DTyesthatDT

It was the spring of 1990 when my friend Jason and I decided to travel to New York City for spring break during our freshman year of college.  “Here we are now.  Entertain us.” Curt Cobain sang the next year about kids like us.  Most of our friends were either going to a beach location to seek entertainment or going home to relax.  Jason and I chose New York because we were proud nonconformists in search of more meaningful experiences.  We rode the Staten Island Ferry past the Statue of Liberty, went to the top of the Empire State Building, toured the Metropolitan Museum and saw one of VanGogh’s Irises while nearly being thrown out for entering an exhibit of a South American temple that was, who knew?, just for looking at (It was pretty cool on the inside, I have to say.), saw the twin towers of the World Trade Center 11 years before they were destroyed, walked most of Manhattan and saw sights like Radio City Music Hall, Central Park, Greenwich Village, etc.  We attended The David Letterman Show, met hundreds of fascinating people, ran away from a gang, got stranded on a subway platform in Queens for three hours in the middle of the night until we were saved from probable murder by a homeless guy who may or may not have been an angel, saw some amazingly talented street performances, and got swindled and extorted more than once.  It was a crash course in culture, race relations, labor relations, economics, and geography that I will always remember fondly.

Other than the birth of my children, that 1989-1990 school year was probably the happiest year of my life to this point.  I got to be myself for the first time in my life.  I hope you know what I’m saying.  I’m not talking about sexual orientation or any of the other interpretations of “be myself” that someone might use in 2019.  I mean that I grew up scared in a home with a war vet who alternated between love and violence both physical and verbal.  I have no question that it would be called PTSD or some variant of that today, but in the 70’s and 80’s it was called “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!” etc.  Consequently, I was permanently “OK” and happy and quiet at home in order to stay invisible and not be the reason for more violence and more pain for myself and my Mom.  My brother was in the Army in Germany or Korea, I believe.  Moving out and going to school in the Twin Cities was  wonderful.  I had great friends, I loved a smart girl who took my breath every time I looked at her, I was actually doing my school work and getting good grades and exercising my talents.  I think I took my first deep breath that year and relaxed for the first time in my life.  It was on this personal high and a cresting wave of newly found freedom that I took this trip.

Having grown up in rural Minnesota, we weren’t ready for the many pressures that the City exerts on a person.  We didn’t understand that all people aren’t the same as we’d been taught in school.  There are wolves and there are sheep and you can guess which role we played on this trip.  Baa!  Jason observed at one point “I feel like we’re the poop and they’re the flies.”  An old guy at the bus station, “Old Pops” the others called him, told us that we were only still alive because the City hadn’t gotten all of our money yet.  That was a less than comforting lesson to receive as we got off the bus.  He also told us that women don’t have Adam’s apples.  This was also news to me.  “Make sure you check.  You’re a couple of good lookin’ boys and you might want to get you some ladies while you’re here, but once you’re in that room with the lights off you don’t know what you got.”  Disturbing.  Old Pops proceeded to charge us $20 for his advice, and for helping us carry our bags, which his gang friends insisted that we pay.  We paid him, but some gang types chased us to the YMCA anyway.  This type of thing continued off and on throughout the next week.  Although we tried our best to dress modestly, not shave, be casual, and blend into the City, it was like the City knew we had wandered into a foreign place and were vulnerable.  My friend, having reached his boiling point on the second or third day, finally shouted “F@&! You!” at one of the seemingly thousands of people trying to sell us junk or contraband at every moment.  The individual moved on as though he had said “No, but thank you for asking.  Have a fantastic day!”  We were both a little confused and as understanding dawned on Jason, he said “I think ‘F@&* You’ means ‘No, thank you.’ here…”  I agreed.  We tested the hypothesis on the next hustler with the same result.  No anger, no fight, no angry retort.  He just left us alone and moved on.  The Minnesota boys had learned something about New York culture.

Our budget was around $200 each.  $88 of this unimpressive sum, plus tax, was expended purchasing round trip Greyhound bus tickets.  While people we knew were spending hundreds of dollars on flights, we took the economical choice that we’d seen on a TV commercial.  The ad failed to mention that the low fares were a result of the regular Greyhound drivers being on strike and that we would be harassed and possibly attacked at every stop by disgruntled drivers shouting “Scabs!” at the replacement drivers while throwing trash, rocks, and various insults that could seriously impact a person’s self esteem.  In some places, replacement drivers were beaten.  A number of them were shot.  Several of our buses had bullet or arrow holes in them and most had cracked or broken windows from the impact of picket signs and other objects that pummeled the bus at nearly every stop.  These added amenities were over and above the already opulent accommodations that Greyhound was known for during this era.  The trip was advertised to take 24 hours from St. Paul to the Port Authority Bus Terminal in Manhattan.  It took 42 on the way out and slightly less time on the way back.  Perhaps the ticketing agent had dyslexia.  At one point on the way back, the driver got lost in rural Illinois and went on the intercom to ask the passengers if anyone knew how to get to Milwaukee.  A near riot ensued until a large man walked up to the front of the bus.  We thought that he was probably going to stab or punch the driver, but he turned around and told the rest of us to shut up and then sat next to the driver and guided him to Milwaukee.  A woman behind us was beating up her child and I restrained my friend from attacking her and getting us killed.  In short, it was a rough trip in both directions.

Having seen movies and TV shows featuring New York scenes for most of our lives, we felt fully equipped to handle this trip on our measly budget.  After all, if we ran out of money we could just sleep on a park bench in Central Park and eat at McDonald’s, right?  Old Ronald was having a sale on burgers in Minnesota and they were 69 cents.  We quickly found out that they were also on sale in the Big Apple.  They were $2.49.  A room at the YMCA in Manhattan was $80/night.  We stayed there the first night locked in our room and trembling after outrunning the local welcoming committee from the bus station.  We actually pulled the bunk bed in front of the door for extra security.  The Village People were there in spirit, it’s fun to stay at the YMCA, right?, which we realized while utilizing the communal showers the next morning.  Gosh, those guys were friendly.  In short, as previously alluded to, this trip had a large educational arc.

Another aspect of this trip which amuses me now is that I had the humble goal of acquiring a fake Rolex watch on my already lavish travel budget.  This was the one souvenir that I wanted.  I had the $10-20 price range in mind for this expenditure having no idea that an actual Rolex cost thousands of dollars and a good fake on the streets went for something like $80-100 at that time.  (Side note, the second hand on a genuine Rolex watch sweeps due to the extremely high quality Swiss movement it contains while the cheap Asian ripoffs tick as they jump to each new second.  So, when you’re buying a watch on the street and you notice that the hand is sweeping, the watch is stolen and I would recommend against buying it if, like me, you’re not excited by the prospect of having a felony charge on your record.)  Keep in mind that I had roughly $120 left after buying the bus ticket in St. Paul and I needed to sleep somewhere and eat for a week in one of the most expensive places on Earth.

One of the first days in the city, Jason and I walked past a vendor on a crowded street near Time Square who was selling watches from a briefcase on legs.  I tugged the shoulder of Jason’s Army surplus jacket and led him back to the guy while navigating the flow of countless other humans.  The man had about thirty watches in his case and probably 1/3 of them were Rolex knock-offs.  I think they are referred to as “replicas” today.  Smooth.  Anyway, I wanted a silver band, blue face watch with the day and date displayed in separate windows on the face.  He had one and I asked if I could look at it.  He handed it to me and said that it was $100, I think.  Economic realities forced me to be a tough negotiator, which is not natural to me AT ALL, and I put the watch down and started to walk away.  The price changed to $80.  I turned and exchanged a look.  When I turned away, it dropped to $40.  I could work with $40, I thought, so I walked back and said that $40 was still too much for me.  I offered $10.  While saying “F@&* You” to most street vendors got no reaction whatsoever, my $10 offer surely did.  The man was offended, he said.  “$10?!”  I said “You’re offended?  You just cut your price from $100 to $40 in like 10 seconds!”  A moment passed.  $30?  No.  10.  $20?  No.  10.  “You’re killin’ me, man.  $20 is as low as I can go.”  I checked my wallet which was probably nylon with velcro holding it closed, did some quick calculations involving starvation, hydration, and recreation, and decided that I could go $17.  (Just like Tony Curtis on the famous KQRS Cash Call.  “$17, how’s dat?”)  I told the dude that $17 was all that I had.  After a moment and a look of supreme annoyance coupled with a hint of “where did I go wrong in my life to be standing here haggling with this skinny moron?”, he nodded and I became the proud owner of a genuine fake Rolex watch.  Rolex watches are complicated and I didn’t know how to set it, so I asked the vendor if he would show me how to wind and set it properly.  He may have decided right then to go back to Veterinary School, but he took a few moments to set and wind the watch after asking me to keep an eye on the guy at the end of the block in the brown leather coat.  “That’s a cop”, he said.  I took this opportunity to rib him in what I thought was a humorous way by asking him “This is a genuine Rolex, right?  Not some fake?”  Of course, Sir.  “So, it has the full lifetime Rolex warranty?”  Of course.  “So, how does that work exactly?  I just bring it back to you to invoke the warranty and have it repaired or replaced if anything goes wrong with it?”  Yes, just bring it back and you can pick out another one.  Any watch in the case, he said.  ha ha ha, I chuckled as he thought about doing surgery on a St. Bernard’s anus and asked himself which situation was worse.  I mentioned that the guy in the leather coat was heading our way as I put on the watch, thanked him again, and started to turn away.  The vendor shut the case and grabbed it as the legs retracted up to meet the bottom of the case.  Then, he was gone and so were we.  We walked past the brown leather coat and he looked at us and kept going.

A few days later, the watch stopped.  Forever.  I wound it.  Tapped it.  Hit it.  Nothing.  Dang.  “I guess we’ll have to head back there an invoke the warranty” I joked with Jason.  ha ha ha

In 1990, there were roughly 7.3 million residents in New York City proper.  By the end of the week and the end of our money, I feel like we’d either said “Excuse me” or “F@&* You” to most of them.  I wore the dead Rolex as a souvenir all week, but it ticked me off that it quit working.  Then, in our mostly aimless wanderings through Manhattan, we found ourselves in Washington Square Park by NYU which is a few miles as the city pigeon flies from Time Square and the theater district.  And, there he was.  The vendor.  Same coat.  Same case.  He was standing on the side of the park under some large trees and being ignored by a lot of hip looking young people.  After convincing Jason that I wasn’t insane and that it really was the same guy, I approached him to invoke my Lifetime Rolex Warranty.  I walked up and said “Hi, I’m not sure if you remember me, but I bought this Rolex from you earlier in the week and it quit working so I’d like to exchange it for another one.”  I think he instantly decided on the dog’s anus.  His eyes rounded as they got larger and he said “Are you a cop?”  I said no.  Long silence.  “How did you find me?”  This is a fair question all things considered.  I said “I’m from Minnesota.”  Longer silence.  “I don’t understand”, he said.  “We’re from Minnesota, we know how to track people”, I said.  Resigned and utterly confused, he said “Go ahead, take any one you want” as he waved his hand toward his case.  Sadly, he didn’t have another blue faced watch, so I was forced to pick a boring cream colored one with a fake leather band that looked like a Timex.  At least it worked.  I handed it to him again and asked him to set it for me while I went through the same questions as before.  His answers were similar, although they lacked the energy of our prior exchange as he was probably devoting some of his mental resources to thoughts of Student Loans, long hours of studying a fat textbook on cat anatomy, and dissecting a fetal pig or some other creature that reeked of formaldehyde.

I’ve always wondered what he made of that amazing coincidence.  Did it change his life or did it just make him vow to never go anywhere near Minnesota?  Or, did he repress the memory and eventually forget it or choose to believe that it never happened at all after the memory blurred with time?  It has always amazed and amused me.  I wore that watch for about six years.  After a few years, the Rolex logo fell off and bounced around inside the case whenever I moved.  It was fun to wiggle it around and try to get it lined up on the correct spot that wasn’t quite as faded as the rest of the face.  I left it in the sun on a window sill a few times hoping that the heat would reactivate the glue and make the logo stick again, but it never did.  I got a lot of scratches and paint on it working construction too.  It’s upstairs right now in a tote with other things that I probably should have thrown away years ago.  Sentimentality and minimalism are always sparring, aren’t they?  But, I have a hard time throwing it away because I may return to New York at some point with that watch in my pocket or even on my wrist.  There are roughly 8.5 million people there now, but my favorite watch vendor may still be one of them.  He may be standing in the same neighborhoods with the same case containing the same watches.  He may glance up one day and see me approaching and get a wide grin on his face as he says “Are you having trouble with THAT watch now?”  And as he waves his wrinkled hand toward the time worn and battered case with its wobbly scissored legs, he’ll say “Go ahead.  Take any one you want, my friend.”