Why "Thank You"

Maybe it's my midwestern parents, maybe its the upbeat, positive attitude where I grew up, or maybe it's because I was just simply raised properly, but I think its pretty standard to get a simple "Thank You" when I hold the door for you.

Since moving to NYC, I don't think I have sneezed without a "bless you" yet every single time I stop to hold the door open for someone, 9 times out of 10, it is not followed with a thank you. It makes me wish that door had slammed you in the face!

My favorite memory was coming out of the elevator bank at my old company followed by some slow moving, older men, presumably partners in the firm. I had my lunch and purse in my hand, yet I stopped and waited to hold the door for these men. Not a SINGLE one uttered any sort of word or noise resembling gratitude.

Mothers and fathers of this great city, please teach your kids proper manners of saying thank you. I don't need to stand outside Grand Central freezing and holding the door for a family of 7, I'm not a porter or valet. I'm just a nice, courteous, concerned citizen who worries about the basic manners escaping this city.

Dryer Vents

Walking along the streets of New York City is like walking no where else. We look up to gorgeous skyscrapers, see all different kinds of people and dogs everywhere we look and are greeted with temptation at every corner, in the form of expensive clothing stores, exotic-looking members of the opposite gender, and, of course, all the tasty eateries. But, our leisurely city walks are different for another, more sinister, more repulsive reason:

Dryer vents from restaurants.

Nothing interrupts a beautiful stroll with a friend or a significant other more than the putrid scent of garbage incinerator… or a hearty breath of Hamburger smoke… or a generous gulp of air filled with the odors of burnt rubber, spoiled greens and cleaning products.

In New York City, despite the fact that plenty of restaurants point their air vents inward, toward alleys and courtyards, there are still many, even along the finest avenues of the Upper East Side, that direct their unwanted exhaust up the nasal passages of poor passers-by outside.

I’ll never forget the day last summer when I was jogging along Park Avenue and, in an innocent gasp for air, I was forced to cower in disgust, overcome by dry heaves brought on by the burnt-bread and cheese odors being casually emitted by a fancy French bistro.

LaGuardia Airport

Growing up, I loved going to the airport. The airport was a wonderful, clean and exciting place to pick up grandma and grandpa. Other times it was the initial venue marking the beginning of an exhilarating journey into the Florida sun or to see the fun faces of friends in California. In my early days, I looked forward to a pre-flight cookie and a comfy leather seat as I awaited my departure. Later on, I would grow accustomed to the frothy pleasure of a pre-flight Guinness. And in every case, I was met with welcoming faces, wonderful Midwestern attitudes and a courteous punctuality that I came to expect.

And then I moved to New York.

While our fair city boasts magnificent skyscrapers and perpetually fills them with the brightest minds in the world, somehow, New York has completely overlooked our means of air transport.

For the cash-conscious, perhaps the most acute shortcoming of LaGuardia airport is that there’s no way to travel there via subway. If your poor body wants to steer itself through the stress of the M60 bus, the MTA menacingly invites you to do so. Or you can take a $30 cab. Your call.

If you aren’t fond of construction-site port-o-potties or your grandmother’s cramped, mothy attic, you’re probably best off staying away from LaGuardia airport. The terminals are filthy and hot and everyone is mean. Schedules are meaningless because each and every flight is delayed at least an hour. Security is tough, and slow, because it’s New York City and the dining options are unacceptable.

Among the many enemies I’ve made waiting for oft-delayed flights are roaches, mice and exceptionally rude flight attendants. One time, I had to catch a flight right after work and didn’t have time to eat. When I got to the terminal, my only options were stale pretzels from Aunty Annie’s and some fairly scary-looking Dunkin’ Donuts (served by Rodrigo, who, presumably, flunked his hygiene refresher course from his GED program). Regrettably, I went with the pretzel.

I was sick 25 minutes later…thank goodness it happened on the ground. I suppose it was the only time I was relieved my departure had been delayed.

Dearly departed Fiorello LaGuardia would turn in his grave if he ever found out that our fair city named such a shit-hole after him!

M72

Although I am generally dissatisfied with the MTA, the M72 bus represents the worst of the worst. Every morning I walk to the corner of 1st and 72nd, I think 2 things, do I wait or just keep walking. Usually I'll stop to wait for the bus thinking this is the day the bus will come on time. And I continue to wait, and wait, and wait. Meanwhile the line has grown to the edge of the corner, it's been over 10 minutes and I realize for the 124th time I would be at the subway by now if I just walked. Once the bus finally comes, it takes another 5 minutes to board the giant line that has formed, somehow cross 2nd ave despite the construction, and pick up the 2nd ave group.

I know the point of a cross town town bus is to actually take you to the west side and not necessarily the Lexington subway line but how is this one particular bus SO SCREWED UP??? How is there not a set schedule for the 100's of people that rely on this bus to get from york or 1st westward on a daily basis. One of these days I will end up walking the 3 avenues and 6 blocks and realize I'm relying on something that takes longer than the walk I just did and stop using this horrid bus...but that day is not today.

Welcome

Let me first start off by saying I in no way hate the city of New York. I have lived here for a few years and while I am from “far away”, I have no plan of leaving this great city anytime in the near future. That being said, and because I am from elsewhere, I have managed to compile a listing of relatively small things that just irritate the shit out of me on continuous basis. I will bring you a daily update of why I don’t always “heart” NYC.