Generally it happens while driving by Madison Square Park or Washington Square Park. The windows of the cab are rolled down. The pink summer sun is glinting off behemoth buildings. The lazy inhabitants are lounging around enjoying the outdoors, enjoying life.
Hell yeah, this magnificently overpopulated city is pure, unadulterated, concrete paradise.
And hell yeah, most of the time (I’d say 99.99%), the thought of returning to my 12 x 14 apartment initiates an involuntary grin.
Most of the time.
Last night, however, was that .01%. Last night was a nightmare.
Generally when I’m traveling from Connecticut I carry no less than six bags. It’s quite mind boggling how I never bring anything home but always return with 50 pounds of goodies.
And so, I rarely don’t take a cab. Last night was no exception.
My bag sitch was fairly bearable (coulda subway-ed it), but I was just plain exhausted after driving for four hours and training for two. So I hopped in a cab. And I was confused when, instead of heading downtown, the cabbie headed up. We passed 42nd Street; 44th Street; 46th Street.
Finally I got up the nerve to say, “Umm...where are you going? It’s Sullivan and West 3rd.”
Unintelligible mumbles ensued with lots of “Noooooo miss, nooooooo.” I told him to go down Broadway and get on 5th Ave but no. He wanted to take the FDR. Really? Really?? The FDR? I’m sorry, I live on the west side, not the east side. REALLY????
But I bit my tongue. This was the part that made me smile, my homecoming. I rolled down the window and looked out at this marvelous city that is my home. And the meter creeped up. $9. $11. Avenue D – Avenue D – $15.
He took Houston and went right on Lafayette. I know the non-grid streets of the Village are far too confusing for some people. Cab drivers, however, have no excuse. They should not be confused. They should know.
He hesitated on 3rd and I politely barked, “Turn left…please.” $17. My blood was boiling at this point. I was passively aggressively sighing, hoping he would notice the bitchy undertones of the heavy breaths.
Just call me Passive Aggressive Parry – “I’m sorry, but this is kind of ridiculous. Cab rides from Grand Central are $9. Not $17!” He knew he was in the wrong and, magnanimous cabbie that he is, said he would charge $2 less and stopped the meter. I said fine.
In the end, I gave him $15 – so unlike me, but no tip for him! He must have had another major I-messed-up moment because he tried to hand me $3 back. I told him to keep it and walked away. He tooted and I turned to see him waving the bucks in the window, mouthing “Thank you.”
FDR fiasco behind me, I trudged up my never-ending stairs. Opened the door, turned on the lights, went into the bathroom. And of course – Of COURSE there was a goddamn ginormous cockroach right there on the floor – dead.
I lost it. I screamed. Tears filled my eyes. I whined. I shouted. I winced. Why oh why oh why was this homecoming so horrific? I’d had such a lovely, lovely Cape-cation and I return home to rotten cabbies and rotten bugs rotting away in my bathroom.
Hell yeah, this magnificently overpopulated city is pure, unadulterated, concrete paradise.And hell yeah, most of the time (I’d say 99.99%), the thought of returning to my 12 x 14 apartment initiates an involuntary grin.
Most of the time.
Last night, however, was that .01%. Last night was a nightmare.
Generally when I’m traveling from Connecticut I carry no less than six bags. It’s quite mind boggling how I never bring anything home but always return with 50 pounds of goodies.
And so, I rarely don’t take a cab. Last night was no exception.
My bag sitch was fairly bearable (coulda subway-ed it), but I was just plain exhausted after driving for four hours and training for two. So I hopped in a cab. And I was confused when, instead of heading downtown, the cabbie headed up. We passed 42nd Street; 44th Street; 46th Street.Finally I got up the nerve to say, “Umm...where are you going? It’s Sullivan and West 3rd.”
Unintelligible mumbles ensued with lots of “Noooooo miss, nooooooo.” I told him to go down Broadway and get on 5th Ave but no. He wanted to take the FDR. Really? Really?? The FDR? I’m sorry, I live on the west side, not the east side. REALLY????
But I bit my tongue. This was the part that made me smile, my homecoming. I rolled down the window and looked out at this marvelous city that is my home. And the meter creeped up. $9. $11. Avenue D – Avenue D – $15.He took Houston and went right on Lafayette. I know the non-grid streets of the Village are far too confusing for some people. Cab drivers, however, have no excuse. They should not be confused. They should know.
He hesitated on 3rd and I politely barked, “Turn left…please.” $17. My blood was boiling at this point. I was passively aggressively sighing, hoping he would notice the bitchy undertones of the heavy breaths.
Just call me Passive Aggressive Parry – “I’m sorry, but this is kind of ridiculous. Cab rides from Grand Central are $9. Not $17!” He knew he was in the wrong and, magnanimous cabbie that he is, said he would charge $2 less and stopped the meter. I said fine.In the end, I gave him $15 – so unlike me, but no tip for him! He must have had another major I-messed-up moment because he tried to hand me $3 back. I told him to keep it and walked away. He tooted and I turned to see him waving the bucks in the window, mouthing “Thank you.”
FDR fiasco behind me, I trudged up my never-ending stairs. Opened the door, turned on the lights, went into the bathroom. And of course – Of COURSE there was a goddamn ginormous cockroach right there on the floor – dead.
I lost it. I screamed. Tears filled my eyes. I whined. I shouted. I winced. Why oh why oh why was this homecoming so horrific? I’d had such a lovely, lovely Cape-cation and I return home to rotten cabbies and rotten bugs rotting away in my bathroom.
Not only was the miserable swine belly-up, but it looked like it spawned a turd of baby bugs or something.
Ew, it was either a egg-nugget or a for-real poop (omg just looked it up, it WAS an egg, GROSS). And some disgusting powder crap.
UGH. It was so so so so so so so disgusting. I flushed the bug, and the turd spawn, swept n’ scrubbed the entire perimeter of my apartment, and set out twelve fresh traps.Deeesguuuusssstinnnng.
Lesson learned? Homecoming, you ain’t always so sweet.
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