Living in the city, I have developed the bad habit of knowing my neighbors through happenstance. I know my dry cleaning lady by face but not by name. I think it’s Jennifer. She knows more about me than I do about her and I’ve past that point of getting to know you. I’ve past the threshold to ask her what her name is. Every week, I hope that someone in the store will mention her name. Every week I am disappointed. So my greetings to her turn into, “Hi! How are you? How are the kids?” I know she has two girls because of the picture by the register.
Same goes for our delivery guy. I know one is named Omar but we’ve got two regular delivery men so who knows which one is Omar. It’s not like I didn’t make an effort. When we moved in, I made an effort to say hi and introduce myself. Since then, I’ve forgotten half the names I swore I’d try to remember.
On Saturday, Lrudlrick and I bumped into one of the lectors at our church. He was busy picking through the flowers at the local market and didn’t’ notice us.
pantrygirl: Wasn’t that Mack Daddy Dave Foley?
Lrudlrick: Yup.
pg: Busy picking flowers for his hot date tonight.
L: Yup.
Yes, folks, since we’re too NY, instead of learning about a person’s life, we make up stories about their life. It’s not that we don’t want to know who are neighbors are. We do. It’s that in NY, we respect each other’s privacy. I suppose it’s a defense mechanism. When you’re packed in like sardines, you learn a lot about each other. Some of these things are of a private nature. Knowing that the neighbor above you uses the bathroom at least three times during the night makes it difficult to look them in the eye. So Hal, did you see the doctor yet about your urinary tract infection?
Maybe it isn’t defensiveness that drives us to respect each other’s privacy. Maybe it’s sheer paranoia. I spent Saturday morning shredding old documents for fear some stranger will rummage through our garbage and find out I bought a pair of super low rise jeans last fall. I’m quite embarrassed by this. You see, a person’s ass should not hang out of one’s pants to provide carnival amusement to some drunk at a bar with a stack of quarters. If I ask my neighbor for personals, he may think I’m stalking them. It’s best to be friendly and provide as little information as possible. It’s bad enough these people get to see my ‘Incredibles’ pj set when I’m doing the laundry.
BTW, my neighbors do the same thing. On the way to the elevator, a neighbor told me he calls us the Yuppie Puppies because we're always walking our two dogs. I wasn't sure if that was a compliment since our dogs aren't puppies and I don't define myself as a Yuppie. Although a Yuppie sounds better than a Dink.
Sidenote: Check out this website to find out the demographic in your area. They don't have Dinks or Yuppies but they do have categories like Young Digerati, Money & Brains & The Cosmopolitans.
But pantrygirl, tell us about M.D. Dave Foley. Ok, Mack Daddy Dave Foley was so dubbed by us because he looks like an older version of Dave Foley, pre-Newsradio days. During the summer we saw him every Sunday with a younger woman. It’s not Anna Nicole and wrinkly old guy. She was about 40+ years old. He looks to be about 60. Anyway, come September, he was no longer walking this lady home. Instead, he’s walking another young woman. The following month, we saw him with yet again another young woman. So put together that he looks like the cute Dave Foley, he’s got a younger woman by his side every time we see him, he wears a suit and shades ala David Caruso and you’ve got Mack Daddy Dave Foley. His real life story can’t compare to this story.Until I read in the news that M.D. Dave Foley is the Menopausal Murderer of Manhattan.
So if you ask me who are the people in my neighborhood; some of the names you’ll hear are: Indiana Jones, Cat Woman, The Yuppies, Cigar Man, Selma Bouvier, Ugly Fat Topless Guy, Captain Stubing, and SWF. Remember, I’m not callous and rude, I’m just a NY’er.
