Tid Bits - Moving To Brooklyn Style
We've had a lot of funny experiences during this transition to New York life. Here are a few of our favs:
White Trucks Are For Construction Workers
Last week we borrowed our friend Cody's truck and drove to various locations in Brooklyn and Manhattan to pick up used furniture we were buying off of Craigslist. We planned to do it late at night so we could miss rush hour traffic. By the time we got done loading up the truck in Manhattan, it was around 11:00 pm. We thought we'd quickly drive home, unload everything, and get Cody's truck back to him around midnight. Wrong.
The Brooklyn Bridge was closed for road work and traffic looked like every man, woman, and child was fleeing the city from a natural disaster. We were rerouted to the appropriate detours moving a centimeter every three minutes. After sitting in traffic for an hour, we rounded a bend and saw a closed on ramp to the bridge on the right. We planned on driving past it along with the rest of the car cattle, but a construction man in an orange vest waived his hand at us and I rolled down my window. He started removing the barricades to the bridge as we inquired if the bridge was open. He gave a subtle nod and we drove between the barricades as he closed the gap behind us. Five seconds later, the man was running after us and banging on the back of the truck. We screeched to a halt and our out of breath traffic rescuer told us that he'd mistaken us for construction workers. He said that all of the road workers in New York drive white trucks, so he just assumed that's who we were until he saw the bed of our truck piled high with furniture. Unfortunately, he ushered us back into traffic where we waited another two hours to get home. Darn it.
Garbage Keys And Poky Fence Hoppers
Our apartment, like most apartments in the city, has an outdoor location where our garbage is stored. Rather than being at the front of the building, it's actually in a courtyard to the side of the apartment, blocked off by fences in the back and a building adjacent to it. The only way to get back in the apartment building after dumping our garbage is through a door that our landlord forgot to give us keys to. Long story short, Blair and I took out the trash the other day and locked ourselves in the courtyard. After banging on the door and trying to get people's attention inside the building, we walked through a little alley-way and found ourselves at a pointy metal gate that runs along a main street. It took Blair about three seconds to scale that thing. It took me ten minutes of straddling the precarious points with my handbag strung over my shoulder. A nice Irish woman greeted us with a laugh on the other side.
Grocery Shopping
Grocery shopping is perhaps my least favorite part about living here. First of all, the groceries are almost as expensive as they were when we lived in the Caribbean. Almost... Second, I have to haul heavy bags for blocks in the sweltering heat before I arrive at my apartment. When we first got here, I saw old ladies walking around dragging these baskets on wheels. Blair cracked a joke about me needing to buy one of those homeless lady baskets for my groceries. One week later, the joke's over. I'm embracing the homelessness and buying one of those baskets today. I can't take the mental and pectoral strain. Maybe I'll decorate my basket with streamers and a bell. Yes?
White Trucks Are For Construction Workers
Last week we borrowed our friend Cody's truck and drove to various locations in Brooklyn and Manhattan to pick up used furniture we were buying off of Craigslist. We planned to do it late at night so we could miss rush hour traffic. By the time we got done loading up the truck in Manhattan, it was around 11:00 pm. We thought we'd quickly drive home, unload everything, and get Cody's truck back to him around midnight. Wrong.
The Brooklyn Bridge was closed for road work and traffic looked like every man, woman, and child was fleeing the city from a natural disaster. We were rerouted to the appropriate detours moving a centimeter every three minutes. After sitting in traffic for an hour, we rounded a bend and saw a closed on ramp to the bridge on the right. We planned on driving past it along with the rest of the car cattle, but a construction man in an orange vest waived his hand at us and I rolled down my window. He started removing the barricades to the bridge as we inquired if the bridge was open. He gave a subtle nod and we drove between the barricades as he closed the gap behind us. Five seconds later, the man was running after us and banging on the back of the truck. We screeched to a halt and our out of breath traffic rescuer told us that he'd mistaken us for construction workers. He said that all of the road workers in New York drive white trucks, so he just assumed that's who we were until he saw the bed of our truck piled high with furniture. Unfortunately, he ushered us back into traffic where we waited another two hours to get home. Darn it.
Garbage Keys And Poky Fence Hoppers
Our apartment, like most apartments in the city, has an outdoor location where our garbage is stored. Rather than being at the front of the building, it's actually in a courtyard to the side of the apartment, blocked off by fences in the back and a building adjacent to it. The only way to get back in the apartment building after dumping our garbage is through a door that our landlord forgot to give us keys to. Long story short, Blair and I took out the trash the other day and locked ourselves in the courtyard. After banging on the door and trying to get people's attention inside the building, we walked through a little alley-way and found ourselves at a pointy metal gate that runs along a main street. It took Blair about three seconds to scale that thing. It took me ten minutes of straddling the precarious points with my handbag strung over my shoulder. A nice Irish woman greeted us with a laugh on the other side.
Grocery Shopping
Grocery shopping is perhaps my least favorite part about living here. First of all, the groceries are almost as expensive as they were when we lived in the Caribbean. Almost... Second, I have to haul heavy bags for blocks in the sweltering heat before I arrive at my apartment. When we first got here, I saw old ladies walking around dragging these baskets on wheels. Blair cracked a joke about me needing to buy one of those homeless lady baskets for my groceries. One week later, the joke's over. I'm embracing the homelessness and buying one of those baskets today. I can't take the mental and pectoral strain. Maybe I'll decorate my basket with streamers and a bell. Yes?
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