The Unwanted Manhattan Roommate

And Other Tests of True Love

When a relationship goes sour, those involved will often say that the qualities they initially loved about the other person are the very things that they now can’t stand. Suddenly, the guy who was “ so laid back, I love it” is now “perpetually lazy,” and the girl who was “really confident, it’s so refreshing” is now “ always so full of herself.” Of course, there are other times when, because we care deeply for a person, we try and overlook the less pleasing aspects of their personality and instead focus on all of the positive things that they have to offer. If the relationship is a healthy one (and sometimes it isn’t), then the good will outweigh the fact that he makes weird sucking sounds with his teeth after meals, or has a habit of shaving his beard over the sink and leaving the evidence for us to find later, or insists on changing his seat/table at least twice at a restaurant before deciding upon his preferred view, as though “facing in” or “facing out” is a decision worthy of this high level of contemplation.

But what about when your significant other is Manhattan?

I admit--I love Manhattan. I’ve always wanted to live here and I’m so happy now that I do. But I’ll also be honest and state that this love has come at an enormous cost (besides my entire hard-earned salary)! From a distance, and as love goes, Manhattan sparkled. Everything about it was superior, glamorous, and well—nearly perfect. But now, living here for over a year, I’ve noticed its less than flattering qualities, and for just a moment, I would like to rant about them in all of their unfortunate glory.

1. The Unwanted Roommate
I’m not talking about that random girl on Craigslist that you decided would be a decent human being with whom to live, and instead morphed overnight into a crazed lunatic that calls you out every time you forget to refill the Brita pitcher. Or the acquaintance/friend from high school or college that you thought would make the transition to Manhattan a bit easier and has now affixed herself to you like the parasite you never knew she was and wish you never knew--period. I’m talking about the huge cockroach that greeted you last night when you came into your apartment slightly intoxicated at 3:00am. Or the mouse that squeaked its way into your living room while your roommate was watching The Hills and made her scream so loud that you thought there had been some exciting twist in today’s plot (nah…I wouldn’t go that far). I mean, let’s be realistic here. If these rodents aren’t paying rent, then I don’t want them here. And if they are paying rent, well, then I have an even more serious problem on my hands—and my floor.

2. The Giant Rat Outside My Apartment
Did you ever leave your apartment building one morning and discover a giant blow-up rat waiting for you right outside the lobby? When most people stage a protest of sorts, signs and banners are usually adequate props to get your point across. So is it really necessary for all of us innocent bystanders to witness such a grotesque creature towering over us on our way to work in the morning? Don’t we see enough of these critters in the subway?

3. I see London, I see France…
I was riding in the elevator up to my apartment one day and happened to step inside at the same time as a man who had a cart filled with laundry. I looked down at the pile of laundry for no real reason at all, and the man gave me a steady nod. “Yup, so much for glamorous Manhattan living,” he said, as a linty argyle sock fell haplessly to the floor. I just smiled and nodded back at him. When he left the elevator, a few floors before my own, I wondered if it degraded him in some way to have me see all of his clothing sitting wrinkled in a pile before me, kind of like when you can see backstage at a show and realize the effort that goes into the product. It’s kind of--well--disappointing at times. But more so, its kind of unnecessary. Do I really want to know that the girl on the eighth floor has "days of the week" underwear? Or that the guy on the fifth floor chooses briefs over boxers? This thought never crossed my mind in college. Back then, seeing someone’s laundry didn’t seem to matter one way or the other. I mean, so what? Who cares? We all wear underwear—what’s the big deal? Then again, these days, you don’t find me walking down the hall in a shower towel.

The list could go on—weird stenches on the subways, crowded subways, “it’s-the-weekend-and-after-25-minutes-I’m-still-waiting-for-a-subway” subways. And of course, there’s always the issue of every single taxi being occupied at the very moment I choose to hail one.

But, after all of the complaints, all the exhausted rants, it’s still Manhattan. It’s still the place where I’ve chosen to be.

Besides, where else can you find a 24-hour Duane Reade on every other block?

Yes, the subways may be packed to the brim with too many people and the strong smell of body odor, but at least I can buy dental floss at 3:00am. Right?

Let me tell you something…that’s love.