An Excess of Hospitality

Awkward experience of the day:

I'm moving this weekend, and looking to trade in my loft bed for a bed...a bit closer to the floor. So I went to a furniture store on 14th street this morning (I happened to be walking by right when they opened, and the guy opening the door asked if I wanted to come in. I said I did, and thus begins our story.). I walked to the back of the store where the beds were, trying not to look too interested so as to avoid pesky sales-traps. I reached the end of the wall, and looked around for more, but instead all I saw was the guy from the door heading straight for me.

Being the beneficent person I am, I didn't avoid him. Instead, when he asked how he could help me, I responded:

"Sure. Um...which of these beds comes in a full?"

He led me over to the computer where he did a quick search, then directed me over to one of said beds. We talked about pricing, then I asked what the price difference would be on a twin.

"Are you sleeping alone?" he queried.

"Um, yeah. It's just me."

"You sure you don't need room for anyone else?" [This is my best match for what he said, which really did involve a lot of mumbling. I hate mumblers...]

"Yeah, I'm sure. I just need a single bed. Also, I have a roommate, so it needs to fit in the space."

While I thought the previous conversation was strange, I didn't think too much of it, and I was telling him that I'd have to think it over because I needed to look at the space and consider my budget, etc., etc. So, being the concerned salesperson that he was, he offered to have me fill out a customer contact card so he could let me know if there were any sales that I might be interested. I'm really bad at saying no, so I filled out the card, and James gave me his card, and I left.

Immediately after this, I walked across the street to a smaller furniture store and purchased a futon (which I'm actually gonna try and unbuy tomorrow...) from a little old man with a heavy NY accent.

I thought no more of my morning encounter until I received a text from James asking if I wanted to hang out...

I'm all for being able to put yourself out there and everything, but, correct me if I'm wrong, I think this was going a bit too far. Maybe I'm just horrified that I didn't catch on earlier. Maybe I should have understood, when he gave me his card and mentioned that his cell number was on it, that meant that in filling out his little customer contact card, I was actually giving him my number. I did not. I thought I was opening up the possibility of getting a discount on some furniture. I feel deceived. I did not respond.

Cry-Baby

Too young to be square... Too tough to be shocked... Too late to be saved

Such is the tag-line of the 1990 film, Cry-Baby, a movie I'd heard of over the years, but never seen until yesterday. In order to understand my reaction to the film, I believe it's necessary to understand the preconceived notions I had of it before yesterday.

So, I was a bit obsessed with Johnny Depp in high school, and championed films like Edward Scisorhands, Benny & Joon, and even Don Juan de Marco. While cyber-stalking my celeb crush, I came across pictures from cry-baby, but it was always the same picture--a tortured looking Depp, greased hair and leather jacket, with a single tear descending his cheek. From this, I deduced that the movie was about a greaser. I also saw short plot descriptions saying things like this one from IMDB: "Drape" (or Greaser) Wade Walker, also known as Cry-Baby for his ability to shed a single tear, falls head over heels for square Allison Vernon-Williams who, incidentally, is tired of being good." In my mind I pictured a cross between The Outsiders and Grease--an idea that was slightly shaken when a friend of mine referred to it as a musical, but not displaced.

That brings us to the time I sat down, on my own, and watched the movie, compliments of Hulu. It opens with a scene of high school kids waiting in line for immunizations of some kind, being given from the biggest needle I've ever seen. About two minutes in, the bubbly atmosphere is broken when a girl, admired by two boys, turns around to reveal the most repulsive face I've ever seen on a woman, made even worse by the contortions it went through as she talked, and the "switchblade" she carried (not really a switchblade as the blade was at least a foot long). At that point, I though, maybe this is just the intro?

I was mistaken. Things just got worse from there, and the introduction to cry-baby's hillbilly family (a cross between the Adams Family and Beverly Hillbillies) did not make things more pleasant. I realize now that the movie was a spoof, but that didn't make me feel any better about it. I sat through the whole thing, but it was one of the most painful experiences of my life. I guess that's what I get for not figuring out exactly what I was getting myself into ahead of time. From now on I'll take a glance at the genre before seeing a film.

New York Hospitality

I recently moved to Manhattan, and by recently, I mean exactly one week ago today. I don't know what I was expecting when I left my Southern California home, but everyone kept telling me that it would be "different." A lot of people told me that New Yorkers are rude and direct, that I should be prepared to fend for myself or be trampled down by the horde.

I won't say that this stereotype is entirely false (after only a week, I can't consider myself a credible source on anything, really), but I will say that my experience thus far completely contradicts it. When waiting for my bags at the airport, before the last one had even come around on the turn-style, a man came around asking if we (I was with my friend Edy who'd come along for moral support) needed a taxi. We said we did, and he immediately offered his help with our bags and bade us follow him. This was not the kind of service I expected; in fact, I was quite taken aback by it. I expected to have to go out of my way, push bystanders to the ground, and holler at the top of my lungs to get around in this city, and here was a man offering to take me where I needed to go without my even asking. It wasn't until later, crossing the street a few paces behind him, that I heard a voice over the loud speaker say "Please do not accept unsolicited offers for ground transportation." Edy threw me a glance that said "let's turn back," but as the suspect cab driver had one of my bags, I motioned for him to continue to the other side of the street before abandoning 1/3 of my belongings. When we reached the other side, we politely told him we thought we'd rather take a shuttle into town, took back the bag he'd been carrying, and headed back where we'd come from.

This incident not withstanding, I've found many New Yorkers to be quite helpful. When we finally reached the line of city taxis waiting for patrons, an airport employee handed us a pamphlet on New York transit and pointed us to our designated cab, where the driver took our bags, asked our destination, and then asked whether we minded taking the East River route. After inspecting that route on the gps in the back seat, we agreed, then headed off to my apartment.

One, possibly more convincing, instance of New York hospitality took place the next day as we attempted to board our first subway train. We'd walked all the way from Wall Street up to Central Park South, a fairly significant distance if you know the area, and had no intention of retracing our steps. So, we looked for a route that looked like it might take us home, then descended into the terminal where the map indicated we would find our train. However, the signs at the bottom of the stairs didn't correspond with what the map told us, and from thence came a bout of confusion that had us turning in semi-circles, looking for any kind of subway worker that might be able to help us. Not finding one, we were nearing despair when a lady walking by noticed us and asked what we needed. We told her the A train, and she pointed us down the passageway, up the stairs and over to the other side. We thanked her, then proceeded to purchase our passes. As we walked down the platform, we passed her again, and she smiled and repeated her previous instructions, asking if we were ok. There was more hospitality in this woman than I've met with in any stranger in California who wasn't trying to sell me something.