Understanding the Truth of Coming of Age Films: lessons learned during the first night in NYC

1 – This is America?
- I’ve been to other countires and felt like a foreigner. That’s normal, things work differently. Systems are similar but different. Languages are cryptic. But that’s how I feel in NYC. A strangely huge-seeming island, but people live here. This is a foreign land. And at the same time – totally “American.”
2 – I am white.
- Our taxi cab driver had a bit of an accent. We thought it might be from some island descent like Jamaica or Haiti. Never got to pleasantries to find out. When we crossed the bridge into Manhattan, we had to pay the toll. Usually the cab drivers have an EZ pass that negates this fee, but for whatever reason – this cabbie’s pass was broke. When Mel inquired about this, he got defensive, turned the station to a hip-hop song detailing the rape of “Mother Africa” by the white man’s capitalism, and then turned up the volume so we would be sure to hear it. From this musical intro, the DJ took the helm and lead the conversation to everyone’s subjectivity to white supremacy and priveledge. Had I been to NY before, perhaps I would have spoken up as I wanted to – but I didn’t want to start out my vacation in any kind of fight. I swallowed by desire to attempt an honest dialogue and apology for my whiteness, and chose instead to simply listen. It really felt like a scene from the movie Crash, in which one character jumps to wildly racist conclusions do to some prior disheartening event in his past. I simply sat amazed that my intro to NY was entrenched in the city’s racial squabbles.
3 - Everyone in NY works an angle.
- “You need a ride. I have Town Car. You come wit me. Where-eva you need go.” “No.” Man in suit says same thing to person beside us.
- Our “apartment” is owned by a “hotel” that runs its business out of the 14A apartment of the building in which we are staying. Yep, sound confusing – because it is. The gum-smacking, hip-hop lyric jamming, “wad-a-ya need?” asking receptionist sent us down to our room on the 4th floor. A bit excited and overwhelmed from the total disorientation of the “check-in” experience, we head towards our room. We enter the key into the lock, only to have the door swing open. Music. Awkward look. Proceed cautiously. Lights switches don’t work. Okay. Ah – a lamp works. Check closets, Shower curtain. Under bed. Whew. Turn off music. Return to lock door from the inside. Dishes – dirty. Towels – three, and all different colors. We did get everything the hotel said we would – nothing more, nothing less. Funny how those little ugly pictures on the wall and carpet make such a difference in how a hotel rooms feels welcoming.
- Umbrella? Fruit? Hot dog? Newspaper? Purse, Watch, Hat? Who knew one could accessorize on the way to work?

NYC – the cultural teacher. What a great trip!