slightly taken aback by this gesture, seeing as how ever since I moved into the city, the main thing I've noticed is how self absorbed people here can be. Everyone walks on their own line with their own agenda, and it's up to you to move out of the way, lest you get trampled. People don't hold doors for you as often, or tell you when you've dropped your scarf - and yet here was this man practically throwing himself on the ground to save my crappy little four dollar paperback, and almost getting closed out of the subway car. I pushed myself into the door to hold the train, and the man stood up, handed me my book, and gave me the friendliest smile I've seen all winter. He nodded his head as I thanked him, and that was that.
Continuing on the subject of subways, there is a man who works a newsstand at the 14th street station who is always wearing ivory-colored gloves. I would normally assume that this was being done for one of two reasons: 1. It's cold, and/or 2. He doesn't want to handle money with his bare hands. However, this morning, I noticed that his gloves were still ivory in color, but the palms were entirely red, as well as some of the fingertips. So now, I think he's wearing gloves to cover his tracks from all the people he must murder under the ground in the 14th street subway stop. He probably hides the bodies chopped up in all the crates stacked up in the corner. Or maybe I should watch a little less Law and Order.
My winter coat is big and poofy and white - essentially, I take warmth in a giant marshmallow. It isn't a-lined or cinched at the waist like I would have preferred, but it keeps me warm. I did not, however, take into consideration how dirty a white coat can get when riding subways. While last year, my jacket remained a pristine glowing white from winters' beginning to end, this year, I want to dip it in paint so it doesn't look gross anymore. The lesson I have learned here? The subways are dirty, and owning a white coat is not ideal. I would buy a new one, but I just cannot justify spending money on something that I already own, and that serves its purpose. Next year: those neon coats the NYPD wear.
I desperately need to get over my pet peeve of hearing people chew food, because it's beginning to take an unbearable turn for the worse. I've actually gotten accustomed to muting the television whenever the Kit-Kat commercial comes on. It's like my own personal hell. Strap me to a horse on a deserted island with only caffeinated soda, potato salad, and the sound of people chewing their food, and it's all over.
Want to know what not to wear? Go to Kmart for their bad eighties couture. Eesh.
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