After spending a few days in New York I completely understand why Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David, creators of “Seinfeld”, one of the most successful TV sitcoms of all time, had no shortage of material. Being in New York was like being in an episode of Seinfeld.
It was like nothing, but still everything. And I really can't make this stuff up.
Mutual Job Love
“You have the best job in the world.”
I've heard these words before, usually coming from a person who works the average 9-5 job that keeps them within the comforts of a cubicle. But this time those eight words were coming from someone who arguably has a way cooler job than me.
They were coming from Anita Patrickson. A wardrobe stylist. But not just any stylist … a celebrity stylist. The type of person whose job is to suggest to Hillary Duff which piece of statement jewerly she should wear to the MTV Video Music Awards; confirm to Julianne Hough that her “boyfriend blazer” is just right for that Super Bowl party; and to let Chrissy Tiegen know that yes, indeed, her ensemble for the Golden Globes looks perfect because, well, she’s a supermodel and basically she looks good in everything.
And I only know the term “boyfriend blazer” because I saw it on Anita's Instagram.
I play the music of today’s hottest stars. Anita hangs out and dresses them.
I guess “best job” is all relative. I only had one response as she took a stab at scratching on my Techincs 1200s.
“Your job is pretty cool too.”
Shake Shake Fail
This was my first journey into New York since the existence of Shake Shack, the popular burger and milkshake joint. I was excited to finally try this burger, and the stars lined up as I found myself in close proximity to one as my friends and I were deciding on a dinner spot.
In fact, we were at the original location located in Union Square. After a quick scan of the menu, I had committed to the SmokeShack, a cheeseburger topped with bacon and chopped cherry peppers. We waited in a relatively short line and just as it was my turn to walk up to the counter, I hear my friends discussing about the ’Shroom burger and the ’Shack Stack. I see the ’Shroom has something to do with a fried mushroom and as all of this is happening and I wanted to ask them what the difference in the two were, I get called up to the window.
Without knowing the difference between the ’Shroom and Shack Stack, I idiotically switch my SmokeShack order to the ’Shroom, assuming I was in for a taste of a meaty and fried mushroomy goodness.
I would soon find out the difference. For those not in the know either, the ’Shroom is simply a friend mushroom patty. No meat. What vegetarians order at Shake Shack.
I left New York, without having the chance to get back to a Shake Shack and have yet to taste one of these burgers.
Is it Too Late To Say I'm Sorry
Generally when pedestrians bump into each other, they will apologize and move on. This is especially true in San Diego and something I noticed in my recent travels in San Francisco and, of course, Vancouver.
But, oh New York.
As I was walking among a throng of people on a subway platform, a man, looking to be in his late 50s/early 60s, with a rolling suitcase was approaching and about to cross my path. One of his wheels ended up rolling over the foot of the guy walking next to me, slightly tripping him up.
A stare down ensued. The man, also appearing to be about the same age as they guy who just had his foot rolled over, had a look of disgust.
What does the man who had just committed this understandable accident say? Does he apologize? Nope.
He simply uttered with equal disgust and that New York accent: "Maybe you should pay better attention."
Jumping The Turnstile
November Project is the free fitness group I am a part of in San Diego, and there are tribes all over the country that welcome visiting members with open arms. I was excited when I realized my New York trip was overlapping with a 6:30, Wednesday morning, the day and time NP meets all over the U.S., Canada and Europe.
I Uber'd to the workout, because guiding my noob self on the MTA at 5:30 a.m. just seemed like a recipe for disaster. But after the workout, knowing I had time to spare and new friends (NP-NYC peeps) to help me guide me to the nearest subway station. When we arrived at the ticketing area we were met with two very long lines to purchase tickets. I said my goodbyes to them as I got into line and they scanned their transit passes and headed to their respective platforms.
And I began to wait.
After about one minute, I hear someone yell my name, "JUSTIN!" I look over toward where I thought I heard it coming from, trying to make out a familiar face through a crowd of New York commuters. And I see Tammy, on the other side of the fence, motioning me to come over.
She opens the emergency exit door, the one exiting passengers use when they don't want to use the turnstile exit. Technically you're only supposed to use this in an emergency, but when's the last time a New Yorker followed rules.
With the door swinging open, she motions me toward her, and enter through this exit, without a ticket.
“That line is ridiculous.”
“You're gonna get me arrested,” I say. To which she replied, “Whatever, I'll get arrested for you.”
Want more? Here is Stories From New York, Part 2.