Remember the Aesop fable of Country Mouse and City Mouse? Well, in no surprise to anyone, I’m the Country Mouse and the thought of going to any large, busy city sends me into apoplectic shock.
My son just graduated from nursing school in New York City, which in my mind, is like, the biggest city in the universe. There was no way around it; we had to travel there and pretend we liked it.
We began our journey as we do every trip: I sit in the backseat with my pillow and ugly afghan and Nancy takes the wheel. Trust me, it saves both our lives when I’m not his co-pilot. I don’t have to watch him eating entire jumbo bags of Twizzlers and “singing” to every Doors song ever made. He doesn’t have to watch me glare at him for three hours. Win-win.
We finally arrived at our hotel, where one overnight stay cost as much as my first car. AND they added a RESORT FEE! WHAT?!! This wasn’t freaking ARUBA; we were in Brooklyn and the only resort-esque thing I could find about this very average hotel was the smell of fish.
Nancy parked the car and remortgaged the house to pay the overnight fee. How do people live here? Why do people live here? I am flummoxed. It takes a tolerant person to make their life in this concrete jungle, land of no grass, cars parked on every sidewalk and the smell of tinkle and, inexplicably, nail polish remover in the night air. Yet, my son and every friend he had in high school all reside in various hoods and love it. I can’t figure it out.
There were sirens screaming through the streets, day and night. When a siren squeals by my Country Mouse home, I know it’s a tragedy. When sirens ring throughout the streets of Brooklyn, it’s just a Tuesday.
Look, I’m no hillbilly; I’ve lived and worked in Los Angeles and Philadelphia, but it didn’t cost $7.50 just to breathe the air in those places. (Double on weekends in Manhattan). And, I will receive hate mail for this, but every single person seemed slightly annoyed and constipated as we passed them on the street. I’m used to that with my family but not complete strangers. NYC really is a melting pot. I just wish everyone in the pot would smile more.
Just when I thought there was no amount of street food that can make me love the city (although Burgers, Burritos & Beyond came close) I found my Nirvana! An underground food stand that sells homemade pierogis and kielbasa! From a real Polish chef! Finally … my happy place. It was almost worth the $8.50 bottled water I bought to wash it all down. Almost.
And then, Country Mouse found a place that made her feel right at home! Target! I found Target. Out of the thousands and thousands of unique stores and shops, Target had what I was seeking: Band Aids for my blisters and a Hershey Bar with almonds to keep me going and not fall into a sidewalk grate. I would be OK.
New York, New York: Frank Sinatra said if I can make it here, I can make it anywhere. Oh, Frank. I barely made it out of the Holland Tunnel.
I’m just a small-town mouse, living in an insular, comfortable, tiny Village. I can make it here. But nowhere that smells like diapers and asks for a kidney donation with every car parked.
