Living in New York you will probably develop a shockingly close relationship with your Chinese delivery guy, the fluff and fold lady, and the Bodega owner on your corner.
Throughout our occupancy of 2R I had six sublettors, five jobs, four boyfriends, three haircuts, two pets, and one ‘Rooms. The Chinese delivery guy saw it all, weekly. Sometimes bi-weekly, sometimes tri…
Last week we ordered Chinese food from the old place for the first time in our new apartment (thank god we’re still in their delivery radius). After I paid the guy he paused before leaving, looked at me quizzically for a second, and then got on his bike and rode away. This weekend ‘Rooms ordered delivery again, only this time after he paid the guy stopped short again and said “you used to live in 2R? Steinway?” ‘Rooms texted to tell me immediately and my heart almost exploded.
We’ve never exchanged names, just cash and knowing looks. Sometimes in New York City that’s the most intimate you can be with someone. Your delivery man will most likely see you and your home in their most honest states of repair and despair. I have best friends who have never seen our home with so much as a pillow out of place. The Bodega owner knows when you’ve got a hot date and when you’ve had a big night. You could date a man for months before he sees you without makeup in your college sweats, but the fluff and fold laundress knows where you shop for underthings.
It’s a weird quirk of New York I love. Yes, this city is largely strangers passing through space trying not to touch or make eye contact. But then the universe throws open the curtains of anonymity when your delivery guy is so happy to bring your extra spicy shrimp fried rice to a new address and you turn one less shade of invisible.