Bun Boy Eats NYC – My First Miserable Week in NYC. Sincerely, the Ingrate

My First Miserable Week in NYC. Sincerely, the Ingrate

May 2, 2014 11:28 am

My mood was a little washed out that first week.

Seriously, I’m an a**hole.

I have zero right to be the least bit unhappy about my situation.

New York City, the greatest city on earth, has just been handed to me on a silver effing platter and I have the gall to not be jumping off the walls. What’s wrong with me??

“Aren’t you excited?!” people gush as I sit down for my final dinners/lunches with various friends over my last few weeks in LA.

“Sure!” I grimace through my margarita. “No, seriously, I’m so lucky, it’s going to be really great”. I try to convince myself.

When I moved to LA from Seattle, I was deeply unhappy. I wanted a complete 180 change. I wanted a fresh start. I wanted to dry out, from being soggy for 24 years.

The issue presenting itself now is: I wasn’t miserable in LA. I had a very good life. I lived in an inexpensive, sort of nice apartment in a quiet part of West Hollywood. I had a great job, an enviable group of amazing friends, enough vacation time to travel the world, awesome weather and not a care in the world. Except maybe my abhorrent driving and the lives that were constantly at risk as a result.

More importantly, there was always a new restaurant to try. No matter how hard I attempted to eat everywhere, I still failed to hit every place before I stepped on that plane to NYC. “If you like restaurants, you’re gonna love NYC!”

Like I said before, I left LA because I had to. Even perfection can become boring.

I had never booked a one way ticket before. I assumed I would be harassed by airport security. Terrorists purchase one way tickets. I wondered if I was going to have my full cavity search in full view of everyone or if the latex glove would snap in some florescent lit back room where they would probably also find a few kilos of some forgotten drug.

Perhaps I’ve seen too many episodes of “Locked Up Abroad”.

Truth was, one of the reasons I was moving to NYC was to be with someone I was seeing. We had picked out the apartment months ago so all I had to do was get here.

NYC was staring at me in the face, saying “Come here now, you idiot!” The timing couldn’t have been better, the stars had aligned, blah blah blah poop.

Like a siren at sea (or someone offering mac and cheese) I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t not move. (Now, I want mac and cheese, dammit).

I arrived on a Sunday night, I was met at the airport by SN holding a “Bun Boy Eats NYC” sign and I was whisked off in a town car to Chelsea, our new neighborhood.

It was ass cold.

Isn’t this spring?? Doesn’t that mean the ass cold days are behind us? I didn’t bring the right clothes. Crap. I guess a shopping spree was imminent.

Because I have tons of money for that.

The first thing we did was walk to the High Line, a few blocks away. The High Line is this above the ground park built on top of the remains of an old railway. It’s really pretty cool.

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The High Line – above ground park built on the ruins of an old railway system.

Except on Sunday evenings. Apparently, half the planet thinks it’s cool at time as well.

I felt like I had joined a parade, once you merge into the hoards of people, you’re stuck. You have to just float downstream with the other hundred folks until you spot the quickest escape.

At least it’s a really pretty stream. You meander between old apartment buildings as you enjoy the flowers popping up between the old railroad tracks. A pleasant juxtaposition, if you can stand all the people in your way.

My very first slice of NY pie was from Artichoke Basille’s and we gobbled it down as we enjoyed the view from the High Line while I pondered how big a mistake I might have just made.

As I toss and turned on the blow up mattress I temporarily call a bed, I grew more and more anxious for the pending first day on the job. I felt like a kid going to high school. I knew how the whole school thing worked, I just didn’t know any of the students or teachers.

SN and I headed to a quick breakfast at a local spot called The Dish for some eggs. I had thrown away all my casual clothes in LA and only had spiffy new duds for the new job. After all, NYC is much more formal than LA. I was going to fit in with the kids, I just knew it!

The walk to work is only about 15 minutes but it felt like an hour (thankfully), I was happy for every step that wasn’t inside the new office.

As I stepped into the offices and my counterpart greeted me in jeans and tennis shoes, I knew I had it all wrong. I don’t work on Wall Street or anything.

Every floor in NY is either concrete or ancient wood so every step to my office created a deep and low sounding creek. There shall be no sneaking to the bathroom here, sadly.

My apartment is even worse. The massive creaking in the hallway on the way to my front door is so obnoxious, I can’t help but feel sorry for any teenager in the building attempting to sneak in or out of their home without waking mom.

The problem at work is this. The woman who quit had left me with an egregious amount of mostly useless paperwork to sift through. I’m talking over 21 large boxes worth.

I know this count is accurate because I had to rummage through every piece of unopened junk mail and dingy envelopes containing old paper clips or client’s credit cards (yikes!) and ancient financial reporting and send that sh*t to storage!

The office environment is quite different than what I’m used to in LA. LA was a constant social gathering with a smattering of actual work. I’m exaggerating, of course, but the NY office is like working in a tomb. Except more creaky. And less talking.

No one really speaks to one another. Everyone just sits there and does their job! Is this insanity normal??

Or have I just had it really lucky all these years?

What did I do to combat this newfound lack of social interaction? I ate my feelings! See below to witness the eating out that occurred (and my iPhone witnessed) during my first week. It’s not pretty.

COOKSHOP