Before I get into what occurred around 6:30PM ET this past Wednesday evening I’ll just provide you with a bit of background. I’ve lived in NYC for about seven years now, (3 years continuously and 4 years during undergrad) I’ve gotten used to the things that make the city unique. Everything from the putrid smells of summer to the copious amounts of rats that come scurrying out at you on late evenings. Yes, I’ve gotten used to it all; but that doesn’t mean that I think it’s acceptable. During my tenure here I’ve made some wonderful memories and bonded with some beautiful people. However, the city has also kicked the shit out of me; it can truly be an unforgiving bastard when it wants to be. I’ve watched the sunrise from penthouse rooftops and I’ve seen body bags (with bodies in them) on the sidewalks. There really isn’t any in between here, although once I thought I had bed bugs and it turned out to be a false alarm so I suppose sometimes things aren’t always as bad as they may seem. Anyway, I’m rambling so let’s get into the incident of the squished rat and other horrific tales. I’ve seen some truly monstrous things, please do not proceed if you have a weak stomach.
The Tale of the Squished Rat
Midtown is trash. NYC has a population of 8 million people and normally that doesn’t bother me unless I’m in Midtown. Unlike the wasteland that is Times Square, midtown can’t be avoided. My last office job was in midtown. Every day I would get on the overstuffed subway and commute 20 minutes with a bajillion people. Getting above ground wasn’t much better. Once you finally make it to street level you have to contend with tourists, people who don’t walk in straight lines, cyclists and a million other aggravations. I haven’t had to commute in over a month (PRAISE GOD), so I’m not used to dealing with rush hour anymore. However, this past Wednesday there was a work mixer at my new job that I decided to attend. As the train pulled into the station I tucked my Kindle into my purse and made my way down the long corridors of the Herald’s Square train station. Finally above ground, I was nearly knocked down by a rather rude woman who I assume thought I was invisible considering the force at which she ran into me. Brushing of her attitude, I patiently waited for the light to turn green so that I could walk across the street. I watched the light change and my sandal covered foot left the curb. As I stepped down into the street, my foot seeped into something, squishy. Gross, I thought to myself, clearly someone dropped something mushy in the street, it’s just my luck to have stepped in it. I turned my head to see what the offending substance was when I saw it. My beauteous bejeweled sandal had just come into contact with a flatten rat. I saw the tail and the intestines just sitting there in the middle of the road. I felt my stomach began to bubble as vomit rolled up into my throat. I took a deep breath, and calmly walked to the nearest Starbeezy’s where I asked for a cup of boiling water and proceeded to scrub my shoe and foot in their filthy restroom. Basically I should have stayed my ass in Harlem.
The Starbucks Pervert
Speaking of Starbucks, I’m sure I’ve given them way too much coin in the past decade or so. On one particular day my sophomore year of college, I was waiting for a friend in the Union Square Starbucks. I ordered my drink and beverage and took seat at a empty cafe table. I noticed a disheveled looking man seated at a table not too far from me, but NYC is full of disheveled looking people so I didn’t let it pull me away from phone. (This is before Instagram and before I had an iPhone so I have no idea what I could have possibly been looking at.) After awhile, I got the feeling that someone was looking at me so I looked up again at the man. That was my first mistake. While customers had been coming in and out of the coffee shop, this man had been masturbating. I looked up to see his rusty peen in his hand under the table. Needless to say, I abruptly left that Starbucks and my drink behind and I’ve never returned to that location. Not in almost six black ass years.
The Rotting Foot
A month or so ago, my lady friend and I ventured into Victoria’s Secret to procure some lady undergarments on the Upper West Side. As we approached the store we noticed a homeless gentleman laying down outside of he store. Suddenly the foulest stench known to man permeated the air. I immediately began gagging and my friend frantically ran to the door to try and escape it. As we approached the store entrance I looked back (I don’t know why I always look back smh clearly I’m a masochist) to see the man peel of his sock. If its even possible, the stench grew even more vile. The man revealed a rotting blacking nub that used to be a working foot. It was awful. As we stepped inside the store the security guard was frantically running back and forth spraying perfumes as the stench wafted in. Needless to say it put a damper on our shopping excersion. (I did get some pretty panties though.)
I have seen quite a bit during my tenure as a New Yorker. Somethings I won’t write down here because I’d rather not recall them. As long as don’t encounter anymore squished rats or rotten feet I think I might be OK.
xoxox Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxo