Why I could only live in New York City

There are those people who move to New York City and say they could never live anywhere else. There are a million and one reasons why someone would never want to leave the city; the ability to walk anywhere anytime, shops and stores every two steps, people scattered on the streets every time of the day or night, free events (mostly in the summer), it is always light out (that could be both good and bad), that disgustingly specific smell of smog and grease, cute gay couples walking out and proud, and most importantly, there is always a 24 hour Dunkin’ Donuts nearby when you are writing a paper at 2 o’clock in the morning, about to pass out into a coma.

As wonderful as those things are, and they are incredibly wonderful, those are what brought me to the city. What forces me to stay is my loss of sanity and ability to act socially appropriate in public. Every weekend I decide to venture back home, to my somewhat small suburban hometown, teaches me that while my stay in the city, I have acquired traits that some would call socially inappropriate for anywhere but the city, you could even say I have gone crazy. Anyone who lives in NYC will tell you there are certain things that are appropriate on the bustling sidewalks of Manhattan, (moderately appropriate), that are not appropriate anywhere else. 

In NYC, when you scream, “what do you want me to do, shit my pants and grease my ass with it” in the very public hallway of an apartment building in front of your neighbor, it opens up a great conversation piece the next time you happen to be stuck in an elevator for an awkwardly hilarious, 43 story elevator ride. In my suburban, Connecticut hometown, jokingly slapping the ass of a friend while on the escalator at the mall, would get some sort of snide commentary from a very annoying, intrusive man standing on the escalator two steps behind.

This weekend, at home, I went to the Olive Garden with a friend of mine. Every time he and I go out to dinner in Connecticut, we are always seated in the back of the restaurant, in an empty corner, far away from public society; it is as if they know something is going to happen. While drinking my lemon water, lemonade concoction I created, some dirty joke was exchanged and water came pouring out my nose. Along with the water fall out of my nose, came a choking/coughing fit that lasted a good four or five minutes. Within those four or five minutes the couple siting five booths away from us came over to make sure I was alright, along with two waiters and the manager, who was apparently called “to assist a possible choking victim”. How embarrassing. Well I do not embarrass easily and two minutes after the almost near death experience, we laughed about it. However, in New York City this situation never happens, not the choking part but the rushed assistance. Choking on my water, soda or sometimes even nothing happens quite frequently with me (I am a very giddy person). Usually while at a restaurant in the city, no aid comes during one of my attacks. Most New Yorkers are very well known for awkwardly staring or smirking at the crazy person making a crap load of noise while possibly dying in a restaurant. My friends have all learned to ignore my coughing/dying fits and continue on like nothing is happening. Now, you might think that I would like to employ all the attention I gained at Olive Garden, just in case I really am dying, or because I may just be self-absorbed. Truth is, I almost always am just choking on my water, making an awfully hilarious fool out of myself. I can always laugh at my ridiculousness, and most New Yorkers, along with my friends, usually laugh at it too. In Connecticut, I become the obnoxious person disrupting other people’s lives. In New York, people go on as if I am already dead, which for me, is not such a bad thing. I would prefer less attention, seeing as there is a very low probability I am really dying; I am making noise after all. 

Although some of the discussions I have on the streets of New York or in restaurants are probably not appropriate for anywhere and I should probably never be let out in public, they are somewhat acceptable in NYC, but never in Connecticut. At least here my friends and I can take walk after dark, when there are less people on the streets to witness our incredibly obnoxious and many times inappropriate, dirty comments and discussions. Is it ever appropriate to yell “hey, there is a naked man in that apartment,” while the man’s window is open, probably not. However, in New York the man just turns around and walks away. In Connecticut, we would probably be caught on a security system, while the cops are called. 

Walking down the street in NYC is always an interesting experience. Sometimes I cannot help but die laughing for absolutely no reason. Other times I experience the wonderful sight of an adorable cute couple in Chelsea hold hands. (I am the person who doesn’t know how to walk and accidentally crashes right into their clasped hands, embarrassingly breaking them apart, giving all of us a quick laugh, while I attempt to sprint away). I even get to experience exciting conversations of which all I hear is, “no, not the time we had the three-some”. Although, I may be that crazy person wearing a bowtie with a tee shirt for no other reason that I feel like it, with a friend screaming “lube everywhere” in the middle of the street, my life would not be quite as interesting. I am a character that fits right in with all the other characters in New York City. 

What kind of life would I have if I did not get to experience the embarrassment of trying to take a picture of a complete stranger on the subway while getting caught by the person sitting next to me? I have recently been told that I made someone’s day by an awkward, embarrassing comment I made in the hallway. I like to think I add humor to random stranger’s lives.Everyone in NYC seems to let out their inner freak, even if it may only be at two in the morning. I fit right in. I would never fit anywhere other than the crazy, unpredictable streets of New York City. I may end up dying here with all the other moderately socially inappropriate New Yorkers that are holed up in this incredibly crazy and diverse city. I may not be able to leave for the sanity of others, but why would I ever want to?