Excuse Me

It's a phrase that could revolution-ize the lives of New Yorkers - two words that could forever change the landscape of their environment - a simple interjection with the power to minimize stints in therapy and prolong life expectancy:

"Excuse me."

Such a simple concept has gone absent from this great city. And the irony isn't lost on this one, considering the spacial challenges of every experience here, from grocery shopping to mere walking down the street.

Of course, New Yorkers have come up with what they deem an acceptable substitute for basic politeness:

The Stare-Down.

Let's take it to Zabar's, Manhattan's favorite overpriced grocer, shall we? As you stand in front of the organic blueberries, it begins with a simple feeling that you are being watched. Then you hear the breathing - and feel the hairs on someone else's arms standing up. You turn around, and to your surprise, you find an angry-looking man/woman/child/yuppy/artist/criminal over your shoulder, alternatively glaring at you and the products you're perusing. Your initial reaction is to jump out of the way. But after you do that a couple of times, you realize something doesn't make sense. What, what, WHAT is it? Oh yeah...you had no way of knowing they were there to begin with because they didn't say, "EXCUSE ME!"

And so now, you're standing aimlessly in the aisle, people silently bumping into you from every direction, and you're glaring back in the direction of the crazy who shoved you aside to begin with. But by now, they've gotten their items and moved on. And now YOU, by the way, look like the insane one.

Some variation of this experience plays out over and over again. Whether they are patrons or employees, you're offended in ways you can't describe. Perhaps it's the bread guy who claims you said, "Roach," when you requested, "Brioche" - which, Zabar's, is NOT spelled B-R-O-I-C-H-E! Or it could be the checkout girl who aimlessly points towards the hand cart collector when you unload your things onto the conveyor belt - then gives you the stink eye when you ask what the hell she's asking you to do.

There are a couple of ways to approach this mass problem, since we have almost one month remaining here. One thought is to start an "Excuse Me" campaign, complete with signs, diagrams, and dictionary definitions to enable those who really just don't understand. But another thought is just to begin mowing people over and scowling at them as they lie lifeless on the ground in my wake of ill-manners.

Option 2. Oh, and excuse me.