The Boyfran and I managed to survive our voyage to The City That Never Sleeps— I’ve gotta say, its very different when you’re staying in an actual hotel as opposed to sleeping in a rat-infested hostel or renting an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen from a guy named Caesar. I even managed to come away with some important life lessons.
#1: That Guy Is Not My Boyfriend
I’m not known for my navigational abilities so I try to stay close to The Boyfran in situations where it’s inappropriate to manically shout “BOYFRAN, BOYFRAN!” when I can’t find him. One such place is the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where I got so distracted by all the shiny swords that I realized I’d wandered off on my own. A few cursory glances revealed The Boyfran staring intently at an old suit of armor across the way.
I sauntered up to him, ready to cross that moral line of this-is-too-sexually-inappropriate-for-a-public-place and leaned over to whisper something in his ear involving the words “manhood” and “maneuver.”
I was about two seconds away from rubbing up against him when he responded with a British accent.
“Yes, that’s very true.”
I stumbled backwards, coming to a horrifying realization—THAT IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND.
Luckily the Met is large enough that I successfully spent the next 4 hours avoiding Fake Boyfran and devising escape routes in case he’d reported my inappropriate sexual advances to the authorities.
#2: I’ve Watched Too Much “Breaking Bad”
Either that, or everyone in NYC is a mobster kingpin meth dealer. Seriously– shady deals were going down everywhere I looked. The first was in Port Authority, just after we arrived and needed some calories. I couldn’t help noticing this weathered looking mafia type fellow sitting quietly, no beverage or tasty treat in sight. After 10 minutes, a young man walked by and left an empty pack of Orbitz gum on the table in front of him. Mobster Kingpin Meth Dealer studied it carefully, his face a mask of stoicism, then placed it in his front pocket. Obviously, it contained a treasure map to a den of meth or instructions on how to dispose of bodies.
I tried not to stare, lest I be added to his list of people to murder. Two hours later, when we passed through once again, he was STILL sitting there, obviously waiting for someone to bring him a suitcase of money and/or blue meth from the Land of Enchantment.
#3: I’m a Hater, Apparently
I received a ridiculous amount of comments for having red hair and blue eyes. My favorite had to be when we were waiting for a subway and this young guy crossed my path.
“Hey, you got blue eyes!”
“You were born with those?”
I nodded distractedly, preferring not to continue this enlightening conversation.
“Oh, you don’t want to talk to me ‘cause I’m black? You hate black guys?”
An uptight very White Person part of my brain wanted to defend myself, but that was really just my pride talking, and not some legitimate desire for human connection and understanding.
Instead, I shouted “NO I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE SHOUTING AT ME IN A SUBWAY STATION AND I’VE SEEN SEASON 2 EPISODE 1 OF ‘HOUSE OF CARDS’ AND DON’T WANT TO LIVE IT.”
Not really. But I thought about it.
#4: Unicorns Are Killers
#5: These People Are Wonderful
I’m not sure why everyone thinks New Yorkers are rude. From the moment we touched down to the second we lifted off, everyone was super friendly. I could hardly stop to puzzle over Google Maps before some random passerby would ask what bar I was trying to find and then point me that way. I’d daresay the people there were a hell of a lot friendlier, open, and inviting than those in my own city.
And it’s not just because I occasionally propositioned them near displays of Medieval weaponry.
Have you ever accidentally talked to someone you thought you knew? Do you tend to make up conspiracies about strangers?
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