As I make my way to parts abroad I'd like to thank those here who've truly made my stay in NYC memorable.
A huge Italian-American "grazie" to my old boss, Mr. Phil, who once told me that I could stick a roll of quarters up my ass for all he cared. This was the response to my having asked him if he'd wanted to "buy" the roll as he often needed to go out and feed the meter.
A bold-faced "THANKS" to J. Christopher W., salon owner and bitch-cunt queen extraordinaire who, although he works taking care of the public all day, couldn't be less interested in behaving himself in another person's place of business. Decide that you must sit at "bar 10", the stool on the end of the bar, away from where your "husband" would like to sit & where there are currently not two empty stools near each other, and see how far that gets you amongst the regulars who already have a low opinion of you. The hubs, who had no place to sit, walked out of the resto in a huff. The rest of us averted our gaze and silently wished you'd get up and leave, too.
"Gracias" to the various kitchen staffs that have alternately referred to me as "baby", "mami", "mamita", "borachita", "guapa", y "ella". It's been both a pleasure (when the food came out on time) and a pain (when you were in a bad mood, not talking, cranking up the ranchero music, so no one could hear anyone else at the service window). Hasta, Guapos Grandes!
"Thanks, jack!" The 79 crosstown bus driver who, when I first came to town and couldn't figure out how to put the darn metro card in the bus card slot, just ripped it out of my hand and did it for me without saying a word. Me<---felt like an idiot child. Also, I don't learn by having things done for me, so "not thanks"!
A "gee thanks" to all who approached the box office where I worked thinking that it must instead be an a) NYC information booth; b) fortune teller's box; c) bad attitude dumping ground; d) a place for you to feel smarter, better, stronger, faster!
Super "thanks" to most of the baristas at Joe's for being head and shoulders less snotty than yer West Coast equals at places like Blue Bottle, Ritual, and Four Barrel. You take the order, and you make the drink (usually) sans guff.
Tiny-tot "thanks" to the Brownstone School for filling the sidewalk of W. 80th with your "stroller brigade" every day from 8-9am and 11am-12pm. It's been great having little tykes in buggies and on scooters sharing the already super narrow walkway with me. And to just think that I've been run into by future CEOs and university presidents!
Really a huge "thanks" to Jonathan, a NY "lifer" for showing me who I don't want to be. J. says things like, "I moved here right before 9/11 and, right afterward, I knew I was a New Yorker." Or, he tells me, "every time I get on a train to see my folks, I think, 'what am I doing?' 'Do I really want to leave the city?'" Dude, you're from NJ. It's not like you're visiting the home turf from a galaxy far, far away.
"Oi vey!" and "thanks" to all the Zabar's customers who can't get enough of saying "Excuse me! Excuse me!" repeatedly even though, trapped at the smoked fish counter, I've got no where to go and can't just, with smoked trout in hand, magically, hop out of your way.
To my last boss in HK, Connie, a tepid "grazie" for responding so poorly when I handed you my nicely written two-week notice and the resume of someone whom I thought would be a good fit to replace me. Connie stuffs my notice and friend's CV roughly into her shoulder bag and says, "Oh, great! Now we have to hire another bartender." Aw, Connie, it's been nice working with you, too.
TD Bank: I give you the "raspberries" and a mild "thanks" for, only when I closed my acct., being professional, courteous, and well-spoken. "TD Bank. The nation's most populated with ill-mannered rubes bank."
Thank you, NYC Farmers' Markets for mostly consisting of four apple stands and a bread booth.
Landlords, Al and Anna: an Archie Bunker style "aw, geez, thanks, eh?!" for almost bleeding us dry to live here, and, at the same time, for giving us a cheap-o, fake-leather coin purse and some super stinky lavender bath salts from the discount store around the corner for Xmas the first year we moved in.
THANK YOU: 1 out of 3 movers from the Jersey shore who's friendly and chatty. This helps reduce the nervousness around having things like my great grandma Bea's 1920s tile-top side table only wrapped in what looks like thinly lined butcher paper.
Icky-gross "thanks" to the mover who just farted in the space beneath the loft area where I'm sitting. "Did someone just rip some packing tape in here, or what?!"