East Harlem is foul this morning. A nauseating blend of rotting garbage and diesel fuel burns into my nostrils the moment I step off the bus on 120th street. When my feet hit the pavement, I bluster, forcing the air out of my nostrils and shake my head. I remind myself of a horse.
The air is thick with moisture and stink. The city, jonesing for rain that seems eternally delayed, stands braced and anxious, like a man staring into the sun waiting sneeze that won’t come. I feel claustrophobic in this humidity.
The sidewalk between me and school is dotted with smeared dog droppings and miscellaneous waste. Food wrappers. A plastic hanger. A used condom halfway down the block. The community clinic’s bright green dumpster, in a corner formed by the joint of chain link fences, its lid slightly ajar, sits directly upwind. I breathe into my shirtsleeve and hurry to work.
Large black flies swarm an invisible beacon just inside the building’s heavy outer doors. Something spilled, left unmopped. Enormous flies like bumblebees — but without a bee’s brightness or natural purpose. Flies do not pollinate; they spread filth. A shiver passes through me as I wave off the flies and duck into the lobby. My skin, fresh from the shower only a half hour before, feels coated with imaginary grime. And though I know it’s just errant hairs, I can’t shake the sensation of flies around my face. I shiver again, pull my hair back tighter and settle in at my desk.
The office windows are open to allow for a breeze. I think maybe it won’t be so bad indoors. But then the breeze shifts and I’m again downwind from the green dumpster. A thick-bodied fly darts around the room, an invader.
“This is foul,” I say to no one and then go about my work day.
THIS is what my English teacher was always hoping for every time she assigned a ‘descriptive’ essay. You would have made him grin with pride.
I made him cringe with disappointment.
I second the descriptive essay comment. I was going to say something about how wonderful all the imagery was before I saw that.
something about the image of the bright green dumpster makes me incredibly happy. amidst the bleakness of the grime, the bright green dumpster reminds me of a fresh new crayon or grover and childhood.
Though, of course, Grover was blue…
Is it odd that I find this sort of… appealing? It certainly sounds more stimulating than my hermetically sealed office building with tidy cubicles (ok, mine’s not so tidy), ordered parking, and an appropriately-sized swath of close-cropped grass separating us from the next hermetically sealed office building of tidy cubicles… It may be smelly and grimy, but it somehow seems less soul-sucking.
ooops…i meant the grouch. the grouchy green guy in the trashcan.
Oh how I miss the days of Sesame Street. If it was a real place, I surely would move there. I would like to live next door to Elmo or Mr. Suffelupogus.
For THIS you need an Outlook calendar? Forget the BlackBerry; get an air conditioner for the office. Or get a job near Broadway and 80th so you can smell the coffee and cheeses at Zabar’s. A delight even in a Manhattan summer.
I just wanted to third the descriptive essay comment, you are an excellent writer, and it makes for superb reading! Even if it is about stinky fly-infested dumpsters and messes.
This is when I would be thankful for my inability to smell things well;)
Hey Michael – I work right at 80th near Zabars. I smell none of this aromatic deliciousness you speak of
I hate summer in the city. The streets stick to my face.
I need a facial.
FYI – You’ve inspired me to start writing again (and also to spend whole chunks of my workday catching up on back entires.)
“And babe,
don’t ya know it’s a pity
the days
can’t be like the nights
in the summer, in the city…”
HA! now you’ve done it! that song is going to be stuck in my head.
Well that puts things into perspective for me! I needed that today! I work in a very sterile cubicle envioronment, but feel blessed to be a the foot of the beautiful Rocky Mountains in Golden, CO. The air is fresh and fragrant – not with city filth, but filled with the smell of the many flowers in bloom, the river running abound with the freshly melted snow from the mountain tops, the invigorating scent of freshly mowed grass and and ever so subtle scent of fresh beer brewing! (I know you don’t like beer – but, hey, it can’t be worse than the dumpster!). A thunderstorm is rolling in over the mountains; I see lightning in the distance. The rabbits and squirrels and geese sit quietly in anticipation…life is good.
You know what’s even worse? Thinking about all the kids that live in that neighborhood who don’t get to escape at the end of the day. You’re pretty lucky that you only have to work there – don’t ya think?
Yes, yes. While we all feel very sorry about the children, that hardly seemed to be the point. Did you really just guilt trip the girl for writing about the stinky city? LAME.
I suddenly need a shower. EWWWWW!
Ari, you must go INTO Zabar’s to smell the coffee. Also, to buy some rugalach. And a good parrano (if they have it these days).
Your post reminded me of the year I taught in portable buildings…right behind a sewage treatment plant. We’d show up at work ready for a beautiful day and then run inside due to the stench.
Beautiful post and great blog!
Amazingly descriptive. I really almost wretched.
Having visited NYC for the first time last month, this piece really strikes a chord with me. I don’t know how you guys survive without alleys. The garbage on the street thing is immensely distrubing.
My Belgian guy recently pointed out the beautiful sunset we could see from our balcony here in Antwerp.
I raised an eyebrow, testing for irony … but no.
I said, ‘In New Zealand it’s just about the sun and set … the pretty colours over there are pollution’.
I think I’m losing my sense of smell … stay where you are long enough and you’ll be fine
Damn, I forgot to write that I loved your post … I was there, lol willing or not.
Actually, Mark, I thought the same thing as Mystery Girl when I read the post. I can’t speak for MG, but I certainly wasn’t wishing guilt to Fish. More like compassion for the residents of East Harlem.
My big thing is loving these kids so much and hating (absolutely HATING) where they come from. I hate it for them. It’s a wasteland.
Thanks so much for that! I just moved to Florida instead of New York (better job here) but I’ve been in London for a while and am missing the city. Last night I was struck with the fact that I made a huge mistake and that NYC was where I should have gone because it’s perfect. But you put it into perspective and now I can go to the perfect, beautiful beach and smell the ocean and everything will be fine.
And I was complaining about the recirculated air at the Undisclosed Customer Service Center.
I take it back.