Home Stories

Yo,
I've lived in New York all of my life. Sure, I spent 3 1/2 years in Philadelphia, but I was home over the summers and never changed my permanent address away from my city. (You could make an argument that I spent over a year of my life in Spain, but that is scattered through about 7 different summers, so that does not count either.)
Over the course of my 30 years on this planet, I have encountered a few moments in time that captured a spirit of New York that I have grown to loath and appreciate simultaneously. Below are three stories that are unique to NY's melting pot. Two of them are tales of the homeless, but that is because the first tale I tell is from about a month ago and it haunts me still.

1) The Cautionary Tale

Before I get into the story itself, let me tell you a lot about my neighborhood of the past four years, Manhattan's Upper East Side. Once a bastion of blue-blooded wealth and power, it is now a haven for several distinct sectors of society. There are still the Gossip Girl elite who reside in the area, but feel the need to commute to other locales to be "spotted". The neighborhood has diversified by adding a number of projects and a series of frat bars. It's like an episode of The Real World from ten years ago, when it was a social experiment, rather than what it now, a faux drama.

My particular place in the neighborhood is less pronounced and is related to a prominent hospital/medical school in the neighborhood. I have an uncle and aunt who live a half a block from me and are part of this hospital's wide net. When I was finding my place to live was that when I was looking for a place to live, I was crazy busy at work and so I hired a broker to try to find cheap apartments to rent. The broker described the Upper East Side as "the best bang for your buck". Of course, the deciding factor was that my brother was about to be brought into the same hospital area for his new job. With my brother about to move in, close family nearby and the best bang for your buck, I made the easy choice.

1) The Cautionary Tale: Take 2

On my way home from work, I am walking by one of the popular frat bars in my neighborhood and see two people making out. The girl is aggressively pushing the willing man into the glass window. Her face repeatedly lunges at his face and neck. Upon first glance, I couldn't care less, but my interest piques when I see the fascination of the people around the bar. It's like the first time they had ever seen a public display of affection.

So, I started unwittingly rubbernecking to figure out what great mystery was taking place outside the bar. Was one of them a celebrity? Finally, the moment of truth arrives. In one of her breaks for air, I looked at the girl, who was dressed for a night on the town, with a short skirt and she appeared to be under 30 (I'm bad with age). She was neither particularly attractive nor particularly unattractive, so I looked at the guy. I recognized him. No, he's not a celebrity, nor is he a friend. He is one of our neighborhood homeless and yes, he meets the stereotype by sporting fewer than 10 teeth and smelling like a foot sandwich.

Party girl was totally making out with a homeless guy. And those people in the bar gawking at her seemed to know her. Some were even laughing, while others had sheer disgust on their faces. I have no reason to doubt that she was drunk and frankly I kindof assumed she was. But, there you go. That's New York.

Some of you are thinking: hey Papa Bear, why didn't you stop this travesty? I have been known to get involved in the lives of strangers, but two consenting adults can mostly do what they please. And I did consider getting involved, but only for a split second before I took into consideration that she was the person that was all over him. (He was not unwilling, but she was clearly the aggressor.) Would I have done anything if it was the other way around? Honestly, I have no idea and I doubt it, but I did not have to make that decision.

Some of you are thinking: hey Papa Bear, it's classist for you to think this is disgusting (maybe racist too, as they were of different races). Oh, I thought of that too... one of my initial thoughts were, "everybody's got a type". While I don't know much about evaluating the relative attractiveness of men, some women prefer a grungier look. And his style was straight out of Derelicte (Zoolander reference). Maybe I was a little too disturbed by the image, but I thought it was noteworthy and as I mentioned, it continues to weigh on me a month later. Maybe the part that got me was the possibility that this guy who does not groom himself, has no home, makes no effort still does much better with women than I do, or maybe I was just totally totally grossed out. He is homeless, but he might have had a place to stay that night. Hey, it's New York.

2) Subway Business

I figured I would tell you a second homeless person story, just so you get the full gamut of New York life. Again, I was just an observer, but the story struck a chord within me and I hope it does the same for you.

About a year ago, I was riding the subway to get from work to home, which is about a ten minute ride, and a man gets on the train with me. There are many other people on the train, but it is not crowded. The man sprawls out and makes a two person seat his own. I remember wondering whether the man was homeless, given that he was haggard with an unkempt blondish-brown beard and was wearing very ragged military garb. And while his elbows were leaning on his knees, he was poised and he could have just been exhibiting the common symptoms of a long day of hard work... or he could have been hunkering down for the night and establishing his rest stop. (I was standing opposite him, leaning on the subway door, probably because we've been told not to lean on the doors in both English and Spanish and I'm a rebel in both English and Spanish.) For the purposes of the story, I'll call the guy The Vet because of his clothes, not based on any additional information.

At the next stop, another man comes in who is far more haggard than the man sitting down and he quickly establishes his homelessness presence by beginning his routine requesting change (this guy was totally out of it, so his routine was weak.) As the homeless guy was passing, the Vet takes a dollar out of his pocket and puts it into the homeless guy's cup. I vaguely remember the Vet wishing the man luck, but that could be memory's natural hyperbole. This should resolve the question about whether the Vet is homeless, right? As the train pulls into the next station, another man enters the car and he also appears unnaturally weathered by life. This man goes straight into his financial request without any routine. But I will call him The Talker.

Right away, the Talker confronts the Vet and asks him for money. Rather than deny him outright, the Vet explains that he can't give out money because he just gave another homeless man a dollar. The Talker does a quick double take and re-asks the Vet if he could also have a dollar considering the Vet gave the other man a dollar. The Vet responds that he was out of money because he too "works the trains." The Talker becomes intrigued (as do I). The Vet responds to the unasked question, and I'll paraphrase "this morning, a woman opened up her wallet to me and just gave me everything in it. It was $73 and I shared it with whoever asked. Now, I'm out." The Talker befuddled, responds "if it were me, I would keep it." The Vet explains, "I had to share it cause if I didn't, I would use it on my vices."

Let that sink in. "I had to share it cause if I didn't, I would use it on my vices."

The Talker continues to question the Vet, but I could not hear all of their conversation because of the roar of the trains, but I did get to see the Talker display his interest in the Vet's tale by swinging back and forth on a pole; it was more of a sway, then a dance, but it was certainly elaborate.

Then... I heard the following,
The Talker: "where do you stay?"
The Vet: "St. [gargled] Place. The people are good over there."
The Talker: "I'm there too."
The Vet: "You probably know my wife, Margaret, dirty blonde hair..." [Not sure it was Margaret, but it was something like Margaret.]
The Talker interrupts: "Sure I know her, she's so nice."
The Vet: "Yeah, she's friendly. She's actually working this train two cars down."
The Talker is baffled, probably putting the sorted pieces together as quickly as I am, that this guy is giving away his money, while his wife is collecting money, but ignores it.
The Talker: "Cool. I'll say hi to her when I work my way over there."
The Vet: "Yeah, we really have to spread out more because some of these trains are too crowded with us and others lines don't have any of us working."

It was at this point, that I had to leave the train, even though I was riveted by the conversation and fascinated by the social dynamics of the situation. I wanted to stay on or at least give the guy a $20 to see what he would do, but alas I did not. I played my part and I heard the tale and then I moved on affected, but unaltered. I have not seen either of those two guys since then, so I can make lots of assumptions about what happened to them, but I suppose the most logical assumption would be that he took his own advice and spread to a train line with less competition. So, that too is New York.

3) The Villain

My third and final New York tale for the day is a sordid one, and in this story, I am not a fly on the wall, but rather I am the villain. I was about 13 years old and had lived half of my life in Queens and the second half of my life on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. For those of you who don't know, NYC was salvaged by the 90's (I give a lot of credit to former Mayor Rudy Giuliani, even if you don't.) By 1993 the Upper West Side (at least the part near me) was part strong growth potential with Central Park and Lincoln Center and part deserted wasteland, which was everything else. But, since then, (and even today,) that portion of the Upper West Side was a place known for Bohemian middle class families who appreciate the finer Bohemian things. And one of the staples of the community is a grocery store that totally fits in with the neighborhood and possibly, (along with the aforementioned landmarks,) helped shape the neighborhood. That place is Fairway.

The prices are much better than those anywhere nearby and the quality of the food is good, but there is something sinister to Fairway. There is an undertone of cut-throated competitiveness. Even walking by the place during peak hours can put a person on edge. It is filled with people who want their high quality low-priced food so badly they would kill for it. Case in point: ME.

3) The Villain: Take 2

So, again, I am 13 years old and it is the first time I entered Fairway in years. I am with an uncle of mine who appreciates Fairway as much as anyone and once he entered the store ran towards the fish counter in the back of the store. I was more tentative. I was an awkward 13 year old and the unnecessary pressure of this atmosphere made me even more timid. So, people were cutting me left and right. I would not be exaggerating if I told you within one minute of being in that wretched haven, 20 people bumped into me hard, with reckless abandon and without remorse.

I tried to avoid people on my way to the back, but that did not work. By the time, I got there, my nerves were totally on edge, but still I tried to find a spot out of harm's way (and out of anyone's way.) There was no such spot. So, people pushed me and pulled me and bumped me, until my uncle was finally at the front of the line reading his rather large order.

I turned around and my turn knocked an old lady down.

The lady looked at me with disgust, but surprisingly nobody else missed a beat. Bystanders stepped over her with supernatural dexterity and unparalleled determination. As the lady worked her way back up to try to cut me in the fish line, (which I was not even on,) only one thought ran through my head...

"And stay down!"

I did not say it, but I definitely thought it. She was spry and was on her feet in no time, before I could fight my way through five inches worth of people to get to her. Obviously she was much more upset about having to wait an extra 30 seconds on line, then the fact that she was knocked down. She lost that battle with me and that pissed her off even more at herself (and me). I, on the other hand, for a moment, remembered that I was not actually in a human jungle and announced to my uncle, "I'll wait outside."

So that's Fairway- the top quality product, but you have to fight tooth and nail for anything, but that's New York.

As an epilogue to that story, my cousin, the son of that uncle wrote a short story for school as if he was the person who knocked the old lady down. I believe his story was more graphic, but mine happened to me. But, it's Fairway and it would not surprise if this sort of thing happened every week or if he just liked the story and used it. But, that's New York too, people take everything from you here.

So, what have we learned from this blog post?
A) I weave myself into all of my stories.
B) NY is filled with homeless people.
C) Segments of the homeless populace live full lives whether it's making out with girls at bars or having a wife and a panhandling business plan.
D) NY can make you cold and unfeeling.
E) NY is very concerned with the state of itself. Philadelphia and Boston have inferiority complexes. They think: "See we are better than NY at [insert something here.]"
But NY does not care about those cities, and instead looks at a mirror and thinks, "I guess I could use a Walmart, but would it make me look fat?"

Alas, I'm probably going to live here for the rest of my life or at least until I move out of here.

Don't get me wrong. I love NY, my parents are here, my grandfather is here, my aunts and uncles and cousins are here, most of my friends are here, my life is here, but I got to get out of this town. If only I could live on a farm (without any of those pesky animals or plants)... in the middle of Manhattan. Despite these tales of woe, the depravity, the vermin, the assorted odors, the lack of space, the over-crowding, the noise pollution, the pollution pollution, the crazies and some really bad things, it's the best goshdarn town in the whole world.

Hope you enjoyed our tour of my homeland,
The Papa Bear (ME)