Spoiled Brats in the Big Apple

So I ended up getting another job at yet another law firm. But this is no ordinary law firm, or I should say unlike any other law firm I've ever worked at before. You see, this is New York, and in this city they like things all fucked up and ass-backward, i.e. the more difficult and challenging the better off . This firm specializes in corporate law, and when I'm here I don't really feel like I'm actually working for a "law firm" it feels more like some faceless business entity. So far I haven't heard anything uttered from the mouths of attorneys regarding court, judges, depositions, jurors, subpoenas, motions, trials, cases, etc...These are the things I am used to hearing at other firms I've worked for. Oh yeah, and another thing that differentiates this place from the rest is its penchant for hiring bratty, spoiled, conceited recent Ivy League graduates. Spoiled Brats in the Big Apple, if you will.

Damn, I truly hate these little snot nosed shitheads. They are all about the same age (median age is 22), and the majority of them went to some fancy college on the East Coast. "I went to Princeton" said one stupid little blonde brat to her friend. Another might exclaim, "I had soooo much fun at Harvard!" Oh my god, are these people for real?? Well, I went to Sonoma State! So look at you now, you little punk, how does it feel to work near a normal person who went to a regular ol' state university? I really do not know how much longer I can tolerate these brats. I don't even know why I'm working here. I got the job through a friend of a friend, and I really did not want to work at another law firm again. But due to certain unforeseen circumstances I leapt at the job offer and am now surrounded by a bunch of insolent twits.

Every corner I pass, every turn I make, there they are with their $600 pointy boots and flashy hair cuts. They gab away incessantly, gaze into their Blackberries, ready to make their mark, ready to prove that they can make it in New York City. They are so eager and so fake. Talking in circles about what they want to do, what they hope to become. I'd like for them to work in a dingy warehouse for six months with trashy 'real' folks who spit and curse and stomp and scream. I did this right after college; nobody handed me a $50,000/yr job. Ask me for a copy of Alstroemeria #2 for more details regarding my warehouse days. Fuck...fuck them and fuck the parents that spawned these wretched, vapid, insipid fools. I get so angry when I think about how my very talented wife is having such a difficult time finding a job, and these little fuckers graduate from an Ivy League school and are handed a well paying job on a platter. It sickens me to no end.

Hypocrite? YES! Perhaps I am a hypocrite because I actually work here with these people. BUT, there is no way in hell I would end up with this job if it weren't for my past law firm experience. I don't know....I don't even know what is happening anymore. All I can say at this point is avoid this city at all costs. It offers nothing and will give you NOTHING for all the hard work you put into it. There is no payoff here. This is hell each day. A new, vast, never ending hell. An eternal nightmare. No solace. No more quiet places. A constant rotation of anger, rage, sadness, and desperation. From the corporate lacky all the way down to the poor immigrant on the street trying desperately to hand you some flyer you don't want. It is grey, dark and cold. So inhuman that the people who inhabit it are just machines, just machines programmed to eat, sleep, shit, and work, work, work...

Pass Slapping

Lately I've been into 'Pass Slapping' a term I made up for when you are walking through an intersection and suddenly a car pulls up to stop, but then doesn't and almost runs into you. You in turn slap or kick any part of the vehicle as it selfishly passes by.

In doing this I have thus far not gotten into a fight. I keep expecting to, and am always ready, but these people don't even stop after I've hit their car. I'm not talking about a light swat or an innocuous kick, I talking full on hard slaps (even punches sometimes) preferably on the rear windshield, or forceful kicks into the back end--enough to make a nice little dent : )

I know these drivers do not stop like they are supposed to because most New Yorkers are selfish, stupid, ignorant, careless assholes. But I also believe the reason they don't stop, even after I've hit their cars, is because they feel guilty. It is as if they know they deserve what happened. I think it takes something dramatic like that to make them reflect, to let them know that they are not the only people on the streets. I keep expecting somebody to react, stop, get out of the car, something, anything! But nothing really ever happens after a pass slap--the vehicle might slow down a bit, maybe to make sure they didn't run me over, and I know they see me standing there, but they continue on, apparently ashamed of what they've done.

I don't care what anyone says; these cars that do not stop for pedestrians are always at fault, no matter what, there is absolutely no doubt about it. When you own a car and drive it frequently you take on a huge responsibility. I think a lot of people, especially these East Coasters out here have lost sight of that. Their impestuous ways can equal an irreversible tragedy. Maybe they don't care, perhaps nobody cares anymore.

So I look at myself; what have I become? I've never been this aggressive before in my life. I'm just a skinny, balding, glasses wearing white guy trying to live each day in this place. It is so hard sometimes, so hard. I'm not a fighter, I'm not a tough talkin', tearin' shit up kind of guy. Most people just walk right by me, as I do them. This city is out of control and I will not allow it to tear me or my wife apart. I'm trying to make a stand, I'm standing up for myself for once in my life. And if that means slapping and punching and kicking cars for not behaving correctly, so be it. I know I am not a physically strong person, but I'm still a fucking PERSON. You stupid fucking New Yorkers.

As I write this my hand hurts, my knuckles are bloody and sore from punching a van's rear window this morning. I know, I should have just pass slapped it, but my vehemence was at an all time high and I just couldn't stop myself from connecting a nice solid punch to the big shiny window. I thought maybe I cracked it, but alas, no. The van actually slowed down for a minute, I thought the driver would get out, but nothing. It speedily took off into the musky air of morning. I went to work feeling a little empowered, but also very beaten down and disappointed with this place.

fall into

my ailments
are common
yet
somehow
seem
too important
***
UN's narrow spires
like grey Lego blocks
echo jackhammer
back into
bustling streets
***
overpriced M food
for the hungry
mouths
$1 more
than I
knew before
***
giggly females
insipid
inane
$200 flip-flops
laugh their way
through
ivy leagues
***
I was "J. Douchebag"
once
at a Halloween party
a parody
but now
in this city
a frightening reality
all too apparent
the real 'douchebags'
exist
a plenty
***
a nice fall day
fucking harsh city
contrasted
conflicted
I hope to take
some of this
Eastern sunshine
albeit weak
into me
for dark will come
***
beyond these confines
Sara and sister
those whom I only
care about here
took a beautiful hike
through
blazing leaves
crisp air
on a Sunday
a day I normally revere as:
bleak
destitute
uneventful
trudging
but made much better
and needed
during these
complicated times
in dystopian city
***
my friends
please don't slip away
'cause I'm afraid
I will
never
see your
faces
again