Since most of the posts I write about New York resemble the early throes of a love affair, I figured I’d take this day to whine about the things that I’ll probably hate with a fiery passion soon enough:
Egg foo young. As in, Chinese take-out places here don’t know how to make the sauce. They give you soy sauce with more corn starch mixed in. Sacrilege.
People who can’t seem to grasp the physics of walking and sidewalk width, such as groups that insist on twining their arms together or shoppers who don’t understand that their bags actually take up space and will smack me in the face if they don’t move over when we pass each other.
The crazy lady on the E train who made me move carriages (thrice) because of her extraordinarily strident announcements about the end of the world. I know whose world is going to end if you don’t STFU next time. Ma’am.
People who leave their carts in aisles while they wander deeper into the clothing section, forcing you to move their crap–and then give yourself a minor coronary when the clothes atop that cart move and you realize that there’s a baby under there!
Lines. Everywhere. Grocery stores, pharmacies, ticket kiosks, restrooms, theaters, bus stops, coffee shops, bike repair stores, bodegas, library check outs, library book-drop windows, lanes in the swimming pool at the Y. There’s probably a line at the junk yards, police stations, and morgues, too.
Buses that trundle at the speed of a turtle because, well, the lines at every stop, and the lights at every intersection. Every. Intersection. It takes the same amount of time for a bus to drop me at the train station 3 blocks away that it takes me to walk there on my very short legs. It’s three times faster to take the train between Midtown Manhattan and Queens as it is to ride the bus.
Cars parked in bike lanes. Cars blocking sidewalks because they’ve pulled into a “drive way.” Cars turning into on-coming traffic. Cars honking at me for biking in the regular lane because… see sentence 1 of this paragraph. Car drivers yelling “bike lane is on the right” when I bike in the left lane (because I have to turn left at the intersection, dumbass!)
Metrocards. Apparently, these are better than something called tokens that prehistoric New Yorkers used to use. But I do not see how these are an improvement unless “tokens” meant slicing off a body part. You can get an unlimited Metrocard for a month for a flat rate, which might work for daily commuters. But if you use public transport less often and add a smaller amount to the card, prepare to be screwed. The Metrocard is apparently meant to allow a free transfer from a bus to a train or vice-versa within a 2 hour period. This is a lie. The fare box will happily deduct whatever it wants from your card when it pleases. It will also deduct the full fare if you happen to be in Brooklyn at midnight and the G train kicked you out at Nassau (because of “repair work”), forcing you to get on a shuttle bus to Court Square, and then re-enter the subway for the 7. “Apoplectic fit” may be the best way to convey what you feel when you’ve swiped your card at the turnstyle at that moment.