ATC in NYC

I think I figured out why New Yorkers are so much skinnier than the rest of the country. It’s not because we walk everywhere or eat “greener” than everyone else (though those reasons do figure into the equation somewhere); rather, it’s because no one ever eats a darn thing up here.

When I first started my Big Boy Job, I would quietly laugh to myself as my coworkers chained themselves to their desks and refused to eat lunch or (on a rare occasion) allowed themselves a quick 10 minutes to grab an exorbitantly priced sandwich. But I have lived the life of someone who fears coming back to an insurmountable inbox of e-mails. I watched the remainders of my sanity flicker. And, in short, I was afraid.

Case in point, today for “lunch” I had a cup of coffee and a chocolate chip cookie, stolen in a covert 5-mintue break from the computer. At 3:30 pm.

It extends even further than just the inability to escape the clutches of Microsoft Outlook. In corporate America, I have discovered that shunning food is often the proper way to say, “I am a professional,” right up there with using words like “Best,” or “Regards,” at the end of your e-mails. Take a catered board meeting for example: if there is a heaping tray of delectable treats with which you would otherwise be shoving your face if you were at home on your couch watching nine straight hours of Bravo TV, you must refrain from doing so because you are in the company of your working peers. And busy and important people never show that they love food. Nay, they scoff at baskets of mini muffins provided for working breakfasts.

Will these trends ever reverse themselves? I wonder this in sincere Culinary Carrie Bradshaw fashion. If they never do, I hereby deem this The City That Never Eats.

I was on the phone with Liberty Mutual this evening, trying to explain to them that they had made yet another error in my insurance bill (don’t worry, kids, they have great customer service) when it dawned on me: I spent so much time and mental energy on prepping for my move to the city that I forgot I was undergoing another big transition… becoming an adult.

I have decided that being an adult is no fun because you have to pay for things you don’t want to pay for. Like prescription medication. And airfare. And socks. Wasn’t it only a few months ago that these things appeared miraculously out of thin air? I mean, I always reminded myself that I was really lucky to have my parents foot the bill on so much stuff during my formative years, but I don’t think I could have really grasped the full extent of that coup before having to hash through the specifics of my flexible spending account withholdings with the human resources lady at work.

In all honesty, though, I have always suffered from an eternal case of oh-my-gosh-I-hope-no-one-finds-out-how-young-I-am. I mean, how adult can I be if my Monday alone featured a snack break to Duane Reade for Mountain Dew and a jumbo bag of Peanut M&M’s, a double-header viewing of “Gossip Girl” (I am proud) and “Dancing with the Stars” (no, I am not proud) with my lovely roommate, and two (yes, as in the majority of my day’s) meals comprised solely of Eggo waffles?

Maybe this assessment does more to prove my ever-stellar dietetic intake than the absence of this so-called adulthood, but you get the picture. Just because I have to remind myself to make dentist appointments and pay for my own dry cleaning does not mean that I have necessarily grown up.

And, in some ways, I hope I never do.

I had one of those where-else-but-New-York experiences on Friday morning. So my pal Anna and I have decided to have a weekly Starbucks date before work to catch up on each other’s lives. The fact that the Starbucks in question is exactly two blocks from both of our offices is just one of the details that makes this arrangement perfect.

I was running a little late this past Friday, and I strolled in to find her waiting at the end of a fairly long line. We started to exchange pleasantries when, out of the corner of our eye, we saw money… lots of money… flying all around us and fluttering to the floor. I looked closer to see that someone had spilled what had to be about $1,000 in $20 bills around this tiny Starbucks on Seventh Avenue. Initially, I assumed it was a tourist who had just come from the ATM and had tripped, losing all their cash in the process. But no. It was a crazy woman. Who had done this on purpose. She was dancing in the corner with her iPod and kept saying, “I just wanted to do something crazy.” She was giving the money away.

By the time I realized what was going on, most of the people around us had already scooped all of the bills. I made out with $60 and Anna made away with $180, but I’m pretty sure there were people that got a few hundred bucks  out of the situation. I’m still kicking myself for not being a greedy monster and hording as much as I could handle.

All of this, mind you, on top of the return of the Pumpkin Spice Latte. Friday Morning Score.