Tag Archives: Harlem

Welcome to New York, asshole.

16 Sep


“Does it have to be this noisy in here… are the portions really this small..  is this beer really fourteen dollars?”

I am very sympathetic –too nice– when it comes to people adjusting to the ways of New York.  Instead of administering tough love, and letting them swim on their own, the Midwesterner in me wants to help (i.e. Seeing French people freak, when they find themselves headed Uptown on an “A”-Express-train, headed straight for Harlem); however, I have no tolerance for visiting Americans who are dead-set on hating New York.

Why do Americans become so  enraged at New York for  being, well, New York?  You came here because this city is known for being loud, fast-paced and over-priced. Yes, when you leave the door of your hotel, you will pay ten dollars for breathing air, but what did you expect? It’s New York City .  Aren’t you here because the air does cost ten dollars?  Where else does a breath of air cost ten bucks? Nowhere, so fucking enjoy it, you Connecticut fuck. You don’t go to Italy, and then complain that the people are gesticulating with their hands  too much, so why are you complaining that this place, in the words of Daft Punk, is “Harder, better, faster, stronger?”

After comping  half of this guy’s check,  for asinine complaints that not even a corporate fun-house like Houston’s could honor, he still accused me of taking advantage of him. It was insulting. 

Do you honestly think that I care  for fourteen more bucks on a bill?

The daughter of this man was mortified, voicing my precise protest,  “You’re in New York,” she insisted. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Ironically, the man who was so concerned about his “un-opened mussels,” didn’t even check the bill when it was handed to him. You’d think a man so neurotic about an expensive beer, would atleast look at what he was paying for, before handing off the credit card; but no, he cleary was so rich that it truly didn’t matter what was going on the Amex. What mattered was the “principle” of the thing.

“A beer shouldn’t be $14, ever, not even in New York.”

The Midwesterner in me said, “No problem sir, you’re upset; I’ll take it off,”  but my manager wasn’t going to let this man suck up New York’s pride.

“I’m sick of these games,” my manager said. “He drank it. Gimme the check.” And my manager marched over and demanded that he pay the bill in full.

Sometimes you don’t know you’ve got it good, till a veteran New York manager is making you feel like the cheap piece of shit that you really are.