The moment of truth
Those who know me are well-aware that I am one impatient bastard. I despise waiting in all its forms. I walk faster than everyone else on the street, complain when food is taking too long, will try to plow my way through other cars even in bumper-to-bumper traffic and get demonstrably upset when the Goddamn subway takes fucking forever to show up.My buddy Brown, who's a hick from Tennessee and doesn't understand the whole New Yorkers being in ridiculous rushes all the time thing, likes to joke that everything I do in my daily existence is simply a means to end, that end being my one true goal: to get to Friday, kick back, relax and drink beers with my friends. The way I approach my weeks and weekends are so remarkably different. Brown claims I eat food because I have to in order to stay alive but don't stop to savor and enjoy it and rags on me when I jet around during lunch break instead of enjoying the brief respite from work, but once the weekend shows up, I am a changed person and will while away hour upon hour sitting around and bullshitting in the company of friends. Because really, what's better than drinking beers and hanging out with some great company? Not much, bitches.*
So what does this have to do with anything? As much as I love living in Stuy Town, one of the biggest drawbacks to the community over the years has been the preponderance of elderly folk. Now I have nothing against old people and love my grandmother with all my heart, but for an impatient jerk such as myself, all they really do is get in the way and slow things down. The end of rent stabilization as well as natural causes have filtered a good portion of senior citizens out of the community, but a decent percentage still remain.
There's one woman on my floor who not too long ago opened her door as I was waiting for the elevator and claimed she was hearing noises and begged me to come into her apartment. Having watched way too many episodes of CSI and Without a Trace, I thought for sure this was a trap and that the moment I stepped in I'd be chloroformed, kidnapped and killed, but something about her sad desperation tugged at my heartstrings and I relented. Of course once I was inside there were no strange noises whatsoever, and I tried my best to convey to her as such and finally got the hell out of there, but man did that whole situation creep me the hell out.
So as I'm finishing up my jog last Friday, who do I see ambling up the stairs to the Main entrance of the building, shopping cart (obviously) in tow, but Crazy Old Bat. Ordinarily, despite my impatience, I am a pretty good-hearted guy, and 99% of the time would make a point of stopping to hold the door for this shopping cart-wielding COB. But having just completed a run, I was absolutely exhausted and really just wanted to get the hell back to my air-conditioned apartment ASAP. As I approach my building, I see her turn around and begin the ascent up the stairs with her cart (probably the most energy she's had to exert in four score), and I spot my opening. I deftly dart up the stairs right past COB without her even realizing, and open up the vestibule door as fast as I can.
Now I'm at the elevator bank, and of course both elevators are all the way up on the top floor the one time I'm desperately in need of the elevator being readily available. As much as I'm not particularly fond of COB, I really hate being stuck in an elevator with people I don't know/like. I hear COB push the front door open.
Shit.
I'm exhausted, my apartment's six floors up, and the elevator is still eons away from showing up. I hear a key in the vestibule door. Where the fuck is the elevator??
Click.
The moment of truth: Do I suck it up, wait with COB and subject myself to torture in the elevator, or do I hike up the stairs after running several miles?
No matter how tired and sweaty you may be, sometimes you just gotta do whatever it takes to avoid unnecessary human interaction, even it means sacrificing life and limb (well, not really). Needless to say I climbed up my six flights, and couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction, scoring a little victory for impatient assholes everywhere.
*The only thing that may in fact be better is adding a barbeque to the equation.
posted by CT at 7:31 AM
22 Comments:
You're back Larry. This is what I'm talking about, get pissed off. You're at your best when you're angry about something. I feel you on the impatience. Fucking old people, disabled, fat, or just plain lazy - get the fuck outta my way!
Brett
At least old people are quiet. I have these damn rowdy college kids in my building who pump bass that shakes my floor and play guitar and scream off the fire escape.
Damn kids and their rock music.
Reid Lyle has similar sentiments.
i've been forced to resort to all kinds of things at work to avoid having to ride in an elevator with someone, including "forgetting something at my desk" at the last minute, walking through the elevator lobby as if i were en route to the other side all along (even though i've got my full bag with me and am clearly leaving for the day) and shuffling through my bag with such focused intent that whoops! the doors close without me. stairs is a great option, but i don't think i could scale 50 floors with quite the ease that you could ascend 6.
1. I think you mean rent DEstabilization. Rent stabilization is what keeps the oldsters around.
2. There's something I don't follow. Once you avoided waiting to hold the door open, how would taking the elevator waste any more of your time? Once the old lady got into the building, both of you are simply waiting for the elevator to arrive. So your dash up the stairs had less to do with impatience and more to do with social anxiety.
Hmmm, I agree with Dave that it is more social anxiety than impatience, though it could be argued that having to interact with COB on the elevator ride up would make the ride at least SEEM longer, thus leading to impatience.
I'm on the 11th floor of my building, and while I've only walked up once (during the blackout), I constantly walk down to avoid interacting with my neighbors. And they're not even old.
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1) Daveohyeah - no, he meant stabilization...the end of it...with it ending there are fewer old people around, so he is right.
2) I hate waiting for elevators! Then to top that off with waiting while she struggles to get into the elevator with her cart, and then back out, and can you imagine if she needed assistance getting into her apt.
Good choice going for the stairs - it probably saved you 30 minutes. Plus it can be counted as part of your work out and therefore is productively used time.
Jaime - I don't know that I'd call it social anxiety. I just hate mindless elevator chit-chat. Especially with a COB who already freaked me the hell out once before.
I really like to get where I'm going without having to wait for people who move at a snail's pace, so you're certainly right in that waiting for the elevator and then riding with COB would've made the trip feel interminably long.
Babs - I'd say you pretty much hit it on the head. Going for the stairs definitely saved at least 800 hours if not more. And thanks for reminding me about rationalizing the stairs as part of my workout; forgot to put that in initially.
Hmmm. Lol. You say you are such an "impatient bastard." But you had enough kindess to try and help the old lady out when she asked for it earlier and enough guilt about avoiding her that you bothered to blog about it. I realize any advise to enjoy life every day instead of only on the weekend may fall on deaf ears-- but really, you should. Life is short-- unless you are lucky enough to become a slow old man.
Classic
I'm only sorry I won't be around when you slow down. Yeah, life is good in your 20's & 30's -- you'll be young & strong forever. Ha, ha -- wait until after 40 and watch what happens to your body. And more so after 50, etc.
Your day will come, and some snotty young person won't want to be in an elevator with old geezer you.
Yes Anon, but when Larry is old, he'll probably be ranting about how kids suck and how he shuffled up 6 flights of stairs to avoid them, making their desired avoidance of him rather moot.
One thing I know for sure is that when I'm old, I won't smell like mothballs. Why do old people smell so stale? Meh.
Thank you. I now have yet another reason to celebrate having left Stuy Town behind - you're not my neighbor.
I hope your grandmother's neighbors are more caring and less selfish than her grandson.
In my apt in Seattle the elevator pleasentries are minimal. You get asked, "what floor?" but that's only to cover up the fact that the rider was frantically pressing the "Door Close" button.
I don't know why a reprobrate like you moves to NYC. We all get impatient sometimes with old people, but your selfish and hateful words are beyond the pale. Maybe you'll deveop early-onset Alzheimer's and be kicked out of your Rent Stabilized Stuy Town apt into a shelter, and be treated as you so richly deserve. MM Manhattan
I know your pain! I eat and walk faster than anyone I know. I always have to get to the next thing. And yesterday, I DID walk up four flights to avoid being in the tiny elevator with two other people!
haha. at least stuy town has less old fogies than peter cooper. and why do they get so much pleasure from feeding the goddam squirrels? every time i walk into my building and there is an old fart in the lobby with me they look at me like i dont belong there. its incredibly rude. but then i am looking at them like they are death walking. so i guess nothings fair.
Larry
You're a plain old garden variety a hole without a shred of compassion. Having lived in Stuy Town myself I can understand the desire not to be forced into chitchat in the elevators but you're actually proud of your snobby attitude and ageism and happy to display your stupidity to others. That's the problem. You're obviously not a NYorker - in this town we live in close proximity to all sorts of people not like ourselves. Go back to the isolation you deserve.
Actually, dickhead, I'm a born and raised New Yorker and have lived here my whole life. of course we live in close proximity to all sorts of people not like ourselves, but it doesn't mean I have to like everybody. You can go take your Goddamn compassion and shove it up your ass.
Right on, Larry. I'd rather have someone honestly not like everyone than a holier-than-thou that acts superior by pretending to love everyone under the sun.
That being said, I like old people. They're probably somebody's grandparents.
Fuck old people. They're a fucking drain on society, they get in the fucking way and they have license to say and do whatever the fuck they want because they think they're safe. That's gotta change.
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