If there's one thing I've always tried to avoid in life it's being a cliche. But my travels around Manhattan this month have me convinced that all tourists should die.
I hate hating tourists. I want to be the kind of man who'd gladly welcome them to the place where I spend most of my week: "Thanks for visiting New York!", I said, waving politely. I want to be that kind of man... but I'm not. I long to have a better nature, be more tolerant, more patient... and then it gets hot like this, like a huge blowdryer is trained on you constantly and you just want to kick the guts out of every tourist you see.
August is the absolute worst. They come in from everywhere. From Europe, from China and Japan... and from Bumfuck, USA. From New Jersey and all-over the tri-state area. They stumble, dazed, through the Port Authority, spilling out onto Eighth Avenue blinking their eyes at the bright lights. They stand around in packs, figuring out which way to go next. They get on the bus, ask a bunch of questions and step off again. Or they decide to ride and don't have change or a MetroCard, so they thrust two one-dollar bills at the driver, like he's gonna stick them in his pocket. Once they find some sucker who'll cough up change, they refuse to move to the back of the bus. They cluster near the rear door, whole families, every one of them wearing a fanny-pack. And they just won't move when it comes time. They can't get out of the goddamn way. If there's an unofficial slogan in New York, it's this: "KEEP IT MOVING".
See? I've become a cliche. I'm complaining about tourists. I disgust myself. I should be talking about how much money they pump into the economy, how they make New York a world-class city, a truly international destination. But BOY do tourists SUCK.
I'll stop now.