Godzilla Has Landed in Midtown East

There are a lot of different reasons why people like their jobs. I would think that the most common things are the great pay, work/life balance or great benefits.  Rarely people start off by saying how great their boss is.  Some do, and I was lucky enough to be one of them.  I had been blessed with the best boss in literally the entire world while working in HR at the law firm.  In fact, if she read that statement, she would yell at me because she never liked me referring to her as a "boss."  My boss, let's call her The Boss from now on, was the right balance of caring about you and caring about you doing your job. She wanted me to learn from her and grow in my career professionally.  Trust me, if there was anyone you would want for your boss, she was it.

However, being that my saint of a boss had recently moved, she would no longer be supervising the NYC office of my firm.  Shortly after this news, the interview process began for a new supervisor.  I was very upset that someone would be replacing Denise and honestly, I was a bit scared too. Already knowing that I had such a wonderful supervisor and mentor, I was pretty worried about the new person coming in. I tried to stay positive and The Boss assured me that we would make sure this person was the right fit for the job and the right fit to supervise me. This did put me at ease, so when the new supervisor started, let's refer to her as Newbie, I was less apprehensive and more exciting to have a new person with new ideas in the department.

During Newbie's first week, The Boss and I were heavily involved with training her. It became very obvious from day 1 that Newbie had a listening problem. She was always starting her sentences off with, "well at my old firm we did this..." I am certainly junior in my career, but I sense that this is the wrong way to start off a new job. At the end of the week, Newbie had scared several of our secretaries, frustrated The Boss to no end and made me question my judgment when choosing her as my number 1 out of all the other candidates.

Over the next few weeks, I kept my head down and my mouth shut, unless Newbie needed my help.  It seemed that anything I said or did, Newbie took the wrong way.  I pride myself on the ability to get along with a variety of people, but for some reason, Newbie and I couldn’t seem to make our working relationship work. Things began to get pretty bad (which I will elaborate on in my next post.) I decided I needed to talk to someone who would 100% understand where I am coming from.  I called The Boss and before I could say anything she says, “Nicole, is everything ok there? How is Newbie treating you?” And well since she asked, I filled her in on some reason developments.  The Boss simply replied, “ You are not alone in feeling that way. Nicole, I have personally nicknamed her Godzilla."

Things You Learn When You Move to Manhattan

So after many months of living in Brooklyn, I decided to take the plunge and move to Manhattan. I wanted to go full on Sex and the City style. I couldn't be living like married Miranda in Brooklyn; I needed to be a Carrie with a little dash of Samantha and a touch of Charlotte. I needed fancy, overpriced cocktails, men in suits and real fashion. Sorry Brooklyn, but the hipster look is so not in. It's not original or cool when you all dress like mismatched hobos and carry the same white iPhone 5, listen to the same music and live in the same ugly graffiti buildings in Williamsburg.

After moving and being in Manhattan night and day 24/7, I have picked up on some things:

1. Avoid leaving for work any earlier than 7:30 AM. I organized a blood drive at work I needed to be in early to make everything was up and running. No one is out early in the mornings in Manhattan but Hispanic construction workers who cat call you and junkies. It is scarier being out in Manhattan at 7:00 AM on a Tuesday morning than it is to be out at 2:00 AM any night of the week.

2. People pee everywhere. I saw a women squatting in the middle of the sidewalk on Broadway at about 5:30 PM. She didn't seem to mind that she was flashing her vagina to the people of NYC.  I have walked over a stream of pee while waiting to catch the subway in the AM before work. Some man was facing the wall pissing and the stream ran the whole way down the platform.

3. Apartment buildings want your blood and first born before you can live in an overpriced hole in the wall. I kid you not, I had to make 40x the monthly rent, provide my taxes, bank account statement, paystubs, a letter from my employers, and a landlord referance just to live in an apartment that has a "fake bedroom."

4. I learned what a "fake bedroom" is. In many apartment buildings, people split the living room in half by putting up a fake wall and create an extra bedroom.  This is the only way young people afford to live in nice buildings. It's very, very sad. What's even more sad, I currently have one of these "fake bedrooms."

5. Everyone does online dating. And I mean everyone. Whether it's tinder or j date. It's happening and yes, I did get sucked in, but more on that later.

6. It is perfectly acceptable to not go out with friends for dinner until 10 PM and not hit the bar until 12 PM.  When bars are open until 4 AM, the night is always young.

7. You realize what the B&T crowd is.  People of Manhattan that consider themselves "normal" (whatever that is), will become upset when they enter a bar and they believe that the place is full of the B&T crowd.  B stands for bridges and T stands for tunnels.  So this group encompasses anyone that came from the outer boroughs, or even worse - Jersey.

8. You thank your lucky stars you are not from Jersey or Long Island. THANK. YOU. JESUS.

9. No one cares if the Rangers/Yankees/Giants/Knicks or whoever is playing.  In Pittsburgh, sports are cult like, if there is a Penguins game on Saturday night, you bet your ass you are either going or doing something "for the game." That doesn't happen here, if I wasn't a sports fan, I wouldn't even know sports existed.

10. Living in NYC is nothing like sex and the city or gossip girl or girls (gross).  As much as plenty of girls wish that they could be living it up like Carrie Bradshaw or Blair Waldorf, this is a fantasy land. I still love my Sex and the City binge sessions, but it's quite unreal for a 26 year old from an average town in average America. However, that hasn't stopped me from looking for my Mr. Big, great girlfriends and great fashion.

Revenge Can Be So Sweet

Whenever girls go through a rough break-up, girls always contemplate revenge.  Usually, it is just a gossip session with our girlfriends laughing about how he may be secretly gay or how his penis isn't the "right size" (whatever that is?)  We sip too many martinis and joke about how we will ruin his life.  This is later followed by a lot of ugly, drunk crying in the bathroom. Between crying fits the girl comes to a gin induced conclusion that the break occurred because she is too fat, too stupid or too clingy.  If girls haven't done this personally, they have a friend who has, and it's miserable.  What if women were able to have these cry sessions and actually get a type of revenge that would satisfy them?  Well ladies, it's possible, and I've done it.  Let me take you back to my senior year of college...

Senior year, I was single and ready to party my way right to graduation. I mean what senior college student isn't? Somehow in my 21 year old mind, I thought it would be a great idea to have a boyfriend. Sure, boyfriends are great, but senior year of college? I still to this day do not know what I was thinking. We dated for a year and then the break-up occured. And trust me it was BAD. So bad, that months later, driving on the PA turnpike in butt fuck nowhere I ran into him at the Bedford Sheetz (anyone who is a frequent of western PA knows why I stopped there and just what I am talking about).  I got back to my car and cried like a baby. I am pretty sure my sister even had to take over the driving at this point. Anyway, I hated him and hated the fact that he was happy and doing well after how he treated me when we broke up - which I can sum up in one sentence - he threw a blackberry (phone not fruit) at my head.

If there was anyone I wanted to get revenge on, the ex was it. He deserved it, but I couldn't seem to find the right opportunity. Ironically, after moving to New York, I ran into my ex's best friend while I was home visiting my family.  Now, my ex's bestie and I always had that awkward chemistry you have with someone you aren't supposed to have chemistry with and my ex knew it and it caused some pretty awful fights. Of course we see each other at one of the lovely (icky) bar establishments of western PA and he starts chatting me up. Some shots and a pitcher of the famous "blue balls" (a giant pitcher of liquor for $8.00 - God bless) later, we were sloppily making out and headed to his place.  I think we all know what happens next.

I woke up, head pounding and forget where I was for a few seconds. Then it all came back to me - I had just hooked up with my ex's best friend. We had that awkward post-sex morning chit chat, realize we are still naked and start going at it.  The whole time all I could do was laugh to myself about how awkward this would be between the ex and the best friend. Sure men have different mentality on these kinds of things, but knowing them and the relationship they had with each other, this was some good revenge.  Mid-sex I started to feel the hangover.  It starts to overwhelm me and I excuse myself to the bathroom. Vomit went everywhere. I don't know what happened, but I cleaned it up the best I could with his towel and bath mat - I had very little to work with here and to be honest I could have cared less. I brushed my teeth with some toothpaste on my finger and returned to bed and picked up right where him and I had left off.

When I went to leave, I realized I had somehow lost one of my pumps. That has NEVER happened to me and I have never been "that girl." I drove home with one pump on and one pump off while throwing up in an old McDonald's bag that had been in my car prior to the NYC move. However, I didn't care because as cliche as it is - the revenge was so sweet.

Some of you may be thinking, wait you got drunk and had sex with your ex's friend? Cool story, slut.  And I hear you there.  This is certainly not one of my classiest moments. But, how many times have guys done this to their ex's? A whole hell of a lot. Rarely, are women able to get revenge on an ex and feel liberated by it.  And you know what, I did feel liberated and it felt fucking fantastic - so sue me.

3 Things You Learn When You First Become a Cocktail Waitress

My bar frolicking during Hurricane Sandy led me to taking a second job as a cocktail waitress. The bar I spent my time out during the storm had an opening and I gladly accepted. In a city like NYC, you can never have too much money, too many friends or too many connections. Since I was lacking all of these things, I was anxious to get started. As much as I loved starting my NYC bar working escapades, I had no idea what I was in for taking on another job. Here are the three most important things I learned in my first few months working as a cocktail waitress:

1. Your diet suffers. Regardless of what kind of diet you are or are not on – your diet suffers. When working two jobs, it’s impossible to find time to sit down and have a healthy meal every day of the week. I cannot tell you how many times I had a bag of twizzlers and a 16 oz. Red Bull between jobs and called it dinner. Lucky for me, with the amount of running around I did at the bar with a tray in my hand, I was able to work off the calories in a slice of $1 pizza from next door in one shift.

2. You will meet a MILLION people. You will meet people from all over the world doing amazing and not so amazing things. I have made some friends just from waiting on them in the bar. If you need to make friends or make connections working at a bar is the way to do it.

2. You will drink A LOT more.  For example, this is how my Fridays would go:

“Oh man work week is done, it’s 5 o’clock, I gotta get home and have a glass of pinot before heading to the bar for my shift.”

“Pinot – you are so good to me. I need another glass while I do my hair.”

“Crap, gotta chug my 3^rd glass of pinot to get to the bar on time for my shift.”

At work

“Cute men in suits out for happy hour? Sure I’ll do a celebration shot with you!”

“Whoa there’s a lesbian birthday party tonight? I’ll make bank for sure!”

“BIRTHDAY PARTY – of course I will do a shot you fabulous ladies and amazingly dressed gay men.”

“Another birthday shot – You only turn 27 once, legooooo!”

From Bartender: “Nicole, you want me to make you a drink – anything you want!? Or how about a shot? Jameo good? Ok here ya go!”

Once off work

 “Let’s do shots guys! Picklebacks all around!”

“Can I get a double vodka soda with lemon…hold the soda.”

“Omg it’s light outside – 6 AM – where’s the after party??”

After Party

“Beer pong challenge! Ok, ok let’s do waitresses vs. bartenders! It will be soooo fun! Bring it bitches!”

"Oh are us waitresses being too sexy and distracting you male bartenders?! Now, watch us dance to Beyonce!!

“It's 9 AM, did I just fall asleep on the toilet? Ok just one more drink and I gotta get outta here.”

“I need a cab, I need a cab, I need a cab.”

At home

“Ok so its 10:30 AM and I start my next bar shift in how many hours?….is my alarm set?…. wait, what day is it?”

Now, there are a million other little bar tidbits I will share, but looking back on my experience these are the first things I learned and experienced. Just wait - working for a small bar in NYC is like a damn reality show: juicy, "real" and full of drama.

Hurricane Sandy

Just under 2 months at the new job, NYC gets hit with a massive storm – Hurricane Sandy. As devastating as this storm was to many parts of the northeast, I was luckily unharmed. The storm provided me with some free vacation time from work and I used it to my advantage.  The city shut down for days and parts of Manhattan didn’t have power for a week or longer. Of course, I barely paid attention to the weather forecast over the weekend and woke up on the Sunday before the storm hit to panicked phone calls from both of my parents and my aunt. I was running out of time to get out of the city and take cover because so many train and bus lines had stopped running or were about to cut service. I figured I better not try to brave this storm alone (my roommate was staying with her boyfriend) so my friend from home, Erica, so graciously invited me over to eat junk food, drink wine and watch bad TV until she loses power from 70 mph winds.  After I made my way over to her place, we checked the news every few hours.  By doing so, we had learned that many parts of lower Manhattan were flooded, without power and the Jersey Shore was no more (SUCH a disappointment…ha).  After about 24 hours of this routine, we had severe cabin.  We had hit our limit on eating bodega food and Netflix serious so we had to find something a bit more exciting to occupy our time. 

While finishing up our third bag of potato chips and last six pack of beer, Erica received a text from a friend who was bartending at a spot in Manhattan that had lost electricity, but was otherwise unscathed.  He was bartending by candle light and insisted we come down. When we walked outside, Erica’s neighborhood in Midtown didn’t show any signs of being hit by a storm and looked completely normal. All of the stores and restaurants appeared to be conducting business as usual.  We easily found a cab and ventured downtown. Now, anyone who has ever rode in a cab in NYC (or possibly anywhere) knows that the ride can range from feeling comfortable to jerky to damn scary to praising Allah that you will survive the ride.  My ride that evening made me want to plead with any religious deity that would listen me because as soon as we left the part of Manhattan that had electricity, everything went black.  Cabs were flying down the streets with no traffic lights to obey, coming and going as they please through the darkness.  Seeing one of the brightest cities in the world go completely black brought on the most bizarre, post-apocalyptic like feelings I have ever had. It only got worse when we got out of the cab to walk down the street and try to determine which bar was the correct one to enter.  After making it to the bar and settling down from my wild ride, I knew we made the right choice. There were a few locals inside, everyone was super chill and the bartender Erica knew, Jason, was someone who went to our high school. I never thought a town of 300 people could produce 3 awesome New Yorkers. Jason introduced me to my first pickle back shot, if you haven’t tried it, you must. It is a shot of whisky followed by a shot of pickle juice to be used as a chaser. They are delicious, but keep track of how many you take – they can be deadly if not monitored closely.  Erica and I spent the next 3 nights in the candle-lit bar hanging out with the owner, a few employees and the bar regulars playing games and doing shots. Who knew you could have so much fun without electricity.  Lesson learned.

The Job Hunt

I started my job with the Labor Board in May and by the end of June, I knew I needed out.  The longest I could stay in this job, since it was a co-op, was mid November. I figured if I started job hunting in July, I could hopefully have something together before then. Since I had fallen in love with the city, I wasn't about to move home if I could avoid it.

The first job I got a call for was for a HR Coordinator for a popular magazine.  During the phone interview with the magazine's recruiter, the evil, most hated question was brought up: what is your current salary? I hate this question because since I am in HR, I know why it's asked. Companies want to know how cheap they can aquire you. It's pretty pathetic, but in this economy, if you need a job, what's a girl gonna do? I explained my current salary to the recruiter and she responds, "Oh well this job is only paying a max of $30,000 a year. Would that work for you?"  Needless to say, since I lived in New York and was supporting myself with no mommy or daddy help, that conversation ended right there.

Next, I had lined up a phone interview with a fashion retailer for an HR Coordinator role. I was beyond excited because what girl doesn't love fashion? After the standard interview questions, the dreaded salary question was brought up. I explained what my salary was and what I was looking for.  The recruiter then said, "This job starts at $12.00.  This is a job for someone to get their foot in the door with the company and work their way up. How does that sound?" I wanted to tell him that it sounded like a fucking bad joke, but I held my tongue. I told him that was less than half of my current hourly rate so that wouldn't be an option for me. He responds by saying, "The rate you are looking for would be what our HR Managers rate would be and we currently do not have any openings for that role.  Are you still interested in the Coordinator role?" Wow, was all I could think. I thanked him for his time and told him no way Jose.

After weeks of more unsuccessful internet applications, I received a phone call from a Pittsburgh based company about a HR Specialist role.  They saw my resume and saw that I was from the Pittsburgh area and wanted to invite me for an interview. Perfect - for once being from the land of nowhere paid off. On the day of my interview, I knew that I had made an excellent impression. If there is one thing I know how to do, it's how to rock an in person interview. It's my thing. In a few days, I received a job offer. After a day or two thinking over the offer, I gladly accepted. I knew that this job could secure me some more time in my new city and advance me in my career - what could be better than that?

Sex Clubs Do Exist

I am not sure if anyone has really read Candace Bushnell’s well known book "Sex and the City" or if people skipped the book and went right to the show – which of course is a personal favorite of mine, cliché yes, but so what?  In an early part of the book, the main character enters a sex club with one of her guy friends to see what it’s all about. I read this book years ago when living in the big apple was just a day dream and since I was a small town girl, I assumed this sex club portion was complete bullshit. And as usual, I assumed wrong.

One Saturday, I was in the kitchen attempting to cook something, when my roommate comes my way and asks, "So what are you going to do tonight?" Since I had no life or plans (knowing no one was getting a little old) I responded by telling her probably staying in. I then asked, "What are you doing tonight?" Now usually when someone asks that question, in my mind common responses are the following:

1. Heading to dinner with some friends

2. Date night with my boyfriend

3. It’s my friend’s birthday so we are going boozing

4. Going to guzzle down two bottles of wine and Netflix it up

My roommate, however, had much more unique Saturday night plans. She starts to answer my question with "Well, I am not sure if I should tell you because I haven’t known you very long." I think to myself ok cool, no problemo, so I told her, "Oh no worries, you don’t need to tell me." However, she continued on. "I am going to this club with my boyfriend and it’s kind of an exclusive thing." I should have just said that’s cool, but curiosity got the best of me, so I continued on, "Where’s the club", I asked, "what kind of club is it?"

My roommate and her boyfriend were going to a sex club that night. She nonchalantly explained all the details. I was intrigued and I couldn’t stop asking questions. I think if someone was watching our conversation from the outside, they would have grabbed me, looked me in the eyes and said "Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore." Because I will tell you one thing, western PA doesn’t have sex clubs. We have strip clubs where women show off their c-section scars.

My roommate had been to the sex club once before and her boyfriend was way into it. They thought it was a fun way to spice things up. To gain access to the club, you have pre-apply and send photos of yourself and a little write-up. Then if the club deems you worthy, you are allowed to go. There is also a cost associated with it and from what I remember, it wasn’t cheap. That Saturday night, the club was doing a beach theme and my roommate was struggling because she didn’t have a slutty, sexy dress to wear. Well, since I knew that was right up my alley, I asked, "So do you want to borrow one of my dresses?"

That night, my roommate strutted her stuff in my dress at the sex club while I spent the night on the phone with friends giggling and googling sex clubs.

Can I Have the Rest?

No female wants a boss that creeps them the hell out. Every woman everywhere can agree on this topic. This is especially true if the boss is a male. This is even more true if the female is in her early twenties, starting a new job and just moved to a new city where she doesn’t know anyone. That’s right… this girl is me and I have never been more weirded out by another individual in my entire life than I was by my boss at the Labor Board.

During my first few weeks of employment, people kept saying to me, "Wow New York has to be quite the change from Indiana!" I would laugh and agree completely. I kept saying to myself how nice it was that people actually knew that my hometown was near Indiana, PA. Yes that's right, a town by the name of Indiana in the state of Pennsylvania. One day, I was speaking with one of the attorneys that was helping me with my first case and he says, "So how does a girl from Pennsylvania end up in Indiana?" I was super confused and responded, "I am not sure what you mean. I don't even think I've ever been to Indiana." He laughs and says, "Oh very funny!" He then mocks me by saying, "I've never been to Indiana, but I go to Indiana University for grad school." He continues to laugh. I really had no idea what to do at this point. Somehow these people in this office thought I went to Indiana University, like some high roller, when I really went to Indiana University of Pennsylvania, a small state school in the middle of nowhere, google that too. Fuck. I asked him who told him that and he says, "Oh [insert creepy boss name here] told everyone before you arrived that you went to Indiana University." This is the first instance that I realized that my boss, Creepy Boss Man, was an idiot.

Creepy Boss Man did me a marvelous favor by assigning me a "mentor" for my time at the Labor Board. Since I never knew when he was in the office until he popped his elf like body onto my desk (Literally, he did sit there. He would let one leg hang down over the desk and prop the other one on his thigh. SO. DAMN. GROSS.) he found it beneficial to have someone else assist me in case he wasn't around. He told me how great she was and how much we had in common. He said we would be a perfect match in his eyes and we would learn so much from each other. I cannot tell you how much this scared me. A lot. After we were introduced to one another, I wanted to ask Creepy Boss Man this: What on earth made you think that I would have a lot in common with an older, black woman born and raised in Queens. Her attitude was worse than mine, and if I ever wanted to feel like a total fucking idiot, I knew coming to Queens was the solution. Queens was much more comparable to the bad bosses that I mentioned above. After working with her a few times, I decided she wasn't worth my time and became a hermit in my office doing my own work and asking for help from no one. Thanks Creepy Boss Man for your wonderful assistance.

One day, Creepy Boss Man swings in my office and asks if I can go to lunch with him. I really wanted to ask if I even had a choice in the matter, but instead I smiled and agreed to go. He takes me to some small, intimate place in Tribeca. It was dimly lit and had candles on the table even though it was 1:00 PM on a weekday. This is the last place any female would want to go with her much older male boss for lunch. Of course Creepy Boss Man orders a cocktail and insists I do the same. I kindly refused maybe 10 times before he let it go. The lunch chat was about Creepy Boss Man's daughter and his days as a boy scout. He told me that he thought I would be interested in his boy scout days and camping trips because that is what people do in Indiana. I bet it is, I thought. I ordered a chicken sandwich and I ate probably 3/4 of the sandwich. After Creepy Boss Man had a few more cocktails, I noticed him eyeing up my sandwich. A few minutes later, his hand reaches across the table, grasps what is left of my sandwich and says, "Can I have the rest?"

　

I wish I could tell you what happened when I turned in my two week notice to Creepy Boss Man. I have no recollection of this at all. According to Wikipedia, clearly an excellent source (lol), my behavior is technically referred to as Motivated Forgetting. That's right people, motivated forgetting. It is a psychological defense mechanism in which people may forget unwanted memories, either consciously or unconsciously. After all of the awkward office chats with Creepy Boss Man, his weird eating habits (I avoided sitting anywhere near him at any work events where food was served), and his "quirky" (quirky was the nicest word I could think of using here) habits, I repressed my final days at the Labor Board because they were clearly too awkwardly painful for me.

Keys to the Loo

When people ask me how my experience was at the National Labor Relations Board. , the word I use is confusing.  From before I started, with the paperwork, to the day I left, I was more confused than a 12 year old girl going through puberty. I usually regard myself as a somewhat intelligent adult and there was not a single day that did not go by that I wasn’t confused.  With most issues, my confusion went to frustration and then my frustration went to anger. Let me provide you with an example numero uno.  The first day I was introduced to no one and I was shown where nothing was except for a windowless hole in a wall room with a desk that was older than my grandfather that they called my office and then I was left alone. Luckily, I had my usual morning coffee and I slurped it down while waiting for the office administrator to take me to training. Next thing I know, I have to piss like a race horse. I get up and start wandering the halls in search of the bathroom.  Finally, I found the woman and her dress and grabbed the door handle to push open the door. It was locked. Lovely, so now I had to go locate the bathroom key keeper. I find the receptionist and she kindly lets me use her key.  I asked about future bathroom use and she told me that “Marvin” (I don’t remember the man’s name, but he was at least 90 years old, spoke slow, moved slow and was always in the hospital) would have to get me a copy of the key. I made a mental note and headed to the bathroom.

Weeks later, I still had not received my bathroom key.  I confronted Marvin and he said he would have one the next day. Amazingly, when I arrived at work the following day, there was a key waiting for me. I almost skipped to the bathroom with my new key because I was finally able to not have to alert the receptionist every time I had to pee or God forbid throw up from being hung over.  Of course, I come to find that the key doesn’t work in the door - excellent job Marvin.  I find him later and tell him my key doesn’t work.  He takes a look and says, “Oh this is the key for the men’s bathroom. You need the women’s key right?” I thought this question was rhetorical, but he stood there waiting for an answer from me. Hooray, I officially look like a man, thanks Marvin. I did eventually get my bathroom key, but halfway through the summer, the key suddenly stopped working; surprise!

Here I Am! But Who Cares?

After I decided on my new Brooklyn pad, I frantically packed up all of my things and was set on a road trip with my mother and grandfather to get all of my precious items to their new home.  We spent the first weekend in May, moving in all of my stuff.  I then had to return to western PA to finish up all of my graduate school finals before I was in NYC permanently.  I returned to my new home a week or so later.  When I got off the plane at JFK, I wanted to yell “Here I am, NYC!”  I was in quite a good spot; I was about to start a new job with the feds, it was the start of summer and I was NYC’s newest resident. I could not wait to strut my stuff down the street knowing that this was my new home.

Although I was thrilled to a new NYC resident and my friends and family were thrilled for me, I soon found out that NYC didn’t care one bit that I had arrived. During my first week in the city, I was spending my time exploring and getting my new room together. I had a few days until I started my new job and I wasn’t wasting them! With that being said, I had no schedule and nowhere that I was trying to be in a hurry. I soon realized that I was the only one living that way. I was poked, pushed and prodded everywhere I went! People didn’t care if I was slowly walking to the subway platform while I was trying to figure out whether I needed to be going towards Pelham Bay Park or Brooklyn Bridge, they had somewhere to be and I was in their way. Same goes for the grocery store, parks, and crossing the street… if a New Yorker sees you, you are passing them or in their path, then you are in their way.

Being raised in a very strict family, I was literally spanked as a child if I didn't use my manners.  Thanks to my mother's discipline growing up, the most surprising and disturbing part of all this is the fact that no one ever said “Excuse me” when I was bumped or in most cases slammed into.  During my first few weeks, I cannot tell you how angry I got by the lack of courtesy. I remember telling my grandmother on the phone one evening, "Gaga, people keep running right into me and never say excuse me! I don't understand why they are so rude; were they raised by wolves?"  Two weeks later, in my mail I found a package from my grandmother. Inside contained a book titled "Were You Raised by Wolves?: Clues to the Mysteries of Adulthood" by Christine Mellor. I read the book soon after and had a few laughs. As my time goes on walking and subway riding throughout the city, the bumps and pushes bother me less and less, but sometimes I still think of the book and laugh to myself, wondering if I should carry the book around with me and ask the exceptionally rude if they would like to borrow it sometime.

Murder Ave

I have to admit that there are so many gorgeous brownstones in Fort Greene. The neighborhood and park are really wonderful.  There were also a lot of families residing in the area, which made it seem safe and livable. I truly loved my walks through this neighborhood while living in Brooklyn.  Now with that being said, I was not a fan of living half a block from Murder – excuse me – Myrtle Avenue. As soon as you step foot onto that street, you feel like have entered a Jay Z song. No more cute brownstones, no more cute families and wait a second? Am I being cat called? Yes thank you, I know my “ass be so fine” but I’m too busy for this nonsense; I am just trying to find a grocery store that isn’t run by someone who doesn’t speak English. I also love how close it is to the projects. It really makes the neighborhood!

One of my favorite experiences on Murder Ave, was purchasing vodka at a nearby store. I was so thrilled to learn of a liquor store being located around the corner of my apartment. Not because I am an alcoholic, but because in Western PA, the closest liquor store was twenty minutes away. Ah New York and it’s many conveniences! When I first enter the store, I see nothing to my left and only a giant glass window to my right.  That’s right – the liquor was kept behind a thick glass wall.  I still wonder to this day if it was bullet proof.  As scary as that experience was, since NYC living requires so much walking and I am usually lazy, I returned many times after.  The cashier even knew my name #classy.  Now that I am more of a seasoned New Yorker in training, I realize that this is actually quite normal in many parts of the city. In fact, things that used to shock me here, hardly phase me now. I consider this a win!

Blue Moon Anyone?

The apartment search in BK was brutal during my Saturday adventure.  Since I was nowhere near able to afford my own place, I was looking at places that needed a roommate. I will always remember a girl – let’s name her Free Spirit – that showed me a room in her apartment.

I arrived to the apartment around noon and rang the buzzer. The block was cute and it was close to the subway so I was excited to see the place. I am greeted by Free Spirit in bed clothes while brushing her teeth. I am pretty sure she had the drool/toothpaste combo running down her chin. Ok ok – maybe she just woke up? At least she brushes her teeth I guess. She takes care of her mouth situation and shows me around the extremely tiny apartment. The bedroom that would be mine was too small to fit anything other than a twin bed and a nightstand.  With the tiny room and Free Spirits weird décor, I knew I couldn’t live here, but when we tried to politely leave, she wasn’t having it.

She practically forced me and my past boyfriend to sit on her couch.  She comes out of the kitchen with a waffle (no plate) in hand and a freshly opened bottle of Blue Moon. Apparently, we were invited to brunch and didn’t realize it because she offered us a waffle and beer too. Of course she plops herself down next to us on the couch, way to close for comfort and talks our ears off for the next 30 minutes.  She stressed to us that she was too creative and free to have a regular job and took to designing jewelry and teaching yoga. She discussed all of the nail salons she has gone to in the neighborhood and ranked at least 6 or 7 for us. She went on and on about gossip from the building and the block.  She did this all with her mouth full of waffle pieces while guzzling down her beer. Needless to say, I passed on Free Spirit and her creative ways of living.

The Q to BK

Being that I had spent very little time in NYC and next to no time on public transit I was quite nervous about my subway ride. First things first, I had to find the damn train. At the time, I had no idea what part of the city I was in, but I now know that I was near Herald Square. To anyone who knows NYC, you know what kind of hell it is to walk through that part of the city on a sunny Saturday. I shoved my way through the crowd in hopes of finding something that resembled the entrance to a subway, specifically the Q line. I did spend a short time living in Philly after undergrad so at least I had some experience– blue and orange line what up!?

By the time I made it to the subway, I was running late (per the usual) and I couldn’t waste any time. My boyfriend at the time, and still good friend to this day, was along for my wild trip and he was no help in locating where we were supposed to go. He just stood around gawking like another crazed tourist. Somehow we managed to get on the right train and make our way to Brooklyn.

I saw several apartments that day and probably walked who knows how many miles around Brooklyn. (At the end of the day, my feet never hurt so bad in my life). There are plenty of nice neighborhoods and it was really easy to get around and see different parts of the borough. Side note: Prospect Park is gorgeous and a must see for anyone who is interested. I decided on the first apartment I looked at in Fort Greene. It was a 2 bedroom and the new roomie seemed nice and easy to get along with. I met several girls looking for roommates that day and there was one that I will never forget.

Paperwork and NYC Real Estate

The amount of paperwork that one must complete to be a government employee is out of this world. I was going to be working for the Labor Board as co-op which is essentially a well-paid intern, why on earth am I listing every person I lived with over the past seven years of my life??? If I was going to be the next FBI agent, fair, let me fill out every bit of paperwork you can throw at me, but the Labor Board, seriously? I have to say that completing the paperwork and pre-work requirements was more difficult than my 30 page grad school essays.  The job offer was made in February and by the time April rolled around I hadn’t even heard that I had passed the background screen. It’s a good thing I had a lot of faith in myself because mid-April I took a bus trip to NYC to apartment hunt.

I had been to NYC a few times. However, these were on bus field trips in high school and college. These trips only included the touristy side of Manhattan and I had never ventured into any of the other boroughs – Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island and the Bronx or many neighborhoods in Manhattan. I cannot even describe the hassle that went into finding an apartment that was available for longer than a few days. Being that I was in Western PA, it was next to impossible to find something two states away. I had found many apartments that were great, not affordable, but doable and they were gone almost instantly.  When there is a good deal on an apartment, that shit goes faster than Paul Walker did in his last Porsche ride.  

Lucky for me, my current director at work was from Brooklyn so he clued me in on the hot and not so hot aka ghetto, don’t live here, would get raped, stabbed or kidnapped neighborhoods.  From what I Googled, a lot of neighborhoods in Brooklyn were cute and up and coming. Since I was an up and coming New Yorker, I figured I would give the BK a shot. I was able to set-up appointments on a Saturday and planned my bus trip.

Arriving in NYC by Megabus is one of the most frustrating experiences. Since I wasn’t familiar with the city, being dropped off in the middle of it with no clue where I was heading was not ideal.  Since I have spent a lot of my childhood driving around the country with my family, I became quite a whiz with maps. Thank little baby Jesus for my smartphone and Google Maps that Saturday because I have no idea how I would have maneuvered the subways or the busy streets of my soon to be new home.

L.A. or Manhattan?

 

After meeting with my professor, I had come to learn that he had absolutely no faith in my abilities to be selected for a co-op position. I believe his exact words were “you are my wildcard that I am throwing into the interview process because I am not really sure of your ability to do this job.”  I totally thought, “Wow; thanks a lot asshole.”  After hearing this, anyone who knows anything about me would know what I did next. I left his office, hopped in my car and blasted Justin Timberlake all the way to the mall. If this girl was going to succeed, I needed a flashy new outfit.

I found out a few days later that I had an interview with the LA office.  This office has been known to be the most selective and always wants to schedule interviews immediately so they can acquire the best student. I knew I could do LA. Great weather, hot people, nice beaches, what’s not to love? On the day of my interview, I was pretty nervous and the interview was done via video conference so it was a very strange set-up. I thought I did fabulously and went home to plan my new life in LA.

The next day, I receive an email from my professor with some interesting news. He informed me that LA loved meeting with me and that they thought my writing sample was excellent.  I was told they were deciding between me and another student at my school.  I was also informed that the other LA office was interested in me, but they wanted a 5 year commitment after graduation. Whoa – 5 years in LA? That was some pretty wild news. This was a great spot to be in and I was quite pleased that my professor was probably regretting what he had said. Sucker.

Now what happened over the next few days was quite a blur.  I found out that I didn’t get the position in LA.  However, the managing director called me personally and told me how impressed she was with my interview. She informed me that I had her recommendation for any other office I interviewed with.  She also urged me to consider the 5 year deal with the other LA office. I was definitely not ready to make that kind of move. Soon after, I got an insane amount of phone calls for various offices in North Carolina, Texas, Ohio, Nevada and New York.  It wasn’t until the Manhattan office called me that I got extremely excited and I scheduled my interview right away.

On the day of my interview, I was heading out of town to see my bestie in upstate New York for the weekend. Wine tour – what’s up!? I was so excited about my trip that I didn’t have time to get nervous for Manhattan. I had plenty of other offices lined up for interviews so it wasn’t that big of a deal. Needless to say, I nailed the interview.  At the end, the managing director asked, “so Nicole are you ready for the big apple?” They called me later that day to offer me the job.  I screamed with excitement driving down the highway ironically traveling to my soon to be new state of residence. So needless to say - I partied my face off and below is a photo from the celebratory wine weekend.

 

Oh and by the way, the student that the LA office chose from my school – he was in the military and got preference for the job. And then the idiot failed the background screen because he had a DUI on his record so no LA for him.

"Cooperative Positions"

When one wants to be successful, naturally they look to gaining power, making money or marrying old, rich men in hopes that they die and leave you their millions…or is this last one just me? Since I would soon be repaying those “things that shall not be named,” (student loans) a massive job search seemed appropriate. As much as I love the city of Pittsburgh and all those yinzers, the job market there is not so great. It soon became obvious that I would have better luck being a Steelers ticket scalper than a human resources professional in this city. I realized that my job hunt quickly turned into me Googling “how to become a trophy wife” articles instead of applying for “real life” jobs. So sorry ladies, but being a housewife or stay at home mom doesn’t count as a job no matter how hard you work.

A few weeks later, while in class, my professor announces that there is a potential internship opportunity with the federal government. I thought to myself, I need another shitty, low paying job like I need a hole in my head. I quit listening and went back to texting my bestie about her secret work love affair.  However, he began saying some things that caught my attention.  He explained that although this is just an internship, you have the chance to be placed in offices all over the country and if the position works out they will hire you full time.  In my mind, I picture myself in Miami poolside with a full time job under my belt if this opportunity goes well.  And to be quite honest, how hot would I feel telling people I meet that I work for the Feds?

After class, I took a look at the salary bands for these internship positions – which the government so expertly named “Cooperative Positions.”  So expert in fact that I still do this day do not know what that means and I still hate attempting to explain to others what it means. After seeing the cash these positions offered, I emailed my professor my resume and explained to him how very interested I was in interviewing for this opportunity.  The next day, he responded back indicating that he needed to meet with me privately before he could submit any of my information.  I believe after reading the email, I said out loud, “well that can’t be good.”

The Start of Something Fabulous

This time two years ago, I had just begun my last semester of graduate school.  I loved my classes and did very well, but I was struggling with trying to figure out what on earth I was going to do when I graduated in May of 2012, as every college student does.  A Master of Arts degree in Employment and Labor Relations/Human Resources seems like a nice degree to have under your belt, especially when you are only on the cusp of turning 24.  However, at the time, I was working a $12.00 an hour job with no savings account in sight and living in rural Western PA with my father. (This sounds super cute, I know). Sure, I was motivated to get a great job and tried to make a plan for myself, but with a terrible economy and plenty of friends and family out of work, I didn’t really see my situation being ideal when trying to obtain the American dream. I was scared shitless as to whether or not my so called “advanced degree” was actually going to get me an advanced level of pay.

I started to consider my current situation and began planning on how I would get out of my father’s place and into my own penthouse suite in downtown Pittsburgh (yeah right). My current job did show some promise. Sure, I was only making $12.00 an hour and would have probably been beaten with a stick (or in the case of my employer, a teen fashion retailer, a studded hot pink belt) if I tried to work any overtime, but my boss was great and they hinted at full-time, salaried position after I graduated school.  This to me seemed like a solid back-up plan, but for some reason I searched for something else. For some reason, I knew that I would move to bigger and better things and that is exactly what I did.