(January 5th, posted belatedly)
Whenever I travel through New York City someone is always there to greet me, asking for money. Penn Station is the headquarters, hosting people just waiting for a young college kid or business person to pass their way. My Northface pink (cherry) jacket must say something about my seeming kindness or maybe it’s my bangs and friendly reddish hair. Or does my large Osprey backpack or black side bag screams ATM?
I should be kinder, $1.00 or $.50 from my wallet isn’t really a big deal, but having worked in the world of Social Work I tend to say “no”. Knowing all the social work organizations available, it’s the principle that bothers me. Also, after commuting through Boston for over 2 ½ years and only being asked for money once or twice, it is incredible and almost humorous that the few times I’ve traveled through Penn Station this past month I’ve been questioned.
After my clash with a money-asker, I sat and stared with my Bostonian eyes at the New Yorkers as I waited for my train to Monclair, NJ. A group of high school boys were buying train tickets for their friends, arguing with thick Jersey accents over the price. Businessmen yawned and grimaced, racing by with their side bags, one man chomping on a huge soft pretzel. Young giggling girls sprinted to their train, one colliding with a sleepy man walking casually through the station. I noticed a woman with a green knitted hat resembling some kind of animal with 2 googily eyes, while more business people invaded the corridor. As I went to my train, everyone seemed to be racing me down the stairs, flying by. A little girl with a shiny golden winter coat whirled herself down the train aisle, gripping her father’s hands as he guided her to her seat.
The train conductor collected tickets from us,
“Hey, everybody good?”
“Yeah, how you doing?”
“That’s what I’m talkin about. They had a fatality on here around 4:00. Hopefully they got it cleaned up - Upper Monclair.”
In Boston, the person may have responded, “Hanging in there” and the conductor may not have casually mentioned a fatality. Commuters stand respectfully at North Station staring into space, waiting for their respective trains. They march down and up the stairs to their subways. They wear dark pea coats, solid colors or tartan and don’t normally accessorize with googily eyes or shiny gold.
However, when I first arrived to New York City on my Bolt Bus I was hit by energy somewhat absent in Boston. Heading into the long glowing skyline strikes up inspiration in me – those ginormous buildings loaded with people and lights. The moment I stepped off the bus there was the Empire State Building down the street to my right, lit up in red and green. Billboards 6 or 7 stories high lined 34th street advertising Foot Action and Forever 21. Like a younger sibling New York City flashes its charming teethy grin and presses your buttons, containing a youthful energy not replicated anywhere else.
Just don’t come asking me for money, okay?
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