City Life Ain't Private Rides and Coffee with Macaroon Sides

"Day 3: bus driver must begin to wonder if I was in the special needs classes growing up.  Took me rotating and flipping the MetroCard in every possible direction following each attempt with "is this it?" while the machine beeps in rejection.  Note to self: cuteness is wearing off- must figure out way to remember correct MetroCard insertion."

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    Growing up in "Typical-Suburbia", New Jersey, public transportation, aggressive beeping cab drivers and the never-ending symphony of car alarms and dogs barking were anything but familiar to me.  It didn't take long after accepting an internship with the fabulous and talented Blair Lauren Brown (which would require me to stay in and travel throughout Brooklyn and Manhattan daily), for my hyperventilating-sweaty-palms anxiety to creep in.  It also didn't help that I am the youngest of a huge Italian-American family who has had the experience of growing up in New York at some point in their life (except for me, obviously) so no one understood why I couldn't grasp the concept of "gridded streets" and "numbered streets go north-to-south" (I think?).  


Two short weeks later and despite my inability to grip my steering wheel due to my excessive anxiety-sweat, I was officially headed to my aunt's house in Brooklyn to start the work week.  With less sympathy and more fear of me being abducted in her intentions, my mother generously planned my public transportation route starting at Aunt Jo's front steps and ending at Blair's.  


In preparation of my big-girl travel route, I purchased a $10.00 MetroCard to smoothly board the bus, divert attention from my incompetency of the city and hope to blend in with the Brooklyn natives.  Naturally, my experience was anything but smooth.  As I stepped onto the crowded B69 at the corner of  Terrace and McDonald Avenue, I immediately asked the bus driver to alert me when the Bergen Street stop was up in which he proceeded to (loudly) tell me I was speaking too softly and that he'd make an announcement when the time came.  As if that wasn't embarrassing enough, I managed to slide my MetroCard in the machine in every possible (wrong) way until the bus driver gave me a sympathetic chuckle, took my card and slid it in correctly.  At this point, the crowded bus could read the bold neon sign above my head that said, "I'M NOT FROM HERE".  I hurried to an open seat and hoped to stay incognito for the rest of the trip.


I arrived at Blaire's office in one piece as well as managed to get home later that day (its the same trip just- opposite..right?).  However, after a few days of taking the bus, what I noticed was a pattern that went from cute and adorable to questionably concerning.  Without taking the 5 seconds to analyze my MetroCard, I'd just blindly shove it into the machine and hope for the best.  Unfortunately for me, I was wrong. Every. Damn. Time. And not just one flip-wrong. I spent, on average, 8 seconds at the machine giggling to hide my tears while outwardly blaming the MetroCard stating, "I've never used this thing for a bus before" rather than admitting that I am simply not a city girl. 


Knowing these embarrassing yet laughable series of events were at my expense, I decided to go to my family for a pick-me-up that they undoubtedly managed to achieve (featured on the right).  Remember, being a city-girl is not something you'll learn over night..or two....or three or...-oh, you get it.  Just know that when the cuteness wares out, you best have an alternate plan...like actually learning how to insert a MetroCard- or driving your car.