New York and the Color Yellow by Ami Gates 11/17/11
In the midst of unloading all that we own, packing the rest in my Parent’s Garage, and Initiating our plan to wander the world in search of answers, Jeremy and I thought we would join Josh for a quick weekend jaunt to NY City, Manhattan Island.
Josh was staying at The W on Times Square and invited us to hang out. So of course, we did.
Our Wednesday was spent traveling to NY, with our drive to Orlando, our 2 hour late plane, our flight to NY, and “getting a Taxi”.
In my imagination, and from watching TV shows, I had always envisioned a huge surplus of Taxi’s in NY, just waiting to take you anywhere you want to go. This has turned out to be most profoundly false.
When we exited the airport with our bags, we entered what we discovered was the Taxi Line. A line made up of over 60 groups of people, waiting, smoking, complaining, and talking on cell phones.
After about 40 minutes in line, we entered a Cab with a man wearing a large yellow turban and driving skills that nearly resulted in the deposition of urine in his back seat.
“I only have the one pair of underwear!” I kept yelling, but it seemed that maybe he did not speak good English.
We then arrived at The W on Times Square, after 12 fun filled hours of travel, met up with Josh, and had a look at the Room on the 52nd floor.
The view was excellent, and we all decided to head out for some food and walking. We walked around Times Square for a while, located the Whole Foods Market on the edge of Central Park, and then planned to get Japanese food.
The Japanese Restaurant was small and quaint. We all ordered lots of foods to taste, and I was pleased with my tofu. Jeremy sampled the Saki, and then sampled it again.
After much eating, we stopped at the Whole Foods Market so I could buy Ami-foods, like Red Bhutan rice, distilled water, sprouted lentils, apple cider vinegar, fruit, and some soy yogurt for that evening. The Whole Foods was huge and filled with people. It was similar in size to a Boca Raton, FL Whole Foods, but not so much in spirit. The smell of funk, cheese, and what I think was spoiled meat filled isles 3 and 4, and people were in a hurry. It was also nearly 11 pm and the store was still open (my favorite thing about NYC besides Central Park).
I gathered all of my food items into my cart and ventured to the “line where you check out”. Josh and Jeremy had stepped away to go to the restroom and so it was up to me to wait in line.
In NY, there are not “lines” per se, but rather, there are organized queuing areas with police overseeing the mania. So, I entered one of the queues. I looked overhead and noticed that there were large screens that displayed all the numbered checkout counters. Apparently, when a checkout counter is ready for a person to approach, the screen will light up with the number of that counter and the number is also called out aloud, like “ Numba 28” for example.
OK, I thought, seems easy, I can do this.
At some point in the far future, I was at the front of my queue, and to my right was a Chinese woman at the front of her queue. She was looking at me. I became uneasy.
Then, at that moment, two numbers were called and both lit up, nearly simultaneously. So, I chose to go to the closer counter 18, and figured that the Chinese woman would go to the other counter 15. As I approached the counter and started to load my groceries onto the very small area, I looked to my right and the small Chinese woman was standing less than one inch from my side. A terrified small squeal-like sound slipped from my lips and I stood looking at her.
She then yelled, “Yellow!!”.
Hmm, I thought, yellow, hmmm, what could this mean? Is this a racial issue? Did I accidently get into the Small Chinese Woman line rather than the Short Italian Woman line? But why “yellow”, what can that mean??
As I pondered the notion of color, she again yelled the word “Yellow!” into my general area. I turned and looked at the checker, who rolled her eyes and started checking out my items.
“I can move to the other numbered line if you would like”, I said to the checker. Though I was not certain why the Chinese woman had not just gotten into the other line. I again looked to the checker for an explanation or reassurance that I had not accidently entered the Special Yellow Line for the Small but Surprisingly Loud. (the SYLSSL Line). The checker, who continued to check my items seemed unconcerned, and the Chinese woman, still standing only 1 inch from my person, made a very unpleasant noise at me and ventured to the counter next to me (also with no wait).
The Whole Foods Yellow Event, and its meaning, remained a mystery to me until our second stop at a different Whole Foods Market the following day. As it turns out, the queues are also color-coded on the floor of the queue (like a prison or insane asylum).
Once you choose a queue, you must then enter a counter that lights up AND is in your correct color region. Apparently, I had been standing in the blue queue and had gotten into the yellow area by mistake. To avoid this egregious color faux pas again, I noted that I was “red area” and should proceed accordingly.
On Thursday, Josh sadly had to work all day, and so Jeremy and I spent the day seeing Central Park, 5th Ave, and the Natural History Museum (as well as a Space Show – I love Space Shows). We walked about 10 miles that day, and Central Park in the fall took my breath away. I was so enamored with the colors of the trees and the little lakes and bridges, all coddled by self-proclaimed musicians, and the smell of fresh leaves and coffee
It was by far the most beautiful part of NYC. Jeremy and I walked for several miles inside the glorious park, repeatedly surprised at the lack of urine odor. Now and then, a horse and carriage would pass by carrying other tourists, and the cool fall breeze coaxed the leaves from the trees creating a wonderland of color and sensation. Had Jeremy and I not already been in love, we would certainly have fallen in love there.
Midway through the Park was an eclectic partly vegetarian coffee house and French style bakery (for real!) We waited in line (of course) and as we approached the counter, we retrieved our travel coffee mugs for our backpack (save trees!!) and ordered coffee. This request confused the male human behind the cash register quite profoundly.
He said, “you want the coffee in here?!?”.
I said, “yes I do – it’s a coffee mug”.
He was still confused and bewildered. He called to the back for assistance. A robust woman came to the front.
He then said to her, with great animation and consternation, “can we put coffee in here???”.
He then turned the mug over – it said StarBucks on the bottom – a hint that the mug was indeed intended for coffee use.
They carefully investigated the mug (much like the monkeys do on the Wild Kingdom Shows), repeatedly touching it in areas that made me wish for the wrath of God to either smite them both or advance them into some level of comprehensible intelligence. And then, just before I was going to smite them myself, they agreed to place coffee into the coffee mug. Jeremy quickly ushered me to the area where I was to choose something chocolate. (I love how he handles me).
Once we had coffee and chocolate, all was forgiven, and we continued our journey north as I yelled “save trees – you idiot” to the checker as we departed.
Did I mention that I love NYC- I can yell at anyone I want to and they even sometimes yell back.
After watching a wonderful planetarium show about star nurseries, seeing the Natural History Museum, eating chocolate, and wondering if there was any intelligent life in the universe, we met up with Josh to head out for dinner.
Josh suggested Little Italy and China Town. We agreed, and took another Taxi ride. pedestrians, but the Taxis and Peds seem to coexist in a magically world were inches are enough not to run someone down.
It again took us some great effort to get a Cabbie, and once in the Cab, I forgot why we had chosen to do this again. The Cabbies like to speed up to each red light as fast as they can, and then stomp on the breaks. This way, we have the illusion of traveling fast. I am shocked that there are not more dead pedestrians, but the Taxis and Peds seem to coexist in a magically world were inches are enough not to run someone down.
We then arrived in Little Italy and were immediately accosted by restaurant patrons certain that we wanted a full description of their menu; they each nearly dragged us into their restaurants. Within 20 minutes, we chose the only restaurant that we were not forcibly dragged into. It had been there since 1919, and had one of the best pizzas I have had in a good long while. Not that cardboard crap you order here in Gville from those want-to-be Italian restaurants, oh no, but real pizza with fresh made spicy gravy (not ketchup), fresh peeled red peppers, Vidalia onions, and calamata olives. It was magical, and I had to stop myself from eating the entire pizza, as we had a 30 minute Taxi ride ahead of us that would resemble Space Mountain in Disney.
Before heading home, we walked through China Town as well. China Town and Little Italy are only one street apart, carefully separated by a Malaysian restaurant and a drug store. Little Italy was clean and pretty, with little flowers and quaint shops, and China Town looked worse than it smelled, with garbage everywhere. This just reinforced my notion of location independence, and that you are what you eat. Then, another Taxi ride back to the hotel, and off to bed.
Friday was our only full exploration day with Josh, and we also had a Broadway Show scheduled for 8 pm. To start out our Friday, we took a walk down the Diamond Section to get to Central Park. Josh had not yet seen the Park and I was eager to return. I also wanted to traverse the Diamond area for a glance at the Black Hatters (more appropriately known as the Hasidic and Orthodox Jews). It was like a scene out of the movie Snatch, and I wondered what deals they were making (bubbie).
For much of Friday, we walked the Park, went to see the Intrepid aircraft carrier, and then ate at the famous Carnegie Deli.
The Carnegie Deli is supposed to be the best Jewish Deli in NYC. Well, it sucks and there were no Jews. When I go to a deli, I want an old Jewish waiter, I want impatience, I want to be yelled at so I that I can yell back and feel more at home. Sadly, none of this occurred as there was not a Jew or even a bad-English-speaking person in sight. The food was not Jew food and my kasha knish and matzo ball soup were as disappointing as the kind and courteous wait staff.
Josh and Jeremy ordered pastrami and corn beef and seemed moderately satisfied. To make up for this atrocious blasphemy of Jew Food, I will have to make my own knishes for Thanksgiving this year.
Later that evening, it was time to see our first Broadway show. Although Josh smartly wanted to see The Mormon, the tickets were $1000 each – for the seats that Josh would tolerate – and so we had been forced to make an alternative selection. About three days before the trip, Jeremy and I had reviewed all the Broadway Shows, and after about 1.5 hours of reading and watching videos online of each show, Jeremy said that we would see anything but the Lion King.
We spent an hour dressing up in our snazzy NYC 38 degree weather outfits. I was wearing wool pin stripped dress pants over a set of ski leggings, with a red silk sweater, a black cashmere and wool coat, black high heel boots, and black gloves. Jeremy was wearing his black wool suit from the wedding, a fancy scarf, and his patent leather shoes.
To match this, Josh wore blue jeans.
We walked to the theatre along Broadway Ave and Times Square, dogging the thousands of people littering the area. Though it was 38 degrees outside, the lights on Times Square and sheer volume of on-lookers, as well as my ski pants, made me rather warm.
We arrived at the Lion King about 25 minutes early, entered, and stood against a wall watching the other people and children enter the theatre. We of course had nearly the best seats in the house – third row and center. This meant that I had to hold my urine until the Intermission, so as to not disturb the 20 people to my left or right.
The Show itself was a 7 for Lion King, and a 5 overall. The set design was extraordinary, but the singing was not. The woman who played the monkey did a very convincing job, and was by far our favorite character. While she did not sing on key, she had a fun and strong voice and made wonderful clicking noises as she spoke. (I love the clicking). The guy who played the lead role of Simba however (for those who recall the Lion King) could better have played a role in Sleeping Beauty or Zoolander. He wandered around bearing his stark white veneers and touching his own nipples.
Largely, the show was fun and we were glad when it was over.
After the high heels and the walking and the sitting and the Lion King, and the taking two taxi rides, it was finally midnight and we were headed back to our warm room on the 52 floor where I fantasized about removing my shoes, peeing, and eating Quinoa that I would prepare on my secret hot plate that we snuck in and kept in the bathroom.
But, Jeremy suggested that perhaps we would rather meet up with his friend Jason and stay out for another 2 hours until 2:00 am having a bit of a chat. Well, I thought deeply about this – heading out again into the cold, on the high heels, more sitting, no quinoa, no warm bed, maybe peeing, and I then said, “ Of course my love, whatever you like”. (That’s what being married is all about!).
So, we met up with Jason on the 7th floor of The W on Times Square in the pretentious bar area where the smell of incense, alcohol, and poor judgment permeated the visible air. We all hugged, and agree (after I insisted) that we find a place with alcohol AND pizza.
Within 15 minutes, we were in a pizza bar on Tines Square, and I was sitting at the bar sandwiched between Jeremy and Jason. Many topics transpired while we ate my fried zucchini, and finally the topic of Politics and social issues arose. Many wonderfully optimistic suggestions bounced back and forth across me (while I quietly ate) until Jason asked what I thought.
I smiled and said, “Let’s put birth control in the Big Macs”.
While Jason tried to determine if I had spoken in jest, my sincere suggestion was properly illustrated by the arrival of my pizza. I had ordered a pizza (when we first arrived). Two girls took my order, and we all carefully discussed the concept of “no cheese” for many minutes. The pizza was to have tomato sauce, onions, (no capers – because though they were on the menu, they were not permitted on the pizzas), olives, and no cheese of any kind.
The pizza arrived with no mozzarella (a good start) but a lot parmesan. Luckily, I could smell and see the cheese and so did not mistake it for garlic and eat it. So, being most extremely hungry at this point, I called the waitress over and kindly explained to her that my cheese-less pizza had parmesan cheese all over it. She immediately called another witness for confirmation. They spoke amongst themselves and then after 15 minutes said, “yes – did you not want parmesan?”
For a moment, I stared back at them searching for words that would better explain how no cheese meant no cheese. Then, with the kindness of three grandmothers I said in my Disney-style voice (that I use to answer student questions), “yes <insert smile here> as I explained, I am allergic to cheese <say with emphasis>, so I cannot eat any type of cheese at all, not even parmesan <insert another smile here>.
The two girls looked at each other in confusion and horror. Then, the girl who was the manager turned to me and said, “so, do you want us to add mozzarella?
Jeremy gently touched my leg.
“No, but thank you”, I replied, “because mozzarella is also a type of cheese. Perhaps we can fashion a new pizza without any types of cheese – what do you think?”.
The two girls stepped away for a moment to review my request. I saw them talking quickly back and forth and could only wonder if a single intelligent word had been exchanged between them. One of the girls then returned and again asked me to clarify that I did not want any type of cheese. I assured them that this was in fact the case. Finally, the pizza was remade with no cheese, and I of course took a special moment to thank them for taking so much trouble (and apparent brain power) in the avoidance of the addition of cheese-related toppings.
We stayed at the bar until after close, said our goodbyes to Jason, who was starting to get on board with the Big Mac-birth control suggestion (at least for the wait staff at the restaurant), and we headed off to our room.
The follow day was Saturday, and our departure day. However, we did not have to depart until the early evening, and Josh still wanted to see the Statue of Liberty, Wall Street (with its group of job-lacking complainers), Ground 0, and whatever else we came across.
We all dressed warmly, I ate my Quinoa and bananas, packed some travel cookies and water, and we were off to grab a Taxi. We then took a 30 minute Taxi ride to Battery Park on the South end of Manhattan Island where in the glare of the midday sun, we could just make out the Statue of Liberty off on its own Island.
The three of us stood for a moment and looked at the Statue quietly, then discussed that France had given us the Statue just to annoy England, and then said, “OK – what’s next.”
From there, we took a quick walk to Wall Street and to try to see the squatters – we were hoping to learn about their gripe and to pass out condoms – but sadly, we could not find them.
Our final stop was a cute little sea side area where we sat atop the outside of a restaurant, ate the world’s worst pizza, and watched the boats and seagulls. It had been an amazing weekend and the serene breeze of Central Park was still dancing through my thoughts along with songs from the Lion King.
We rushed back to the room, off to airport, home from Orlando, and then to our Gainesville abode. It was 11:30 pm and a great time for a delicious meal of Tofu sandwiches with mustard, mayo, and sweet pickles and an apple. Yum and off to bed.
