I loved New York City Until…
| July 16, 2010 | Posted by caroline under lifestyle, myself, personal, storytelling |
…until, New York let me down. Truly, it was a reality check — mesmerized by the streets that looked like Paris spiked with North America, caught up in the people that started conversations because they had nobody to talk to at home, captivated by the zeal of people’s lives….Just like that, I was entranced by New York and just as quickly jolted back to reality.
I saw no harm in this city that has slowly stretched its cunning arms and reached its paws into the world. Rather, I believed it to be perfection unappreciated. I went into it open, bared and prepared. I had learned from Bombay how to pretend I was a local, I learned in Montreal how to venture into philosophical cocktail conversations, it was in Toronto I learned to make the business deal over a latte and in New York… I still know not what I have to learn. But it was only a matter of time before tonight happened.
I have always been aware of my surroundings. I know when there are people walking near me on empty streets, I am always looking at people on the subway out of the corner of my eye and, if you’ve noticed that I’m nervous-looking, these are the reasons. When I drink alcohol, I watch my friend’s drinks and my own, weary of any nearby perverts. In some circles, I’m known as Caro the Paro.
My wallet was stolen tonight. This was in the West Village, albeit somewhere not-especially-nice-but-with-a-really-cool-live-band-downstairs ….and comfy couches I sat on cross-legged. My guard was down. I sat beside a girlfriend, our backs to a wall of railings and a curtain. We sat across from our two guy friends, giddily enjoying our lucid lubrication. I had my purse by my side when a light ruffle near my thigh made me turn around abruptly. I grabbed at it as his hand escaped my purse, which had been sitting literally right beside me — touching my leg — and I reached in my bag to check for my necessities. Nothing. In the same instant, I acted — I ran on impulse, I chased after him and was 2 seconds away from him by foot. As I ran out the door, the [very] young man who was trying to flirt with me at the pool table said, “I saw a man just run into that store.” He could very well have been lying to me, as I did avoid him and his friends inside the bar. Perhaps the thief ran the opposite way?!? I galloped (’cause I’m a horse) down the street in my high heels (not stilettos) and really, really nice top that I’ve only worn twice.
Of course, you can imagine what happened next. Well, I’m not telling you. Instead, I will tell you how upset this made me. Angry. Not terrified, not sad — Angry. That’s the only word I can call upset anymore, there is no in between. In that moment, I wanted to find the man, punch his face in and bury him in the sewers of this city so that his body would decompose and rise in a stench that leaks out between the wafting odours of chicken rice, hot dogs, souvlaki and roasting nuts. Who would dare do that to me? I couldn’t fathom…was I not invincible? Did I not hold my purse tightly at all times?
I’ll tell you something else, I had talked to this man. I knew what he looked like. He was about 5’8 with a pockmarked face, perhaps acne scars. Small beany eyes. Yes, little blank, empty eyes. He was wearing all black, sitting behind my friends and I. There was no one else in the bar, we just wanted a place to chat and have a drink, really. The seating was soft. I had been doing a silly dance on my chair and I accidentally brushed the back of his head with my elbow. I turned and touched the head of the man who eventually stole my wallet, and I apologized and asked, “Are you OK? Sorry about that!”…like a true Canadian, chastised only this afternoon by my acting teacher for being too nice. Over the next ten minutes, my friends teased me into doing some steps from my jazz class routine and… it wasn’t a pretty sight. The man watching from the couch near the dance floor, as I danced in jest, is the one who stole my wallet later on that night. Maybe he didn’t like my moves?
I didn’t find the thief. But I did lose the Mont Blanc cardholder my godparents gave me 6mos ago, which I’d just been admiring this evening as I walked on the train. It had a small scratch on it, but that added character to its soft leather. I did reach my bank in time to cancel my credit card — he’d only spent $9.20 on a cab ride to his next destination, presumably running away from me. He had my METROpass, but I don’t need it — I am returning to Toronto in 3 days and won’t be back here till September. He had my ID, my debit card, the business cards of my hairdresser, my boyfriend’s business card…It sucked. And he got the $120 phone I’d bought just 6wks ago with an unlimited data/long distance plan– I didn’t take this as personally ’cause I was just happy he didn’t get my Blackberry. My friends tried talking to disinterested police officers and sifting through garbage bins nearby, but alas, he was gone.
I was hurt. I didn’t think I deserved it. I don’t think anyone does. It literally feels like a loss of identity, trust…There is something inside me that wants to blame New York and scream, this is New York — weren’t you expecting something like this? And yes, I was…and I was also expecting the same brownstone stoops, envisioning gossiping neighbours, the crazies, and the fashionable — So I’m not blaming this on New York. Like when dating, I must see the person as they take shape before me and as I learn their little nuances or bad habits. There is a level of compromise and acceptance that takes place in relationships. But, I must say, the honeymoon phase of our affair is over. And it’s only a matter of time before the rough and tumble hits. I am moving to New York.
UPDATE: Am I moving to New York? Hmm…On the next episode of people vs. places — which do I love more? Is a place the same without the people?
