Is it just me or are New York guys a LOT more aggressive than their Midwestern counterparts?
On Tuesday, shortly after I got into town, I went to my favorite nail place in Times Square for a manicure. In a matter of only four blocks, I was stopped twice by boys with thick East Coast accents. They asked me where I was from, they asked where I was going, and they asked what I was doing later that night. Both times I kept waiting for them to try to sell me a knock-off Prada, but it turned out they were looking for my company, not my money. I’ll be damned.
It’s not as if I never get picked up in Chicago. But I’ve never had my walk to work interrupted by a dinner invitation. I asked my friend JH, a member of the inner circle who used to live in NY and came to stay with me, if I was onto something. She said that indeed I was. However, she added the caveat that it’s not Manhattan boys I had to worry about, it’s the Bridge and Tunnel crowd. I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. As it turns out, there’s a pecking order here, not unlike the Northsider vs. Southsider caste system that exists back home.
Once I understood what I was up against, we went out together last night. First we met her friend B for sushi and I saw the Statue of Liberty for the first time. It was awe-inspiring and it gave me goosebumps. I heart New York. I’m such a dork. Then we left the safety of our male escort and went to some bar called Bounce. As soon as we walked in, JH turned to me and said “Sausage Fest.” I looked around and realized she was right. Not only was the place filled with dudes, but they all turned and looked at us like horny sailors on shore leave. I hope getting eye-fucked doesn’t count as breaking celibacy because in that moment, I got eye-gangbanged. We sat down and instantly we were approached by some drunken, dancing, douchebag. Without even letting him spit what little game he could have possessed in our direction, JH didn’t hesitate to jump out of her seat, grab my hand, and lead me out of the bar. That’s the thing I love about her, she has a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to bullshit. But the next place we went to wasn’t much better.
As soon as we walked into the restaurant, I passed by a table of three guys, one of whom told me he loved me. An hour and a Long Island later, as we were leaving I got accosted by some large Israeli man named Dave. We had one of those conversations where he was obviously drunker than me and kept asking me the same questions, where I was from and what I was doing in NY. Since he couldn’t be bothered to remember, I kept changing the answers. Then he put his arm around me and kissed my hand. Ew. I couldn’t wait to get on my flight home this morning. And even today, as I made my way through the lobby of my freaking hotel to get breakfast, some guy sitting on a couch motioned for me to come over. I shook my head “no,” and he replied, “oh c’mon, I just wanna have a little fun.” Seriously, dude? It was seven-fucking-thirty in the morning.
That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. It reminded me of all the slot machines ringing in your ears at the airport in Vegas when you’re trying to get home. Perhaps it’s my celibacy and I’m tired of having to say no, but there's a time and a place for that sort of thing and it's not 3pm on Broadway or before noon in a hotel lobby. When boys take anything you do as an indication that you’re interested, it’s very easy to get oversexed in the city.
Now I’m finally back to Chicago and my "normal," quiet, life for a while. Be it ever so boring, there’s no place like home.