Ey, I'm Walking Here!

Taylor Swift wrote a song called “Welcome to New York.”

This ain’t that.

Our great city isn’t at her welcoming best.  The weather is bleak, the mood bleaker.  New York City is overrun with rats, vape shops, gridlock and now, a terrible influx of epic proportions, worse than even e-Bikes.  Here they are again. The dreaded, holiday tourists.    

You know ‘em, you hate ‘em, you know how to spot ‘em.  Who else carries a selfie stick?  And why, may I ask? Did someone in your gun club request footage of you walking along Avenue of the Americas, as you so annoyingly call it?  And by “walking” what I really mean, is slowly sauntering, six abreast, making sudden and frequent stops.  I know I should be grateful for your patronage of our city, but instead, I just hate you.

Furthermore, and I ask this question delicately, why are you all fat?  Surely we New Yorkers haven’t scarfed up all of the nation’s Ozempic supply.  What is happening in the flyover states to make you not just overweight, but seemingly fine and dandy with being so overweight?  Are New Yorkers the only people with a weight shaming skill-set baked right in?  Do you not feel our disdainful gaze wondering why you’re not counting your steps or ordering a salad – dressing on the side – even when dining at Serendipity? Surely there must be a Jerry Springer reunion you have to slim down for, no?

Now, back to your slow pace on our sidewalks. I could say I’m thinking of the health benefits of a fast walk when I implore you to move it along, but truly it’s only because I actually live here and have places to go.  I mean, this face can’t Botox itself.  So please, I beg and beseech you: WALK FASTER.  That is my hot breath of impatience you feel upon your neck rolls, desperate to break through the scrum of bad coats, worse purses, and curiously, throngs of Nespresso shopping bags.

Moreover, to those of you who come to this city dressed in what you mood-boarded as quintessential New York garb, we sigh.  So you saw “Rent” in high school (the movie, not the show) and surmised that black, ripped fishnets and Doc Martens were all the rage.  They’re not. You look ridiculous.  And fat.  This is not the 1990s.  There is no more Tunnel, or Palladium or even Canastel’s.  The Michael Todd Room is closed, the Limelight is a mall and Barney’s…don’t even get me started.  I’m sad to say you missed out on the best of New York and seeing you trying to resurrect the past with your Madonna-for-Halloween outfit is maddening, especially when you’re carrying a Madame Tussaud’s shopping bag.

So stop trying to blend in.  It’s annoying.  We can smell that Rockettes ticket in your pocket.  Just do you: See the Rockefeller Christmas tree, go to the Times Square M&M store, take a photo with a perverted Sesame Street character (don’t say I didn’t warn you) and photograph a squirrel. What is it with you people and squirrels????  Those amusements are there just for you and all I’m asking, is please, while you make your way there, WALK FASTER!. 

And not to be presumptuous, but I imagine you saw Sarah Jessica Parker and Mikhail Baryshnikov ride in a horse-drawn carriage through snowy Central Park which is why it’s on your New York City to-do list, like seeing the “Friends” building and buying a fake Louis Vuitton bag from a sidewalk vendor.  [Omg, please don’t tell me you thought it was real.]  But back to that carriage ride, yes, it was so romantic and iconic and yes, you have dreamt of being swaddled next to a loved one in a cozy blanket provided by the driver.  I just have three words for you: that blanket is filthy.  [I know that’s four words but we New Yorkers talk fast.]  So make whatever decision about that carriage ride you wish, but do so knowing full-well that that blanket, as Taylor Swift herself might say, has never, ever, ever, been washed.

Lastly, regarding that sense of danger you feel while slow-walking the streets, that feeling of anxiety you chalk up to not being familiar with New York? Well, let me tell you, that feeling is on the money, honey, because New York is a hellscape right now. It doesn’t just feel scary; it IS scary. The only difference is that you decided to go into the belly of the beast for your holiday and we New Yorkers left for Miami. Mostly for the sun. But also because you just were walking way too f*cking slow.