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Craig Undergoes Gentrification

Far from a hipster, I started working at Jewcy a month or so ago when I answered an ad in the New York area of Craigslist (or, my list, as I say when I am feeling particularly saucy). Tahl invited … Read More

By / September 18, 2006

Far from a hipster, I started working at Jewcy a month or so ago when I answered an ad in the New York area of Craigslist (or, my list, as I say when I am feeling particularly saucy). Tahl invited me to come in and, following a brief brain aneurism, agreed to let me come in a few days a week as an intern. When he finally stopped choking on his tongue, he must’ve realized what a mistake this decision was, but the damage had been done. Unable to keep me out of the work more than 2 days in a week, I became somewhat of a fixture, standing in the corner of the office, screaming all the live-long day. Izzy used to throw me peanuts. Anyway, long story short, one day Tahl screamed, “What do you want? Permission to come here every day?! FINE!” Veins were popping out everywhere. “WE’RE NOT GOING TO PAY YOU,” he added. And like that, I was in. Being not from urbana like the rest of the Jewcy hipsters, it’s taken me some time to get used to everything New York has to offer. Like, for instance, New York is a culturally diverse place, with many different types of people. I’ve even seen a few Asian and African Americans! Golly! Today, I took the next step in my self-urbanization. As the Jewcy staff congregated to go to lunch, we were faced with a rather prickly conundrum. Where, in a city of a million restaurants, would we go to eat? Having learned the hard way that livestock slop buckets are not an acceptable option for office dining, I kept my mouth shut. Luckily, following the long, awkward silence, Amy finally made a suggestion, drawing attention away from the finger I had placed into my nose. Whole Foods Market, she recommended, the trendy cosmopolitan marketplace, with fresh, straight-from-the-garden food for people who’ve never actually seen a garden. On the way there, I stopped to gawk at a homeless man, slumped over himself as he leaned against a wall. Oozing down the sidewalk from a puddle just a vomit’s distance from his head was a bright red mass of sputum and what looked to be a disintegrating Twinkie. “That looks delicious,” I said. “What do you think it is?” I asked, “A new Slurpee?” “Bloody junkie vomit,” Zoya speculated. “Welcome to New York.” I’m learning so much in the city!

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