Apparently there are parts of Brooklyn that are not unlike the suburbs from which I spawned. Only with fewer malls. Meaning, one could potentially spend an hour walking from point A to point B, and see nothing but houses. Meaning, it might be a good idea to use a car when needing to travel from point A to point B in some parts of Brooklyn.
It is true that I grew up in the suburbs of the San Fernando Valley, three malls within walking distance of my home, but nary a walk to the mall existed because THAT IS WHAT CARS ARE FOR. However, after two years in Manhattan, I've gotten quite used to walking from place to place with the occasional subway or bus ride thrown in for good measure. In Manhattan, this is what people do. The island is so small, and everything so compact, one literally passes a laundry, a coffee shop, a flower shop, a restaurant and a liquor store on nearly every block.
I wrongly assumed that all of Brooklyn would be exactly like Manhattan.
Oh, how wrongly I assumed.
Considering that I have never left Manhattan except to travel to JFK, I had no business saying, "Yes, sure! I can go small-business- door-to-small-business-door while dragging a big heavy suitcase in 98% humidity in July in Brooklyn!" Because, dear readers, this would be like going small-business- door-to-small-business-door on foot in The Valley, only more humid. And with fewer malls. Brooklyn, in my opinion, or at least what I've seen of it, is basically a suburb of NYC. (Am I going to be screamed at now, but angry New Yorkers?) In case you weren't aware, there are not a lot of small businesses for which to go door-to-door in suburbs. No, there aren't. Really. I checked. I have the blisters and sunburn to prove it.
Today I found myself drenched in sweat, my dress soaked and clinging to my body in a most inappropriate way, blistered hands dragging heavy suitcase, shoulder bag full of empty water bottles (I do not understand the concept of "rationing" apparently), maps, books, and brochures, full bladder and nowhere to empty it, thinking to myself "WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE?"
And then I remembered that Johnny Cash started out by going door-to-door and so I wiped the sweat from my brow, which really was just replacing the sweat on my brow with sweat from my arm, hitched my bag further up my aching shoulder, and soldiered on.
This photo has nothing to do with my story. It was taken on July 21, this is a post for July 21, but I am writing it on July 22. On July 21, I did not have to wander in heat and humidity with blisters sweltering on my palms and a full bladder and nothing but sweet little row houses surrounding me for MILES. UPON MILES. On July 21st I did not have to cross highways while dragging a heavy suitcase in a sweat-soaked dress while smarmy men in beat-up cars whistled at me. On July 21st, as I left my quiet office temp job for the evening, I stepped into the cool evening and thought, Goodness this place is gorgeous at night! And then I took the above photo. But that doesn't make for as good a story now, does it?
7/21/09
1 comment:
Goodness that place is gorgeous at night! about as gorgeous as you, 'cept likely u mo' so, hence the smarmy men whistling... which is at some point a compliment, while also degrading and sometimes scary, tho' at my age ya kinda miss it ;).
~ any-who, writing sister of mine, I am sorry you were in sweltering, slimy humidity doing a job you are definitely over-qualified for, now take care of yourself. And, stay hydrated =)
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