No More Ms. Nice Rabbit

New York is trying to kill me. This is not a drill dear reader(s), this time it's for serious. I really am not sure what's going on here. I was born and raised in NYC, and usually I can take whatever she can dish out. One of the points of pride of being a native New Yorker is not getting your panties all in a wad (or knickers in a twist, if you're across the pond) over the hustlings and bustlings that make this place move and shake. It's part of what makes New York, New York (see what I did there?) and don't hold with whiny tourists and out-of-towners when they complain that it's just too busy, loud, dirty, rude, and unfriendly here. Be quiet, I say, and get out of my face.

HOWEVER all of a sudden New York has decided to put a fatwah out on me and I don't know what to do! On the one hand I feel like I should just sit down and take it--I can't have anyone thinking that I'm not man enough to be bodyslammed like the best of 'em--but on the other hand I feel like I need to be all hold up! That aint right. Because here in NYC if someone gets all up ons you gotta make sure they step off before things get ugly. In fact, this might be a test of my true New Yorkiness. On that note, I am hereby declaring war on any and all of the following scourges of the city:

Sudden Stationary Syndrome

It's exactly like one of those infection-bourne zombie movies except instead of causing people to go on crazy murderous rampages the infection causes innocent people to suddenly stop moving and stand perfectly still exactly in front of where I'm walking. It's like these people are trying to clothesline me with their entire body. IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY. You'd think that this would be way more of a danger to them than to me, but apparently a side-effect of SSS is petrified skin, so that when people bump into you they get the effect of running into a brick wall at top speed and you get the effect of Mount Everest being shot at with a nerf gun.

Someone needs to get some scientists together and come up with a cure for this one right quick because it spreads like wildfire. When I was living in Detroit I figured SSS was just another localized, ridunkulous problem in a city of ridunkulous problems, but now that it's spread to the financial capital of the Unites States, I think we need to devote some real tax dollars to curing this thing. If it can migrate all the way from Abandonsville, MI to the Big Apple, it can get ANYWHERE. CDC, get crackin'.

The Ministry of Silly Walks

When Monty Python does it? Hillarious. When average joe speedwalker does it? Not. so. much. This is basically the exact opposite of Sudden Stationary Syndrome. Meaning that instead of becoming completely immobile, you suddenly lose control of all your limbs and begin walking in the least logical way possible. Where a normal person might choose to walk across the street in a straight line, you instead opt to walk sideways through the intersection, turn around, walk halfway back to the curb, and then sprint for the opposite side while waving your arms and legs like a demented windmill. You then become IMPOSSIBLE to avoid and inevitably hit at least three people with your spastic limbs, without bothering to apologize.

Look, gumby. Unless you have a most extreme case of Parkinson's (in which case I am extremely sorry and you can disregard this post and my accompanying snark) there is no excuse for breaking into spontaneous interpretive capoeira in the middle of the street. I don't care how lost you are or how much of a rush you are in--KEEP YOUR ARMS AND LEGS INSIDE THE CABIN AT ALL TIMES. And if you *do* happen to kick everyone around you in the shins and slap us all in the face simultaneously, at least have the decency to apologize. Because one day you're going to bitchslap someone who doesn't take to it kindly, and she's going to open up a whole can of crazy on you. Fair. Warning.

Hick Herd

So you got the small town blues and decided to hop the nearest greyhound marked 'Bright Lights, Big City.' Good for you. Welcome. As (un)official ambassador of New York let me be the first to say that we appreciate your enthusiasm and your tax dollars (not necessarily in that order.) Before you embark on your big boy adventure though, here are a few simple rules to harmonious city living:

1. Put your fanny pack away. In the first place a fanny pack is basically a sign that says 'I'm a tourist, and here's where I keep all my valuables.' No native New Yorker would be caught dead wearing a fanny pack in public. This is why when tourists complain about how dangerous the city is, and how people are always getting mugged, we can't take you seriously. Because when you inevitably do get robbed, and you show up at the NYPD and they sit you down and ask you 'sir, what did they take', and you answer 'my fanny pack, it had all my-' they will cut you off, say good day to you, and toss you out on your corn-fed rearparts. Case closed, mystery SOLVED.

In the second place, and more pertinent to this discussion, what you might (misguidedly) see as a trendy, convenient place to store your wallet, camera, map, phone, laptop, energy bars, red bulls, and pet hamster, I see as an incredibly pointy growth just waiting to jab me in the ribs as you muscle your way through herald square. You're already creating enough of a roadblock walking down the street arm-in-arm as if Times Square is the friggin' yellow brick road, you don't need to supplement by hanging extra hazards off of your person. God gave you pockets--use 'em.

2. There is a very real limit to the amount of people and luggage that can fit on a single subway car. I know your greatest fear is to get separated from the group, wind up in Greenwich village, be bamboozled by white slavers, and sent to live a life of indentured servitude in the bowels of Queens, but the reality is that YOU ARE NOT ALL GOING TO FIT INTO THIS TRAIN. No matter how hard you push. No matter how much your group leader yells 'Push in! Push in! Everybody get in this car! Don't lose your buddy!' This is not a vehicle designed for the transportation of clowns. The 1/9 does not have a mystical vortex inside where all 50 of you and your rolling suitcases can comfortably fit. Instead of trying to induce a slow death by bodycrush, I propose the following: before you all get on the subway decide where you are going. Then you can all get on ANY subway car because THE WHOLE TRAIN IS GOING TO THE SAME PLACE. This isn't an unfathomable system. We're not going by mine cart to your underground vault. All the cars connected to this train are going to end up at the same station, and if you all get off at the same place you will not get lost. IT'S LIKE MAGIC! I know it's a lot to remember a single stop, but I bet if you put your hive mind to it, you can do it.

I want to give a special shout out to the group of New Jersey teenagers on my evening commute last week who were on some kind of school trip AT 5:45 in the evening. Upon entering the car the group leader, a plucky little Justin Beiber doppelganger, yelled out 'OKAY GUYS YOU GOTTA BE LIKE LINEBACKERS! PUSH! PUSH! PUSH! GET THROUGH' at the top of his cracking voice while his friends thundered like stampeding bison onto my car. I was literally crushed against some poor little old Asian woman for an excruciating 30 blocks until their stop, at which point JB yelled 'OKAY PUSH OUT! PUSH OUT! SHOVE THOSE PEOPLE! BREAK THROUGH THAT LINE!' and they spilled out like the Blob descending on the city. I got out alive, but I'm not sure if the old lady made it.

Do You Have A Minute To Care About The Environment?

So many reasons, where to start. I'm afraid I'll get off topic (who me?) if I get into the whole 'if you don't stop to talk to me then the terrorists win, you neo-nazi fascist' mentality of these noble street crusaders. I'll just say (for now) that trying to get past a bunch of Greenpeace activists is like tackling an obstacle course in basic training. They pick the most heavily trafficked stretch of street and then strategically position themselves along the entire length of it so you can't help but bump into one of them. And if you manage to avoid the aggressive clipboard/leaflet one-two punch, someone will inevitably trip you 'by accident.' Right. At first it's all 'oh I'm so sorry, are you okay' but it quickly becomes 'by the way have you heard about the starving children in Africa? I bet if you were starving you'd want someone to help you.' Because lord knows nothing helps starving children like pretentious twentysomethings trying to find their life purpose at 9 in the f*cking A.M. Look, I sympathize with the fact that you want to heal the world, seriously, I do. There's some f*cked up shit out there and sometimes it makes me want to just sit in a corner and weep. HOWEVER the way to fix things is not to turn my morning commute into a game of human bumper pool, I assure you.

Side note: it used to be just activists and hippydippy types who employed this scattershot strategy, but in college I noticed that corporate marketers have started using it too. They were way more saavy though, and actually fooled me a couple of times. First someone would tap me on the shoulder and say 'excuse me, could you help me out?' Being a grade-a sucker I'd say yes, and from there become inextricably tangled in their sticky web of deceit. Inevitably they'd follow this innocent come-on up with a backhanded compliment blatant criticism of my appearance like 'you look like the kind of girl who might appreciate a free waxing' or 'have you thought about doing something about your hair?' Clearly this was meant to entice me, but my mama always taught me never to buy something from someone who insults you to your face, so at that point I'd just stammer incoherently until I said something vaguely pressing like 'um..yeah...I have an appointment at the clinic...um now' and awkwardly walk/run away. Ah, college.

All of the above, you are on notice. Up until now I've tolerated your jostling and rudeness and tended my bruises and scrapes in silence but NO MORE! Get your acts together and step off, or else I'ma have to get REAL and BRING IT ON. [EDIT: This would also be an ideal time for us to form our street-dancing gang and STEP UP 2 THE STREETS. Or we could STOMP THE YARD or even bring some YOU GOT SERVED to some well-deserving assfaces. Let's make my dream reality!]

PEACE. OUT.