Dear New Yorkers,
Yes, this weather sucks. It’s the shittiest day we’ve had all year, in fact — including the aftermath of a blizzard! Plus, it’s a Tuesday that somehow feels like a Monday, and all we can do is focus on the Monday part. And it’s going to rain/sleet/snow/slush/ice like this until tomorrow afternoon. But you have choices on days like today. You can complain, which many of you are doing very well. You can cry. You can bemoan the fate that has led you to choose this cold, hard, heartless city, a town that will just as soon cast you out onto an unsalted and slippery sidewalk, where you will probably fall, drop your coffee, and bust your lip, as to look at you. Or you can gaze your troubles in the face and say “Fuck you, troubles, you don’t even know who you’re dealing with.”
Here’s the thing. Yes, the weather blows. Yes, your feet got wet on your way to work and your umbrella blew up and out over your head, which is always strangely humiliating, and the coffee guy laughed, and now your jeans are damp and clinging to your thighs and you’re sitting in a cubicle watching the rain pour down and thinking about how it’s still going to be doing that when you go home, but then it will be dark, and colder. And you’re hungry.
BUT! If you lived elsewhere, you’d probably have had to drive to work, which is way scarier in these conditions. Plus, you’d need a driver’s license! You’d have had to pack your own lunch, so you’d be looking at a sad little ham sandwich instead of that turkey burger and fries you have all rights to order today, given that the weather’s so crappy. You’d spend your day bustling from room to room in your office “campus,” where no one dares to bitch and moan about the weather because “cheer” is part of the company’s branding. You’d finally drive home at the end of the day, the roads ever more precarious, and then you’d heat up some canned soup and go to bed and start another soulless day all over again instead of acknowledging well before 6 p.m. that it’s pretty much a red wine sort of evening, and perhaps early morning. (Soup is what they live on in other parts of the U.S.A., right?)
The point is, we complain because we can. But shitty weather here is still better than shitty weather anywhere else, even if we do have to wallow around in it, our pale, wintry complexions exposed to the elements — which, when you think about it, lends us a rather vigorous and attractive rosy flush, or perhaps that’s the red wine? — instead of living our lives from within the sterile confines of car-to-building-to-car-to-house-to-bed-to-car.
If nothing else in the aforementioned is true, you have to admit that we complain in part because we are good at it. And because we like to think we have it worse than the rest of America, if only because the inverse of that is that we have it so much better.
What the hey.
If this hasn’t satisfied you, know that today will be done by tomorrow, and you’ll have something new to complain about. That’s how we roll in the Big Apple. Also, maybe you should buy a sun lamp.