Rules Are Meant To Be Broken

New Yorkers are a fickle bunch. If you don't communicate with them just right, do something exactly as they know it to be done, or demonstrate for even a moment that you may be from somewhere else where things are...different...you will hear about it.

Take the "Curb Your Dog" signs that populate our neighborhood. See, the Upper West Side (and Upper East Side) are two of the only areas in Manhattan where you'll find an abundance of trees. And boy, are the New Yorkers proud of these trees. At the roots of the trees, they often plant pretty flowers or other miracles of nature, and surround them with miniature wrought iron gates. And then the trees scream at you with their signs: "Curb Your Dog!" Sometimes they add, "$100 Fine for Pet Litter!" And then further, "It's the Law!" For God's sake, why are they so angry? Don't they know dogs have been lifting their legs on trees for hundreds of years, and yet, they're still standing? But to avoid the wrath of an angry New Yorker, every day, Moby and I scoot down our block and save all leg-lifting for the park. Thank God it's right there. And if he does accidentally lift too early, I look around maniacally to see if we've been spotted.

Now mind you, Brad and I have debated the definitions of "curbing your dog" and "pet litter." Does it stand to reason that they must be referring to solids only? I mean, how do you really drain your dog off the curb? Gah, too confusing.

I find all of this particularly odd in a city that clearly values dogs over humans. As I sat in Starbucks yesterday, a man proudly marched in with his dog on leash - a Shiba Inu. It's a 25-35-pound dog, but it's a dog. And Starbucks is a dining establishment of sorts. I buried my head in my hands as I waited for the staff to rain down words of fury on him...but nothing. No one really even looked up from their coffee. Certainly, no barista was bothered enough to stop steaming milk. Okay, so I guess the signs should really read, "Curb Your Dog Before Bringing Him Into Starbucks."

Let's talk more about Starbucks. It seems that the locals have even managed to Manhattanize this chain - from Seattle, mind you. I walk up to the counter. "Grande chai, please." Now, I've been ordering this beverage from Starbucks for many years. My order's never changed. And Starbucks has never changed it, either. It's always been a chai, and there have always just been three sizes: tall, grande and venti. You could go to Estonia and place this order just fine, so surely, it shouldn't mystify anyone in New York. Wrong. The brainy barista behind the cash register looks at me and mumbles something totally incoherent. I stare back at her. "Sorry?" I ask. She stares back at me and mumbles some more nonsense. Silence. WTF??? I think for a moment. Did she ask for my name? That would make sense, seeing as there are 20 people in here waiting for drinks. But no, that's definitely not what she asked me for - and besides, I know from previous Manhattan Starbucks experiences that they don't call out your name to collect your drink - no, don't be silly. They simply yell out the orders, and a bunch of you dive towards the pick-up counter and knock each other out Lord of the Flies style.

So we're still staring at each other. Finally, she puts her hand on her hip and cocks her head to one side: "Latte??" Is THAT what this is about? She wants to know if I want a chai LATTE? Isn't that the only chai I can get here? Why the hell would I come to Starbucks for them to give me a grande size of boiling water and a chai-flavored tea bag?? Yes, genius, I want a God damned chai latte. GRANDE.

But at least Starbucks allows me to sit down in their establishment to enjoy my drink. The bakery I went to prior to Starbucks - we'll call them Pain de Quotidien, or "Le Assholes" for short - didn't even let my butt touch the seat of the chair before telling me their tables were for guests ordering in only, not those who had ordered at the counter for carry-out. Hold on. Isn't it all the same food? So if I don't want to wait for a waiter or waitress to come, take my order, and bring me exactly what I could get myself from the counter...I can't sit here? It's 11:30 in the morning on a Tuesday! Who ELSE is sitting here? I mean, fine, kick me out if Charlize Theron needs my table, but for now...shut it.

Even subsitute yoga instructor "Rocker Jesus" had demands. "Accept the pose. No, ACCEPT it. RECEIVE it. Don't DO it. RECEIVE it." Yeah, well thanks to all that RECEIVING of the poses I did, I had to spend an extra $30 on a massage at the nail salon today. Damn you, Rocker Jesus.

Namaste.