The City That Never Sweeps

This weekend I made a dual-purpose trip up to New York to both visit one of my college roommates (who is nine months pregnant!) and throw a bridal shower for my sister-in-law. Roommate Les lives in Hoboken, so I spent Friday night there and then took public transit from Jersey to Amsterdam and 90th for the shower. The skies were getting angry as we walked to the bus stop in Hoboken, and by the time the bus arrived, rain was pouring in sheets from the sky.

I am now soaking wet. As is my luggage and the cardboard box (filled with the favors for the shower) that I am carrying. I take my seat on the bus, but I can't seem to get the luggage and box out of the way of the other passengers that are exiting and boarding the bus. I'm hugging these two soaking wet packages so close to my body that they are practically inside of me, and I'm still receiving dirty looks from the other passagers that are typically only reserved for pedophiles and people that steal money from charities.

We arrive at Port Authority where I switch to the 1 Train. I am lucky enough to get a seat, holding the cardboard box in my lap and the suitcase between my legs. I'm flanked on either side by a beagle puppy and toddler. The toddler is scared of the beagle, and beginning to have a meltdown. The crying sends the beagle into a barking fit, which, in turn, further exascerbates the meltdown.

It was right then when I thought to myself, "You know what this subway really needs? A polka-playing accordian player."
Fortunately for me, one had just stepped on the train.

3 more stops and a polka tune later, I was finally at my destination (well, as close as the subway was going to take me).

As I walked the remaining 4 blocks to the restaurant - I realized the single feature that always reminds me of New York.

Garbage. On the street. Everywhere.

Some in bags, piled high on the curb. But most of it just loose on the ground.
It always surprises me that for a city SO full of people that have SO much hometown pride, there is garbarge EVERYWHERE.
When the heck is trash-day in New York City? When do actual garbage men come by and pick up the trash? It's a mystery.

Once inside (and out of sight of the garbage) we had a wonderful time. There was laughter and food and poetry - all the makings of a wonderful shower. The chance to shower such a beautiful bride (and wonderful person) was worth the rain and the beagle and the tantrum and the polka, and yes, even the garbage.