Welcome to New York Shitty

April 13, 2007 by
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic 


April 10, 2007, 6:40 a.m.
April 11, 2007, 6:46 a.m.
April 12, 2007, 6:48 a.m.

The pile-driver at 110 Green Street has been eerily silent of late. No worries, another source of irritation (READ: psychosis-inducing sleep deprivation) has reared its ugly head: the contractors who are upgrading a transformer for the G train in front of my apartment building.

Big Tool

This brings me to the above-listed dates and times: these indicate when I have been awakened by this crew making an UNGODLY amount of noise. I am talking about a colossal din that makes my brick shithouse of an apartment building rattle. Scary. As a result, I have not had a contigious eight hours of sleep until today. I cannot over-emphasize how much better I feel.

The same cannot be said about yesterday. It was the third morning of total and utter fucking chaos and I was going out of my mind. I understand that these guys have a job to do and all that happy horseshit, but SO DO I and all the other people whose apartments overlook this site. All because some of us keep different hours due to being ‘night people’ or working the graveyard shift (and many people here do), doesn’t mean we should be singled out for this cruel and unusual punishment.

What’s more, their shenanigans have claimed another unwitting victim: my younger cousin Jennie, who happens to be visiting right now. She and my mother arrived in New York Shitty the evening of April 11th and checked into their hotel. The next morning we were to talk on the phone and come up with some sort of plan for the day. This task is usually delegated to me by my husband. He says it’s because he will “just screw it up anyway”. I say it’s because he doesn’t want to do it. ANYHOO…

My mother calls and my husband puts her on speakerphone. In hindsight, this was probably not a wise call on his part…

Me (to my mother): …I’m really sorry, my brain just isn’t working too good right now.
Mamasan: Well grab a cup of coffee to wake you up and get down here.
Me: I am tired because some ASSHOLE woke me up at 6:48 this morning. This has been going on for THREE DAYS.
Mamasan: Was it the cats?
Me: No, it was not the fucking cats. The contractors who are doing work for the MTA have been firing up their heavy machinery before 7:00 a.m. for the last three days.
Mamasan: (laughing)
Me: IT IS NOT FUNNY! It’s so loud it even wakes Sam up. I am so fucking sick of this shit I think I am going to call the city.
Mamasan: (*chirp, chirp*)

Let me tell you a few things:

  1. I have not seen my cousin in over ten years.
  2. She was raised in a much more devout household than myself (READ: Southern Baptist). I cannot recall this person using profanity of any kind. Ever.
  3. I, on the other hand, drop f-bombs and other colorful phrases with total abandon. The only reason I never got in trouble for doing so when I was younger is because my mother felt it would hypocritical to punish me for using language I had clearly learned from my own father.
  4. Although I can exercise restraint (regarding the use of the above-mentioned language), my ability to do so is severely compromised when I have had not had a normal night’s sleep IN THREE DAYS.

I’m really sorry Jennie. Then again, you were probably going to hear someone drop a salvo of f-bombs (or worse) eventually. I mean, this IS New York after all. Perhaps it’s better that you got a taste of it from your own flesh and blood first. Oh yeah, welcome to New York Shitty.

Miss Heather


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