A refugee from another reality...

I did not take this photo, but it is sadly accurate...

As the days pass in my new life, more and more of the strange things I see around me are blending into some semblance of predictable normality. Now seeing the same homeless woman on the subway telling her same sad story and crying at the same part (10 shows daily, 12 on weekends) is a welcomed piece of familiarity, rather than a mere annoyance (although I think it's odd she chooses the same line and the same stops each day). Hearing loud music in Spanish blaring out of my neighbor's window each afternoon, overpowering the sounds of the arguments proceeding in the kitchen seems quaint and picturesque. Getting harassed by school children as I walk to the train is starting to bother me a little less. These, and many other things are now becoming pieces of my life, however; there are some things that will take much more time to adjust to...

There are times when I feel like I came from another planet, and I think all the people around me get the same idea. Although I've visited New York on numerous occasions before moving here and feel somewhat familiar with the city, there are certain things one doesn't do as a visitor, such as buy groceries and day to day necessities. I am used to giant glistening white cathedrals to consumer products, filled with more items than anyone could ever need or want and overly-friendly employees offering assistance at every turn. In these beautiful monuments to domestic bliss, everything is clearly labeled in wide aisles containing products that seem to leap right off the shelf into your giant shopping cart. You can get everything you need in these mega-stores from bananas to toilet paper to postage stamps. Establishments in New York do not resemble this model in the least.

One of the main differences between shopping here and other parts of the United States is that there is no such thing as a "one stop shop" for anything. In my neighborhood there are at least 8 markets within a 2 block radius of my building, and they all provide different products. If you just want something easy like apples or soda, you go to one of the little deli markets. If you want things like toothpaste or light bulbs you go to the Duane Reede drug store. If you need envelopes or stamps, you go to the stationary store. If you want a bread, cereal, canned beans, etc..., there is this horrible place called the Met Foodmarket that I have grown to despise.

Unlike the Utopian grocery store model I described before, the Met Foodmarket seems intentionally designed to induce seizures or at least a severe anxiety attack. As soon as you enter, you're greeted by the smell of sticky floors and old shrimp. In the labyrinth of aisles, too narrow for more than one person to fit through at a time, much less a shopping cart, you feel like you're walking through a game board from chutes and ladders. For some reason, there are 4 different sections for chips scattered about the tiny store, but nowhere to find paper towels. You'll find things like tea next to the sausages, tampons next to the pickles and bread next to the popsicles. If you'd like to ask for help from one of the vest-clad employees, they will probably just run over your foot with a cart and then wander away muttering non-English curses about you under their breath.

It's not necessarily the shock of what is here, but it's the expectation of something quite different that will take time to subside. I feel like a refugee from another reality, just sort of floating about like flotsam in the rising tide of this place. I'm sure one day, the Met Foodmarket will also seem familiar, and perhaps even charming, but I believe it's a good benchmark that I have a long way to go before I can don the title of "New Yorker."