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I Hate New York by Trey Printer Friendly

Today, I hate New York.

It's one of the ironies of living in NYC that you both pay the highest rents in the country while simultaneously living in some of the dumpiest apartments in the country.

I know this. I've accepted this. I can put up with:

the mice

the roaches

the collapsing ceilings

the rotten floorboards

the leaks

the peeling paint

the strange smells

the shower and sink that barely drain

the neighbors who steal your mail

the trash in the hallways

the angry drunks cursing their ex-wives outside my window at 3am

I can take it.

But I think they might have finally broken me. Allow me to digress.

In most of the civilized world there's a rather novel concept called "Central Heat and Air." Maybe you've heard of if?

I shall explain. You turn a little dial convienently located on the wall. This sets the temperature. Once the temperature is set, the abode is maintained at said temperature by the automatic running of either the heater or the air conditioner.

Much like the Lochness Monster in Scotland, one hears rumors of Central Heat and Air in NYC. Everyone knows somebody who has a friend who was at a party somewhere on the Upper West Side where the host's cousin's aunt reportedly lives in a doorman building with central heat and air as well as a washer/dryer.

These reports remain unverified.

Generally in NYC it works like this.

Air Conditioning:

In the summer you cram an overpriced and ineffective air conditioner in one of the 3 windows in your apartment. Preferably in the bedroom since there's no way this thing can cool your entire 300 sq foot apt. You only turn the AC on at night when you can't sleep because the dripping sweat and heat induced dilerium has you convinced roaches are crawling all over you. Sometimes you turn the AC on and it doesn't help. This means there really are roaches crawling all over you. If you can't handle this, move to Ohio.


Look around your apartment. Find the spot where the boards are the most rotten. On top of these boards will be a 100 pound chunk of metal painted silver. In the winter, theoretically, this hunk of metal will begin spitting water, hissing, and clanking like someone is beating on it with a hammer. When you are stumbling through your apartment, drunk and naked as usual, and stumble into the clanking hunk of metal, you will scream as your skin melts off. This means you have Heat.

Much like the tides, "The Heat" is controlled by celestial forces beyond our understanding....... or by the Pakastanis who run the Smoothie Store on the ground floor. You can rant and rave and call city authorities and threaten and cajole and sacrifice a goat, but you cannot control this heat.

I have no heat.

It was 41 degrees last night.

It was cold.

Called the city. Told them I was cold.

City told me, I'll only guaranteed heat when it's below 40 degrees outside.



On nights when it is



I am gauranteed heat up to 55 degrees.





It's cold.

I'm cold.

I hate New York.


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