25 Things We Hate About Living in New York City
[All images via ShutterStock]
The amount of money we pay for rent in this town is well documented, but the fucked up thing is that even though most of us are paying north of $2,000 a month to live in a goddamn lunch pail you're lucky — nay, BLESSED — if you have a laundry room in your building. Not inside your actual apartment, but a communal space somewhere in the building (usually the basement, which is always cleanly and pristine) where you can wash your clothes right after the lady with 57 cats washes hers. And that's always pleasure, because when it's time to dry your clothes you get to clean someone else's lint trap and see everything from pet hair, to half-used tissues they accidentally washed (old people love hanging on to half-used tissues), to band-aids, to grey pubes. Ahhhhh, good old grey pubes…I've seen enough to last 10 lifetimes.
Cost of Fitness
When it comes to draining you of money, this town is without relent or an equal. New York City gyms are one of the worst culprits. They cost more than double that of their suburban counterparts. Sure, you could find a few cheap ones, but those tend to have three locations in the entire city and we all know if any red tape separates you from getting there, you're not going.
However, the biggest scam going in this town are the “specialized” gyms.
My fiancé goes to Soul Cycle and each time she goes for a 45 minute spin class it costs $32 dollars. ONE CLASS! Who is teaching these things, Greg LeMond?
Soul Cycle and it's competitors are a goddamn racket and they can suck my dick because for the $160 a month she's wasting to ride a bike five times a stranger owes me a blow job.
Chalk it up to my cold and heartless nature, but there is nothing I find more irritating than these noise assassins ruining my commute. A crowded train is a captive audience in that the only way to escape their spiel is jumping to an inevitable death. They bring big-ass equipment on board and pierce your ear drums with unwanted noise and then lay on a push guilt trip. Let me enjoy my already-annoying trip in peace, thank you very much.
The first time I visited New York City and stepped into the center of the universe, I was overwhelmed with the sights and sounds. There is no place in the world like Times Square and that’s a good thing. There should be no other place like it. I had the unfortunate privilege of working in the area for two years and it was hell. You’re approached by strangers wanting a minute of your attention every six seconds. The math alone doesn’t add up. Oh, and if you brush off the comedy people, they loudly accuse you of being a racist to everyone within earshot. AMERICA.
The Clipboard Mafia
Here's a faction of people that “don't get it.” Two at a time they stand on the sidewalk — outside of subway stops or other high traffic areas — and ambush people, trying to spark-up conversation with passersby as they attempt to coax them into signing their petition. Because watching some idiot’s song and dance and signing that petition is what we all hope to do when we leave the house in the morning, right? A bazillion percent WRONG.
How and when did this become a good idea? It's rush hour, you blue vest-wearing asshole. Even if it weren't, even I was, say, out for a leisurely stroll because I like the fresh air and shit, do you think I'm just itchin' to be approached? These headphones are planted in my ears at all times for a myriad of reasons and one such reason is to politely convey the message that you, your clipboard, and the Clean Water Project can all go fuck yourselves.
It’s literally impossible to get a real amount of groceries and transport them home without either paying for money for a cab or subjecting your upper body to a tortuous workout. As a result, you’re forced to visit the neighborhood store three times a week instead of once every other week like a normal human being. It sounds like a small thing, but I assure it’s incredibly maddening.
The country as a whole is suffering from Brooklyn overload. From “Girls” to the ubiquitous hipster infiltration, the entire borough is perceived as this quirky playground inhabited solely by tattooed bike messengers. Sadly, this is an oversimplified stereotype. It’s much, much more complicated than that, and a hell of a place to live. But its image has been bastardized and co-opted by movies, television and high-minded blogs – as well as poorly executed trend pieces in the New York Times. It’s a damn shame, too.
Aspiring Rappers on the Street Hawking Their Shitty Mix Tape
HAVE YOU PEOPLE NOT HEARD OF YOUTUBE? Tons of white college kids are becoming Internet famous while you’re on the corner of Broadway and Houston trying to force your CD into my hand while saying “yo playa, do you like hip-hop” and then have me pay for it? I always have to lie and say, “no, I do not like hip-hop.” But kudos to these guys for recognizing my playa status.
Garbage Lines the Streets
No really, garbage is just flung on the sidewalk. No cans. No order. Just bags of fucking garbage sprinkled about the walkway. The best is when grocery stores toss their minutes-from-expiration unbought food out on the curb, that’s when you get to see who among us is willing to look past the fact that a bag of potatoes spent the last two hours lying on the sidewalk.
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The Soda Ban Debate
Look, I know a judge recently ruled this ridiculous government intrusion into our lives was capricious and arbitrary. But the very fact that the size of someone’s soda became a high-profile policy debate is both embarrassing and mind-blowing. This is the largest city in the country and with that honor comes plenty of inert problems. You know, like crime and stuff. Instead, we’re sinking time and energy into Big Gulps. Awesome.
And while we’re on the topic…
Mayor Bloomberg in General
Mayor Bloomberg is out of control with his need for control. If Carol, who suffers from deafening obesity, wants to drown herself with a 88 oz. guzzler from McDonald’s to wash down her 40 piece McNugget that’s her prerogative. Not up to the Mayor or anyone else to stop her self-destruction. What’s next? Disallowing fat people to buy unhealthy food altogether? (Actually, he’s already tried to stop poor people from doing that with food stamps.)
What is actually next for Mayor Bloomberg is hiding cigarettes in bodegas and regulating the use of headphones for the sake of our hearing. Do me a favor, Bloom, let me go deaf so I can stop listening to you murder the Spanish language during a state of emergency and start staring at your saucy sign-language lady, Lydia Callis, for a reason other than “just cause.”
For your reference, here is a list of things Bloomberg has tried to ban according to CNN:
Sugary drinks in containers larger than 16 ounces in restaurants.
Restaurants using plastic foam containers to serve food and drinks.
In 2010 he urged the U.S. Department of Agriculture to exclude soda, sports drinks and other sugary drinks from food stamp eligibility, citing their effects on obesity.
Beginning May 23, 2011, smokers were no longer allowed to light up in New York's parks.
In October 2007, Bloomberg introduced an initiative for chain restaurants to display calorie information on menus and menu boards.
In January 2010, Bloomberg unveiled a plan to cut the amount of salt in packaged and restaurant food by 25% over a five-year period.
In 2006, the New York City Board of Health approved Bloomberg's plan to ban trans fat in cooking oils within the city's 24,000 food establishments.
And not the little ones that look like mice – the ones that look like small dogs. The problem with New York City rats is that they are fearless. They’re so immune to people that they’ll scurry out and grab a piece of food even as it sits by your foot. If you’re wearing sandals, this is a very harrowing event.
The saddest thing I ever saw in this city involved one of these critters. I was walking to my apartment after a day of drinking and saw a group of people huddled around on a corner. With horror, I watched as a clearly sick rat began staggering around, foaming at the mouth. Its slow, painful death was cheered loudly by a group of strangers who bonded together over watching an animal perish.
It was all kinds of fucked up. Only in New York.
It’s Always Someone’s Birthday
Ask someone, ANYONE, what they are doing this weekend. I guarantee 8 out of 10 people are attending some dickbag’s birthday party in the East Village, because he still thinks he's 16 and people care. I also guarantee that men at that little soiree will be wearing scarves, and not because it’s cold outside.
When I first relocated my life to this godforsaken cesspool of a city I had no idea where I should live. Having only visited NYC a few times and never bothering to ask “where's the best place to live if you kind of can't stand the general population,” I settled on Murray Hill. Well, that's all people needed to hear. From the reaction I got when I told people where I lived, you'd swear I said that I lived in a sewer and satiated myself by eating my own excrement. No exaggeration, for the years I spent in Murray Hill I got nothing but “I can't believe you live there” eye rolls because it wasn't trendy or posh enough.
Now, I'm not about to defend what takes place at the Joshua Tree — the girls there at last call are pure filth, god bless 'em — but it's really the ideal location if you're constantly going both uptown and downtown…or looking to score the aforementioned godless whore at the 3am hour.
What's unbelievable, though, is people genuinely judge you on where you live. Downtown is for the cool kids and dudes who tuck their pants into their shoes, which also happen to be combat boots, uptown is for old people and married couples, and middle (Murray Hill) is where people who have no idea where to live live and douchebags.
Even when Hurricane Sandy hit all the people that lived downtown were like “yeah, I didn't have power for two weeks but it's better than living on the Upper East Side with all the married people.” Oh, GET FUCKED…PAINFULLY. I bet it was awesome having to suffer without water or electricity while I indulged decadently in my ivory tower.
Waiting for Restaurants
There are 193,192 places to eat but everyone worth a damn sports a lengthy wait during prime eating hours. You patiently wait. And wait. And wait. Inevitably your experience is sullied because you’re so fed up that the food doesn’t taste as good.
Ability to Play Sports
You can work out in this town till you grind through all your knee cartilage; there’s a gym on every corner, but playing organized sports is a hassle and a half. All the baseball fields are a pain in the ass to get to, and if you want to do anything at Chelsea Piers prepare to not eat food that week because it’ll cost ya.
Bodegas Charging a $10 Minimum for Credit Card Use
First of all, it is illegal to require a minimum dollar amount in the state of New York for credit card purchases. Second of all, there is no second of all. Know your rights, fuck these people.
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It’s a Terrible Sports Town
No city has more professional sporting teams than NYC. And no city displays such widespread indifference. The transplant and international makeup of the city obviously prevent it from being a unified, sports-crazed metropolis. Sadly, that means a local team can be in a Super Bowl, World Series, or finals and the buzz non-existent.
My Dog/Other People’s Dogs
I love my little guy, but owning him here doesn’t make a ton of sense. I’ve got to schlep down five flights of stairs every time he’s got to take a piss or shit. Then I get to patiently wait for the disgusting chore of picking up No. 2 while a crowd of hundreds look on. Worse are the other, less responsible dog owners who let their beast defecate all over the place without cleaning up afterward.
That Miserable Cabbie
You know the one. The guy who forgot to shower this month, or the guy with the lead-footed death wish, or the one that finds it necessary to talk to you. If you ever hail a cab and experience the misfortune of having all three at once just know that the end is near.
I’d love the subway if no one else rode the fucking thing. And I could go on for a hearty hour about my disdain for it, but I’ve already covered my hatred for sharing my commute with others ad nauseum. You can find that exhaustive coverage here.
I promised myself I wasn't going bleed from my junk over the inflated cost of rent in this city and I'm not, but broker’s fees are an unnecessary unnecessary. Yes, I double unnecessary’d that shit. And if you don't take issue with paying a “broker” several thousand dollars for a fee to show you an apartment you found BY YOURSELF online, then you’re a fuckin’ dolt. A dolt, I say!
Too Many Bars/Clubs
Just as there could be too few bars, there can also be too many bars and New York City has too many watering holes.
Scratching your head right now? Thinking I might have crossed the line with my whip-it consumption in college? Understandable… if you've never drank anything watered down in your life, because that's what walking into an NYC bar is like.
So. Much. Dilution.
There are two major metropolises that I've partied in frequently over the last five years: NYC and Philly. I prefer the latter, because while it boasts less bar options it also has less talent dilution. Chicks are handcuffed. They don't have over a thousand different places to go. They basically have no choice but to see my gorgeous face. This is a positive for everyone involved.
Just Constant Fucking Noise
Seriously, it’s unbelievable. People honk for no reasons, vagrants curse at phantoms and morons yell opinions about pizza. You can’t ever hear yourself think.
The Fact That In Spite of All This Hatred We Actually Like Living Here
As much as we complain, we love living here. Yeah, I’d rather be retired in Florida, spreading chlamydia in an adult-only golf community but that isn’t in the cards just yet, and until it is I will happily call this shit pit home.