This here is the hater’s guide to New York City. What's that you say? You love living in the Big Apple? So do we. We love it so much we fucking hate it.
[All images via ShutterStock]
The amount of money we pay for rent in this town is well documented, but the fucked up thing is that even though most of us are paying north of $2,000 a month to live in a goddamn lunch pail you're lucky -- nay, BLESSED -- if you have a laundry room in your building. Not inside your actual apartment, but a communal space somewhere in the building (usually the basement, which is always cleanly and pristine) where you can wash your clothes right after the lady with 57 cats washes hers. And that's always pleasure, because when it's time to dry your clothes you get to clean someone else's lint trap and see everything from pet hair, to half-used tissues they accidentally washed (old people love hanging on to half-used tissues), to band-aids, to grey pubes. Ahhhhh, good old grey pubes...I've seen enough to last 10 lifetimes.
Cost of Fitness
When it comes to draining you of money, this town is without relent or an equal. New York City gyms are one of the worst culprits. They cost more than double that of their suburban counterparts. Sure, you could find a few cheap ones, but those tend to have three locations in the entire city and we all know if any red tape separates you from getting there, you're not going.
However, the biggest scam going in this town are the “specialized” gyms.
My fiancé goes to Soul Cycle and each time she goes for a 45 minute spin class it costs $32 dollars. ONE CLASS! Who is teaching these things, Greg LeMond?
Soul Cycle and it's competitors are a goddamn racket and they can suck my dick because for the $160 a month she's wasting to ride a bike five times a stranger owes me a blow job.
Chalk it up to my cold and heartless nature, but there is nothing I find more irritating than these noise assassins ruining my commute. A crowded train is a captive audience in that the only way to escape their spiel is jumping to an inevitable death. They bring big-ass equipment on board and pierce your ear drums with unwanted noise and then lay on a push guilt trip. Let me enjoy my already-annoying trip in peace, thank you very much.
The first time I visited New York City and stepped into the center of the universe, I was overwhelmed with the sights and sounds. There is no place in the world like Times Square and that’s a good thing. There should be no other place like it. I had the unfortunate privilege of working in the area for two years and it was hell. You’re approached by strangers wanting a minute of your attention every six seconds. The math alone doesn’t add up. Oh, and if you brush off the comedy people, they loudly accuse you of being a racist to everyone within earshot. AMERICA.
The Clipboard Mafia
Here's a faction of people that "don't get it." Two at a time they stand on the sidewalk -- outside of subway stops or other high traffic areas -- and ambush people, trying to spark-up conversation with passersby as they attempt to coax them into signing their petition. Because watching some idiot’s song and dance and signing that petition is what we all hope to do when we leave the house in the morning, right? A bazillion percent WRONG.
How and when did this become a good idea? It's rush hour, you blue vest-wearing asshole. Even if it weren't, even I was, say, out for a leisurely stroll because I like the fresh air and shit, do you think I'm just itchin' to be approached? These headphones are planted in my ears at all times for a myriad of reasons and one such reason is to politely convey the message that you, your clipboard, and the Clean Water Project can all go fuck yourselves.
It’s literally impossible to get a real amount of groceries and transport them home without either paying for money for a cab or subjecting your upper body to a tortuous workout. As a result, you’re forced to visit the neighborhood store three times a week instead of once every other week like a normal human being. It sounds like a small thing, but I assure it’s incredibly maddening.
The country as a whole is suffering from Brooklyn overload. From “Girls” to the ubiquitous hipster infiltration, the entire borough is perceived as this quirky playground inhabited solely by tattooed bike messengers. Sadly, this is an oversimplified stereotype. It’s much, much more complicated than that, and a hell of a place to live. But its image has been bastardized and co-opted by movies, television and high-minded blogs – as well as poorly executed trend pieces in the New York Times. It’s a damn shame, too.
Aspiring Rappers on the Street Hawking Their Shitty Mix Tape
HAVE YOU PEOPLE NOT HEARD OF YOUTUBE? Tons of white college kids are becoming Internet famous while you’re on the corner of Broadway and Houston trying to force your CD into my hand while saying “yo playa, do you like hip-hop” and then have me pay for it? I always have to lie and say, “no, I do not like hip-hop.” But kudos to these guys for recognizing my playa status.
Garbage Lines the Streets
No really, garbage is just flung on the sidewalk. No cans. No order. Just bags of fucking garbage sprinkled about the walkway. The best is when grocery stores toss their minutes-from-expiration unbought food out on the curb, that’s when you get to see who among us is willing to look past the fact that a bag of potatoes spent the last two hours lying on the sidewalk.
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