I’ve been annoyed all day.
It only got worse as the day got longer.
Of course watching Barack Obama give his acceptance speech tonight helped cheer me up. But it still didn’t alleviate the fact that I’d been annoyed all day.
It started with not being able to wake up this morning. My alarm was set for7:45 a.m. I wanted to snooze it a couple of times and get up a little after 8:00 a.m. And it went off as planned and I snoozed it. And snoozed it. And snoozed. And snoozed it. And I finally rolled over and looked at the clock and it was 9:30 a.m. This gave me exactly 30 minutes to get up, get in the shower, drink my pot of coffee, get dressed, drop off my laundry and be at the subway by 10:00. Needless to say that didn’t happen. I swiped my card to enter the subway at 10:27 a.m.
I do have to admit that as I was walking down the stairs the train came but I was still asleep since I hadn’t gotten to have any caffeine, so I barely noticed.
The reason I was up so early was because I had a check up scheduled for my ankle. It’s been four months since I broke it and my doctor wanted to x-ray it and make sure there were still no problems.
Since the train came just as I was walking down the stairs I got to my appointment about 15 minutes early. I wanted to get there 30 minutes early because the last time I had to have x-rays done they took almost 45 minutes and I got put way back in the line to see the doctor and it took forever.
As I was walking down the street I left my mother a message saying that I was just about to go into the doctor’s office, that I would call her afterwards to let her know how it went. Exactly three seconds after I sat down in the office guess who calls? My mother. And she says in her message that she thought she’d be able to get me, that it had only been 15 minutes and she didn’t understand why I wasn’t answering.
When I walked into the office there were no other patients to be seen. Last time there had to be 30. Maybe it’s because it’s a holiday weekend? Who knows? It took about 15 minutes to get processed, have the x-rays taken and check in with my doctor’s receptionist. I was told to take a seat and they would be with me in a couple of minutes.
And I waited and waited and waited. Almost an hour and a half. FINALLY they called my name and put me into an exam room. And I waited. And I waited. And I waited. And after about 20 more minutes the doctor finally came into see me.
Of course while I was waiting, I text my friend Curtis to tell him I’m still at the doctor’s and will call him as soon as I can. I also tell him that I can’t talk on the phone since I’m at the doctor. (Before you say it, I should have just said fuck it after waiting so long, but I HATE bad cell phone etiquette.) And what does Curtis do? He calls me right back. And so I text him again saying I can’t talk, text me or wait till I’m out of the appointment. And what does he do? He calls me right back.
And then in comes the doctor. It was not her fault that she was behind. They had left the door open when the put me in my room and I could tell by the conversation that the people she was talking to were idiots. She apologized profusely and after all that waiting, took three minutes to tell me that everything looked great. If it doesn’t hurt, feel free to do what ever you want, and that she would recommend coming back in a year for a follow up x-ray just to confirm that the final healing process was okay. Two hours for a three minute conversation.
And so I make my appointment for April 23rd and I leave. And I call Curtis and I tell him I’m finished. He’s at Barnes and Noble in Union Square which is about five blocks from where I am so I tell him I’ll meet him there. And I head that way. And about a block into my walk I come upon a family of five foriegn tourists who are trying to figure out where the hell they are. And they are blocking the ENTIRE fucking sidewalk. And I try to get by and they just stand there. And I say excuse me. And they just stand there. So finally I push my way through them and I don’t know what he said but I’m sure it was fuck you in some language I didn’t know.
And so then I go to B&N and head up to the third floor to meet Curtis. And I get on the escalator to start up and at the top a kid about 10, steps off the escalator and stops. Just stops. And it’s not like I could just pretend I wasn’t on the step behind him. Or that I could stop the steps from moving. And it’s not like I had three hours to plan my attack. So he stopped. And I didn’t. And he ended up on the floor. And I apologized profusely but I think his mother who was behind me thought I was an ass.
So I meet Curtis and I buy a copy of Waiter Rant the new book written by a guy who’s been a waiter for years and blogged about it and now his blog has been turned into a book. I wonder who’ll play him in the movie. Maybe I should take this thing more seriously.
So Curtis and I are off to lunch and I suggest Coffee Shop.
This is the review of the restaurant that I found on line:
Even though it carries a high risk of poor service and unpleasant encounters with attitudinal (but often pretty) people, The Coffee Shop sometimes seems unavoidable. When it comes to the Union Square area, this loungey pseudo-diner’s varied, inexpensive menu and sidewalk seating make it one of the best casual options in the neighborhood. There’s hardly ever a seat at the bar, which serves up surprisingly good drinks (including milkshakes and mojitos); and there’s usually a wait for a table at peak times, so plan to hang out on the corner of 16th and Union Square for a bit if you go. — Christina Nunez
And now I remember why I haven’t been there in years. You’d think with the attitude these fuckers had that we were expected to buy 5 million dollar bottles of vodka and pay extra for the lap dances. And from the way the host was dressed I think she had to leave right after her shift to go to Cheetahs to dance. Her dress couldn’t have been any tighter, and I’m no fashion Diva but come on, if you are going to wear a dress that tight make sure it fits you properly. She had a great body, but the dress was cut all wrong and she came off looking like a “ho” from down at the piers.
And her attitude sucked. First off there were two parties of two that walked in at the same time. The two of us and two ladies. And they kept insisting that we were a party of four. And I said no. There are just two of us. And she would look at the four of us and say, no there are four of you. And then the proverbial light bulb came on and she figured out what we were talking about. And then without saying another word she picks up four menus and walks away. We sort of follow. And she leads us through the large airy light dining room down a small hallway through another bright airy dining room to another dining room that was dark and crowed. And she sat the four of us at two tables that were so close to each other that we might as well have said we were together. And so Curtis asks if we can just sit at one of the empty tables in the airy bright part of the dining room. And with the most attitude she can muster she says NO. NOT RIGHT NOW. and walks away. So we sit. Sort of. Curtis has his carry on bag, his laptop, and his backpack with him and there’s no where to put this stuff and sit at the table. So he goes up to a server and asks if we can move to the open bar table. And she looks at us like we have three heads. So he repeats the question. And she sort of shrugs and walks away.
At this point I’m ready to leave and I keep thinking to myself, now I remember why I’ve only been here one time. So we say fuck it, and take our stuff to the bar table. The chairs are incredible uncomfortable but we are sitting right in the open window and it’s nice. And the waiter is cute so that helps. And we order our food. And it comes. And I ask the food runner to bring me some mayonnaise and he never returns. And then finally after three years the waiter comes and checks on us and I ask him for mayonnaise and by the time he returns with it I’ve finished my lunch.
We finish lunch and Curtis pays the bill, and I make sure he tips well. You know how karma is. And we head toward 8th Avenue to put him on the train.
And I get him on the train and I check my phone and see that my roommate has called. So I check my message and it says to call him as soon as I can. And so I do. And it seems…
I’ll tell you the whole story. It will have been two weeks ago this weekend I rearranged our living area/dining room/my office area. I put my desk in my bedroom, opened up the dining room and repositioned the chair in the living room. To do this I had to downsize some things. And since I was downsizing I decided to downsize a lot. So over the last week or so I’ve been making a piles of things in the living room to get rid of. About 100 books, several boxes of Christmas lights, and then an assortment of other things many of which were new and had never been out of their box. And just like last time I did this, I had Curtis help me move them downstairs to the lobby last night. And I assumed just like last time that the fairies would come and take the stuff away.
And well it seems that one of the boxes that I used had my name and address on it and someone saw it and called our management office and complained. And they in turn called Chuck. And Chuck called me. And now I had to go home and move all the stuff out of the lobby.
And I hate getting into trouble. I always have. It ruins my day. So much so that the people at work know that if they have to tell me to stop doing something or to do things differently that they should wait till the end of my shift so I don’t get all down and shit. So I talked to Chuck. And I’m supposed to go have drinks with a friend from grad school and now I’m pissed. So I call my friend and cancel and I head home and on the way home, I get more and more pissed.
It’s not like we live in a fucking 5th Avenue apartment. They paint the graffiti off the walls daily. The exhaust fumes from the deli downstairs fills the apartment with the smell of grease. Most of the tenants don’t speak English and from the look of most of the apartments I’ve seen glimpses of, they haven’t been updated since Nixon was in office. At least half the neighbors from our floor down, store their personal garbage outside their doors instead of taking it outside and on too many occasions to count I’ve had to wade through cigarette smoke in the hallway to get to my apartment. At night you can hear the pit bulls trying to kill each other downstairs and at one point tonight we couldn’t even hear the TV for the music being thumped by the car on our street. Their have been at least two major fights on our street since we moved in that involved kids with baseball bats trying to kill each other. And I know my roommate has had to call about the noise outside a couple of times and that’s not counting the number of times we’ve had to tell the teenager next door to chill with the music.
We live in Washington Heights. And we love it. We love our apartment. And we just signed a new two year lease so we are going to be here at least through 2010. And it’s by far the best NYC apartment I’ve ever had. It’s decorated nicely as you guys have gotten to see on a couple of occasions and I enjoy spending time here. And we rarely have any trouble and the things mentioned above happen in every neighborhood north of the park. And in some places south of the park. It’s the experience of living in NYC and you expect it and you deal with it. And if you have a problem with something you don’t call the fucking management company. You come knock on my door tell me that you wish I wouldn’t put my stuff in the lobby and deal with it that way.
But no–you call. And we are told that it all has to be disposed of today. And so this afternoon, I boxed up 3 boxes of books, two boxes of christmas decorations (some lights still in their boxes) some brand new picture frames, brand new clothes and shit loads of other perfectly usable stuff and throw it in the garbage. And before you suggest I donate it, we are too far uptown for most of the people I know to come get it and it would have taken weeks to get it all downtown one trip at a time. And last time like I said everything dissappeared within a few hours.
So I’m annoyed. And as I told my roommate, I’d be willing to bet it was one of our new “American” neighbors. And if you know our super, American = White.
But I guess we’ll just have to accept the gentrification of our building. Of course I wouldn’t mind if they’d get us a doorman. And a concierge service. And people to walk our dogs. And someone to call for a car for us. And someone to take my laundry to the cleaners. Someone to sign for my packages. And someone to screen my visitors so my trick from last Sunday can’t just drop by. You know. If things could be just like a 5th Avenue apartment. Of course we’d have to pay four times the rent we pay right now. And if we are going to pay that much why don’t we just move to 5th Avenue. And then we’ll know exactly what kind of neighbors we have.
Did I mention I’m annoyed.