Everyone, in and outside of New York, has their “moment” when they realize either A) what the fuck am I doing here/with my life, or B) I know what I’m doing here/with my life.
A glamorous Carrie Bradshaw or John Preston or other romantic fictionalized New Yorkers may claim their “moment” was something glamorous, like getting married at the New York Public Library, or crossing paths with someone on a train who would later be the love of their life, or getting proposed to at the Botanical Garden, etc. you get it.
The type of shit that you just roll your eyes about but secretly think, goddamn, why not me.
Instead, you realize your “moment” did not involve glamor or fabulousness. Like every twenty-something hustling and trying to find themselves (and some goddamn money for fuckssake), your “moment” was probably when you hit rock bottom. Hell, your “moment” may not even be something you want to remember.
But, you do.
She may or may not kill me for airing out her dirty laundry, but just about a year ago, one of my closest friends (and former boss) had her “moment”. It was the weekend of Governors Ball and she had particularly been stressed out at a crap job at a well-known magazine (think: Devil Wears Prada meets dog walker). That being said, at the start of the weekend she had decided to quit her job. We obviously were going to celebrate by having a great weekend. Except that Friday it essentially monsooned, causing the evening of the music festival to be cancelled. But it was fine, because I remember being particularly grumpy, hangry, wet, and cold. Day 2 came and we galosh-ed our way through knee deep mud on the island to see our favorite bands. I should add that mud and drunk people and 90 degree weather in 80% humidity does NOT make for a good time – just a lot of repulsive smells (and sights, and people for that matter). To add, and most importantly, my friend lost her keys and wallet (with all her credit cards), in said mud – for all intents and purposes it was never to be seen again. But being the champ she is, she carried on with Day 2, only to return to Manhattan that evening, mud-crusted and all, to beg her super to let her into her building.
That may have very well been her “moment”.
I can’t pinpoint exactly when my “moment” was.
Perhaps it was back in October when I realized I literally would have no place to live at the end of the month, after having just moved to a new apartment only a month prior (shoutout to the best roommates imaginable for making it happen!)…
It could have been when I received $1000 in cash in an envelope after a date (a dinner date!) simply “for my time”…
Or it possibly could’ve been a few months ago, at bottomless brunch, involving champagne mojitos, Avenue B, knocked over industrial trashcans and lots and lots of bruises…
But maybe it could have been when I realized my (ex)roommate was a dominatrix… or even when I walked in on her practicing her work rhetoric…
I’m sure a lot of you can relate to every one of these “moments”. One thing is for sure – there certainly is no scarcity of these “moments” in the City, as evidenced below:
-That time you took a cab all of three blocks because your feet were killing you and you decided to forgo a jacket.
-That time you walk-of-shamed and ran into someone you knew.
-Also, that time you walk-of-shamed on public transportation and wondered, “does everyone know?”
-And then that time you walk-of-shamed and actually gave zero fucks.
-That time you did shots all night with the bartender on a Wednesday.
-That time you looked at yourself in the mirror, admired your outfit and said to yourself, “Geez, I hope I run into Bill Cunningham”.
-That time you did brunch at a place featured on Gossip Girl or Sex and the City.
-Also, that time you did brunch and wondered (outloud or to yourself) who was the Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda of your group.
“I once got stuck with a $500 tab at the Gansevoort (on a wednesday night) then fell asleep on the train and woke up in the Bronx, bringing new meaning to ‘im never drinking again'” – Ryan Kulp
-That time you went on a Tinder date because you were bored and wanted a free drink / meal.
-That time you accidentally right swiped an ex, coworker or an old Tinder date.
-That time you quoted a story from the New Yorker / New York Magazine to make yourself sound infinitely more interesting.
-That time you walked out on a bad date and went home to eat cheese and watch Netflix because it was so much more appealing.
“I’ve played therapist to a cabbie on my way to work from the Upper East Side, but the best part is weeks later he picked me up again, on my way to work late, again. He proceed to tell me the same exact story of his “I know Rockaway Beach Queens” moment of some bitch ex he vented to me about for the second time. I had him in a cab a third time, but I was with someone and pretended to be someone different…because I finally learned my fucking lesson not to tell this cabbie where you are from.”
“Also, those few times I’ve been thrown out of cabs for just about everything absent of dignity” . – Mike Shields
-That time you paid above $8 for a drink even during happy hour and think its a great deal.
-That time you lied to your friends about having something to do on a Friday night, simply because you don’t want to travel to another neighborhood.
-That time you, a heterosexual female, found yourself attracted to a gay guy.
-That time you, a heterosexual female, found yourself attracted to a lesbian.