Wagist

A Cynical New York Bitch

Posted on November 11, 2009 by Sara Chamberlin

My dad calls me a “Cynical New York Bitch”. As like, an amusing yet accurate term of endearment. Something is wrong here.

New York City has hardened me. It has robbed me of my pleasant demeanor and childish innocence. I don a menacing scowl as I briskly body check my way through the crowds. I mutter obsecenities under my breath. I delight in the anguish of others. It’s been a gradual process, but it only seems to get worse with each passing year.

There are too many of us squished together, for one thing. And we’re all in a rush. If you get in my way and make me late by even one second you will face my wrath. On the subway platform I tend to glare at people. I push them out of my way. If someone smiles at me I assume they are creepy and dangerous rather than friendly. Should a stranger dare to make casual conversation, I am disgusted, annoyed and horrified all at once.

Working in Times Square is a challenge. It’s packed with tourists, of course, but there’s also weird strangers trying to sell you stuff on every block. Comedy shows, theater tickets, sightseeing bus tours, a CD by a young rap artist. I used to politely decline all these offers. A simple, “No thanks! Gotta get to work!” But that lasted about a week before my patience ran out. Now I have a few different ways of responding:

1) Completely ignore them. Zombie-like. Stare straight ahead and pretend I can’t even hear them. It’s rude but it usually works.

2) Make a mean face and say something sarcastic. “Yes, I HATE comedy. I HATE laughing. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!”

3) Roll my eyes and groan loudly. This one is my favorite. The point I’m making here is that I’m so pissed off that I won’t even bother to answer with actual words. I’m only going to moan in pain like a crazy person until I’ve safely passed by you.

Not having a car gets annoying. Yes, public transportation is convenient and better for the environment. But not having somewhere to put your crap really sucks. By the time I get home at the end of the day I’m carrying 5 bags of different kinds of shit, my cell phone, my mail and a cup of coffee. Sweating bullets while I search for my keys in my useless/bottomless purse, the rage starts to bubble. I’ll slam the door behind me once I’m inside my apartment, throw everything to the ground and scream. This cannot be healthy.

I’ve also noticed that when my friends and I get together to “chat” we actually mean get together to “talk massive amounts of shit about people we hate”. (No, not you. Other people. Don’t be silly.) Any social situation is an excuse to complain endlessly about someone or something. It’s a sick little game we play but it’s just so damn fun to tear other people down. Insert maniacal cackle!

See what I mean? Something is very wrong here.