New Dork

 

dork

dôrk/

noun

noun: dork; plural noun: dorks

1. informal

   a dull, slow-witted, or socially inept person.

 

 

I was waiting for the right story to happen, for the right super cool amazing moment to write my first post from the Big Apple, but three weeks have passed and that moment did not seem to hit me right in the middle of my chest and leave me completely NY-baffled - instead I got a sparrow hit me in the forehead. Literally.

 

I truly thought I might be able to actually post cool stuff about places to eat and things to do in NYC but that will have to wait. The city is still coming to terms with me being here as I am coming to terms with being in the city, so before we embrace each other - really hoping that happens - I am back to my daily life catastrophes and other stories.

 

Three weeks in New York and I have finally come to terms with my current alien status: New Dork. This is just like being back in high school, only these time the rest of my classmates are 1.6 super cool and hip manhattanites and me I am just the dork that doesn't know how to queue in Whole Foods. True story.

Just picture yourself as an over-dramatic, self-conscious yet not so self-conscious as to hide her geek side, 28 year-old female and you may understand my feelings that first day...

After 7 and a half hours of flight where people looked at me in a very odd way - the fact that I watched 'Star Trek into the Darkness' while crying my eyes out may have helped - I landed in JFK with my three suitcases and not a freaking 5 dollar bill in my handbag to pay for the (I-hope-it-is-made-of-gold-to-cost-that) trolley and my credit card didn't work either. I could have walked to the customs queue three times with each suit case, and then just push one of them with my forehead while pulling the other two suitcases, but the mere thought of it made me cry, so I decided to trust in mankind's goodness to get my way out of the airport and into a cab to Manhattan.

It took me begging to four different people to get a ten dollar bill in exchange for 10 euros that I might trade for two 5 dollar bills with some other heaven-sent saint until, in my desperation, I asked to the guy that was putting more trolleys in the machine if he could help me get change. He simply took my 10 dollar bill, put it in the machine, gave me my trolley, gave me 5 dollar coins as change and sincerely told me not to feel bad when my eyes filled with tears as I murmured, thank you, I feel like a total idiot (I so wasn't exaggerating with the over-dramatic part).

The ride to my soon to be home was not so pitiful. In fact I couldn't help but playing the first cords of the world wide known classic and topic... chan, chan, chan chan chan, chan, chan, chan chan chan...

[at this point I will, as soon as I can, post a video clip of Mr. Sinatra's eternal hit, but alas I have no access to YouTube from this computer]

After that, things went quite smooth on my first few hours in town, doorman, concierge, suitcases taken upstairs by the same doorman, unpacking, teary phone call to family and boyfriend, and then the inevitable trip to the supermarket...

 

The Boss took me up 7th Ave. from there to Central Park South and then to Columbus Circle [yes, here you will be able to play Wrecking Ball].

Whole Foods photograph by Kate Appleton.

There it was... salvation in the form of organic madness. Whole Foods is known for a very posh supermarket, but I have to confess, when you are new in town you go to the places you know, and that was the only place I knew around that could serve my purpose. I have actually stuck to it for the last three weeks despite the Hufftinton Post, I think it is addictive once you make it through the first day.

 

Still highly emotional, I walked up and down several aisles several times trying to find the usual brands I buy home. None of them exist here, all are substituted by organic-little-farm-very-very-local-we-assure-you stuff. I'm still trying to figure out how they know which type of the gazillion types of apples they sell you are purchasing, but maybe in time I will solve that mystery.

I finished my shopping in that same hazy state and proceeded to queue at the eternal queue that seems to be Whole Foods checkout. Once I was first in my line I saw a number being called and walked to the cashier, only to be stopped by a very angry man telling me that the number was green and not yellow. What?

And then he went back to the lines, pointed at my queue, pointed at the huge yellow arrow at the beginning of the line, then to the three-color screen were a number appeared over one of the three color bands (blue-yellow-green), and then to the light on top of each cashier... I would have rather he just called me dork, because after that embarrassing moment I had to suffer the humiliation of going back in line, and then, when my number was finally called, at least three different hands tapped my shoulder and nicely indicated now it's your turn (I swear in my head that still sounds like a hysterical scream).

 

And then it was over. pwew. There is a lot more to come where this came from. Unfortunatelly.

 

Such is life.