I must apologize for my lack of blogginess for the last…oh I don’t know…three weeks? Has it been that long? I’m a little offended that none of my so called “blog friends” rushed to my aid with a stretcher and a cup of coffee, but hey, we can still be friends. Fistbump.
I’m not sure if I put the quotation in the correct spot. Was it supposed to go around “so called?”
In my defense, I don’t have wifi. Every time I move/relocate/travel abroad/go to space, I’m instantly reminded of what a pain in the butt not having internet access is. It’s pathetically crippling. On a positive note, it has forced me to explore other options in my area. While living in a quiet, Hasidic neighborhood isn’t exactly pop lock and droppin’ with excitement, a quick ten minutes and I can post up at a Starbucks with internet access and flash gang signs to all the hipsters.
My street cred has grown exponentially since I’ve moved to New York.
(This is code for I’ve listened to Jay-Z’s version of Empire State of Mind approximately 56 times in the last four weeks.)
Finding a coffee shop is always my first priority when I move to a new city. I’ve been living in NY for five weeks and I’ve been living in my Brooklyn apartment for two weeks now. I managed to find a coffee shop week one, but I still have to answer every email by phone. I haven’t gotten my crap together and called
Comcast, because the phone call always takes two hours, and they try to sell me things I don’t need the kind internet people.
My first week in Australia went the same way. It took me two weeks to set up internet, but I sought out coffee on day one. I didn’t have an iPhone to rely on, so looking up coffee shops and directions on the internet was completely obsolete. I figured it couldn’t be THAT complicated, so I set off on a solo adventure. My roommates apparently weren’t as dependent on caffeinated beverages.
They were all, “HEY, LET’S GO TO THE BEACH!”
And I was all, “HEY, MY BRAIN IS EXPLODING! I NEED A COFFEE!”
At the first coffee shop I located, I politely asked for a coffee with cream, and I was handed a black coffee with a heaping swirl of WHIPPED cream. Okay, don’t panic. I chalked it up to miscommunication and moved on.
The second coffee shop was only down the street, and was both larger and more populated. I assumed that THIS was where all the locals had to be hanging out, and that they would make me a proper cup of coffee. After waiting in line, I found my way to the counter. I POLITELY asked for a cup of coffee, with MILK.
The lady handed me a plastic bottle of iced coffee FLAVORED milk.
What the??? I don’t…I just can’t…
I handed it back to her, said thank you, and continued on my adventure.
I stumbled upon my third coffee shop ten minutes down the road and figured three times was a charm. This time, my tone indicated a touch of “not-so-politeness.” I explained to the barista that I had been on an extremely unsuccessful hunt for a coffee and she assured me she could put together an iced coffee that would rival any American coffee shop.
Intrigued by her challenge, I ordered a large iced coffee and waited by the pick-up counter. Two minutes later the woman called my name and handed me what was the by far the strangest combination of the day: A large iced coffee with a very large scoop of vanilla ice cream frothing over the edges. I burst into laughter, the woman tilted her head in a dog-like manner that implied I was crazy, and I accepted the iced cream coffee.
New York City doesn’t have iced cream coffee, but it still causes a culture shock of its own. It’s safe to say I wasn’t completely accustomed to taking the subway when I arrived, but I was DEFINITELY not accustomed to people urinating in subways. On most days, walking is bliss. My ten minute walk from the subway to my Manhattan office is by far my favorite part of the day, but there are times when I feel a pang of laziness and find myself wishing I had a car to take to the Laundromat.
Or better yet, a washing machine in my apartment…
One thing is for certain, New York has a plethora of coffee shops, and none of them give me ice cream with my order. I’m not sure if that is a positive or a negative, but here I am on a Saturday night enjoying a cup of coffee because I’m lackadaisically avoiding a two hour long call with Comcast.
You can trust that this cup of coffee is legit, because it’s Instagrammed.
If it isn’t on Instagram it NEVER happened, folks.