Friday, August 24, 2012

my new york

by Neel Akash on Friday, July 6, 2012 at 12:48pm ·
 
new york was so ruthless to me that i cried. i cried in mexico too, bawled like a baby at a bar in oaxaca, i felt betrayed by life but truly it was i who was betraying someone.

it was my first job at 'high fashion' a fabric warehouse down at the canal street, manhattan. there were two kinds of people there: mostly colored in the back end warehouse, and mostly whites in the front where customers visited. the distinction in clothing was drastic between the two classes but hardly any clash.

my boss eliot was a sharp jewish man who i called mr. eliot and it used to bother me in the later period but i could never change the habit. he liked me because i could never sit still or chat away. i'd always be doing something. but i would never do any overtime or weekends.

naturally the team would make fun of me in the kitchen for me being "fresh" and all. things got much worse after they found out i was still a virgin. my days slowly began to go downhill and interestingly, physically i was also going downhill but not in a health related way or anything, except i was a bit traumatized, in retrospect, but i was sent downhill to work in the basement at first, and then from there into the sub-basement.

now this was a quiet, medium-lit, rat infested place where nobody hardly every came down to. it was like that movie "office hour" or something where this one guy kept getting demoted to a worse dept. because he would never demand anything, and ended up in a dumpy corner in the basement, it was exactly like that, except i wasn't stuck in a corner, the whole floor at large was my domain, since nobody else was there.

a little gross, but i was really sent to the sub-basement because for some strange reason i started to have gas and i would smell up whatever corner they were sending me to. so they gave me a deodorant as a christmas gift, laughed over it, and decided to keep me busy in the sub-basement.

i was relieved. it was a big place full of wheeled racks and stuff with old fabric samples hanging from them. i didn't have much to do and i welcomed the respite from the abuse. i think i used to fall asleep down there  from time to time but then something really unexpected happened.

i found a bunch of old cartons full of books in the back. they were mostly old classics, hemingway, kafka, camus, mark twain, et al. i began to read. and then i began to steal, one or two at a time, in my pockets.

and this is the initial phase of my new york story. it's a great city full of the coolest people. it's a gift to live there.

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