Hmmm. Where shall I begin?
Friday night. Go outside. Immediately turn around and return to my apartment. Between the arctic wind and sub-zero temperatures, only polar bears could enjoy an evening out. Order in and watch Meet Joe Black. Blubber like a baby. Make it to bed at 2 a.m. Fast forward to 3 a.m. Am wakened by door slamming, clothes throwing, fit screaming argument between my next door neighbors. This lasted until 5 am. During which time the door slammed at least 27 times, they ran up and down the hall yelling/threatening each other 11 times, I banged on my wall (NY code for 'shut the hell up') 3 times, called the front desk to complain, and laughed my head off at some key phrases from the whole debacle.
"Quit telling me 'I want you' and 'Baby, I need you' when you don't."
"Give me my clothes" followed by running down the hall.
"Why don't you want you want your friends to see me?"
"I'm outta here. You're gonna be sorry" followed by a door slam and a walk down the hall and around the corner. Then peeking around the corner every 30 seconds to see if his lady was coming after him.
And yes, even this, the mother of all insults, "I'm calling your mother."
I sleep in until 11 am.
Saturday. Go to brunch at local favorite, Kitchenette. Almost get seated by nice host, but am brutally rebuffed by 'the boss.' As I am standing waiting (like I was told to do by the waiter/host), have another sour encounter with the boss. She tells me I'm standing in the wrong place. I reply that I am sorry, this is where the waiter/host told me to wait. Her oh so kind, you are the customer, my livelihood depends on you response..."Well, I'm the boss here. I tell people what to do, and I'm telling you to get in the front and wait there." I'm not gonna let her get the last word, so I reply, "Thank you for being so kind." Once seated a few minutes later, (steam still coming out my ears) decide that this place can't do this to ME. They're not getting my money, no way. Pack up, tell waiter/host thank you but bad news: your boss bites the big one. Proceed up the street and eat a better, more peaceful brunch. So there!
Sunday. Am startled when I hear a resounding thud and the vases on my bookshelves dance. Hmmm, strange. 2 minutes later, its happening again. What the? 2 minutes later, peat and repeat. Huh? How the? Who the? Throw on my Uggs, go around the corner, and into the workout facility. Find a gigantosaurus lifting 2 dumbells that easily weigh as much as me doing flys and then dropping the dumbells on the hardwood section of the floor, which they bounce off of like mere pebbles.
"Excuse me sir, but would you mind not dropping those on the floor? They are making the dishes on my shelves rattle."
"Oh. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again."
"Thank you so much, I really appreciate it."
Fast forward 5 minutes. Mini earthquake...again. 2 more minutes. Vases jumping, again. And again. That's it! I've had it! Stomp into workout facility hoppin' mad.
"I'm sorry, I hate to be rude. But my dishes are rattling in there."
"Still? Cuz I thought I didn't drop them as hard."
"No, you did."
"Oh, ok. Sorry. I guess I won't do it anymore."
Geeee, thanks.
I love New York. Now I know why I go out of town every weekend. It's the ultimate love/hate relationship.
Friday night. Go outside. Immediately turn around and return to my apartment. Between the arctic wind and sub-zero temperatures, only polar bears could enjoy an evening out. Order in and watch Meet Joe Black. Blubber like a baby. Make it to bed at 2 a.m. Fast forward to 3 a.m. Am wakened by door slamming, clothes throwing, fit screaming argument between my next door neighbors. This lasted until 5 am. During which time the door slammed at least 27 times, they ran up and down the hall yelling/threatening each other 11 times, I banged on my wall (NY code for 'shut the hell up') 3 times, called the front desk to complain, and laughed my head off at some key phrases from the whole debacle.
"Quit telling me 'I want you' and 'Baby, I need you' when you don't."
"Give me my clothes" followed by running down the hall.
"Why don't you want you want your friends to see me?"
"I'm outta here. You're gonna be sorry" followed by a door slam and a walk down the hall and around the corner. Then peeking around the corner every 30 seconds to see if his lady was coming after him.
And yes, even this, the mother of all insults, "I'm calling your mother."
I sleep in until 11 am.
Saturday. Go to brunch at local favorite, Kitchenette. Almost get seated by nice host, but am brutally rebuffed by 'the boss.' As I am standing waiting (like I was told to do by the waiter/host), have another sour encounter with the boss. She tells me I'm standing in the wrong place. I reply that I am sorry, this is where the waiter/host told me to wait. Her oh so kind, you are the customer, my livelihood depends on you response..."Well, I'm the boss here. I tell people what to do, and I'm telling you to get in the front and wait there." I'm not gonna let her get the last word, so I reply, "Thank you for being so kind." Once seated a few minutes later, (steam still coming out my ears) decide that this place can't do this to ME. They're not getting my money, no way. Pack up, tell waiter/host thank you but bad news: your boss bites the big one. Proceed up the street and eat a better, more peaceful brunch. So there!
Sunday. Am startled when I hear a resounding thud and the vases on my bookshelves dance. Hmmm, strange. 2 minutes later, its happening again. What the? 2 minutes later, peat and repeat. Huh? How the? Who the? Throw on my Uggs, go around the corner, and into the workout facility. Find a gigantosaurus lifting 2 dumbells that easily weigh as much as me doing flys and then dropping the dumbells on the hardwood section of the floor, which they bounce off of like mere pebbles.
"Excuse me sir, but would you mind not dropping those on the floor? They are making the dishes on my shelves rattle."
"Oh. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again."
"Thank you so much, I really appreciate it."
Fast forward 5 minutes. Mini earthquake...again. 2 more minutes. Vases jumping, again. And again. That's it! I've had it! Stomp into workout facility hoppin' mad.
"I'm sorry, I hate to be rude. But my dishes are rattling in there."
"Still? Cuz I thought I didn't drop them as hard."
"No, you did."
"Oh, ok. Sorry. I guess I won't do it anymore."
Geeee, thanks.
I love New York. Now I know why I go out of town every weekend. It's the ultimate love/hate relationship.
6 comments:
Lol. One of my favorite things about Jamie is that she is the littlest person in the Big Apple with the biggest attitude. There was a time on the subway when I thought we might get beat up by a guy who was, seriously, bigger than both of us put together. Because Jamie wouldn't budge and give the guy her spot by the hand rail. And I thought he was going to start crying.
Did you really give the bad news letter? IF so, you are my hero! I only wish you could've given the boss the message yourself. Were you at kitchenette downtown or uptown? I'm assuming downtown, and I have to say, their service as gone DOWNHILL as of late. Go to Good on 14th St. and forget Kitchenette. And another thing, their baked goods suck. And I would know, I've tried everything I can get my hands on in the city. Dry. Below mediocre. I mean, you might as well get some cupcakes at Fairway.
Anyway, I wish I could've been there to see you go off this weekend, Jame. Sort of.
You crack me up. I am laughing hard.
Sorry about all your misfortunes this weekend, sister. It all makes for great stories, though. Right?
I keep imagining a clumsy cartoon hippopotamus doing reps in your weight room.
YOu are the best!! I love it and although I didn't see it or witness it first hand, I saw it all in my mind, which made it for a better experience!! I love you...
Love you and miss you! Sorry that we have been strangers this last month. Know that you are in my mind and thoughts daily. I will call this week and we will catch up!
Loves Loves Heart heart
Jenny J
You are the perfect person for the job Jamie. You have a tough skin and although looks make decieve--nobody's going to push you around.
I loved reading these--kill or be killed-- encounters, these people have no idea who they are messing with.
at least you live somewhere with a front dest and workout room. i'm practically living in a dorm and the people above us have sex like you wouldn't believe but always after moving every piece of furniture they own around the room.
Jamie
Just tell me who to send the bad-news-letter to.
Curtis 2000
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