An Obsevation, Not a Conversation

After dropping off last passengers,  I went to Masjid Ar-Rahman on 29 between Broadway & 5th.
I bought myself a cup of cha, that is the Urdu word for tea, it’s made with milk, cardmom, and anise seed.
While I was sitting in my car sipping & consdiering whether I should continue or go home, I was approched by a short white guy with dark hair dressed in all white. His eyebrows looked as if they were shaped by hand and not genetics.
“What’s up man?”, he says.
“I’m ok, you?” I respond,
“So, what’s your deal?”,
“Excuse me?”
“What’s your deal?”
“What do mean?”
“Are you working?”
“Yes, where ya headed?”
“31st and 3rd, but we have boxes of liquor we need to put in the trunk.”
“How much is this going to be?”
I gave him my normal response,
“What do you normally pay?”
“It’s only like $5, but I’ll give you $15.”
“Pop the trunk,” he blurts out as he runs off to tell his buddies.
I popped it, got out and walked to the trunk to start helping with the boxes.
One of them was able to stop a yellow cab so I thought that they would take that instead of me, so I closed the trunk. However, I began to realize that they were about eight or nine drunken people. They began loading the trunk of the yellow cab as the guy who I spoke to came over.
“Pop it.” He said.
I popped the trunk again and as we were loading the boxes the yellow cab took off on them.
“Dude that yellow cab just drove off with like, a whole two cases of vodka,” said one of them while we loaded the trunk.
The boxes were wet due to either cracked or leaking bottles. All in all they loaded about eight boxes, some taped shut while others were open and others were ripped.
They all piled in, about five “dudes” and one “braud”.
“Ok dude, were going to 19th and Broadway.” They were laughing and joking all the way. Turns out they had just run a promotional party for a charity having to do with childhood cancer, which did pretty well.
About 3/4 of the way down the block one of them pointed to a dumpster bin, “Pull up in front of that black car.”
We all piled out and began unloading the trunk. They pulled out two cases and the guy whom I first spoke with started aruging with the others.
“I’m bringing the rest home and I’ll be right back!” He exclaimed.
“No, just come upstair and drink with us now!” One of them responed.
They began to argue back and forth, calling each other names and accusing each other of being foolish.
Finally, they let him go. I drove him to a place called Windsor Court on 31st and 3rd. The building has a drive way, a central lobby that extends into two towers. He got out and went to get the luggage rack. The doorman, however, stopped him. They both came back over, the doorman pushing the cart, the passenger walking next to him.
We load the boxes, some of which broke as they were lifted but none of the bottles did.
“Ok,” the passenger said, “I’ll be right down.” As he turns to take the cart upstairs the doorman stops him.
“Your not allowed to use the cart by yourself sir.” The doorman said.
“Alright, I’ll be right back, I need to get you some cash.” the passenger said to me as he walked toward the street.
“How come they don’t let tenants take the cart upstairs alone,” I asked the doorman. “I don’t know, it’s just the rules,” he replies as he goes back in the lobby.
I take a few steps back and look up. The building is a ‘u’ shape and the lobby was about two stories while the two towers must have been about 30 stories each.
I waited and watched. Watched people going in the buillding. Women with no shoes. guys stumbling into the lobby with its hotel motif.
I think that these yuppies want to live in a building that is run like a hotel. To have everything done for them and to live in an artificial existance where they can work Monday through Friday and play on the weekends. The work they perform is like what they have done in school for the past 12-16 years.
Most of them are out-of-towners and have, in my opinon and the opinion of many  native New Yorkers, spoiled our once great city. They have never known what it is like to have to be aware of their surroundings.
They are, in reality, nothing more than composites of the movie and TV characters they have seen throughout their lives. So they force this fantasy life on the rest of us. They think a high police presence is the sign of a free and open society, when in fact, the opposite is true. They make many of us natives long for a crime wave to either chase them away or wake them the hell up as sad as that sounds. May it come sooner than later with as little blood as possible.

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