Two weeks ago I was crying in a barrel of powder at work. It was one of those weeks. My cat died, I was living at home (no offense mom) my face was breaking out and I was temping in the Quality Control department of Muscle Milk (I was working in a factory and I had to wear a hairnet, A HAIRNET). Basically my life was one huge #whitegirlproblem. A change needed to be made so I booked a flight to NYC and made some loose and very vague plans.
I enlisted the help of a friend who insisted that if I made some moves, things would work out. Mallary promised a spot to sleep in her Chinatown apartment, possibly a job and more importantly a Summer of fun and NYC discovery. All these promises were confirmed via text message because Mallary has been busy opening a restaurant. Written word and smiley emoticon is all I need. Sold. Flight booked and here I am.
The living situation in Mallary’s Chinatown sweatbox goes as follows: Mallary and I sharing her room/bed, Mallary’s roommate Mary in her own room and add ons Drew and Caitlin on an air mattress in the kitchen. Add 98% humidity and you have one sweaty, fun, hostel, in the middle of China.
Waking up to Asian’s spitting and cursing at each other over parking, has become my favorite alarm clock. Mallary put it best, “Strangely comforting.”
The past couple days have been a whirlwind of “WTF am I doing? I feel so alive! This is amazing!” and “Oooh, whats that?” Mallary forgets I’m in straight tourist mode as I continue to bring my camera on our runs…. Of course I need a picture of Jay Z’s house across the water in Brooklyn, and who cares if I have to use extra zoom on my camera to get the Statue of Liberty, I’m in NYC!
I’ve jumped into the city headfirst, as usual. Since my friends who live here actually have lives, I’ve done most exploring on my own. Learning the subway, exploring the distinct neighborhoods and of course, learning my way around has kept me busy.
I’ve even managed to score a serving job at an Italian Cantina in West Village. Asssssssssa! Back into the industry and hopefully back into the tip money it brings. Not bad for 4 days in the big, bad, city.
NYC may turn into the sweaty, summer romance I’ve always dreamed of…