Save Karyn

by Karyn Bosnak

  “Great, thanks,” I said, taking the key.

  Sam and I walked toward the elevator and I assumed he would take me to my apartment, but when the elevator door opened, there was yet a third doorman inside.

  “Hi! I’m Osei,” he said.

  “Osei, this is Miss Karyn,” Sam explained. “She is here to move into apartment Four-E.”

  “Hi, Jose!” I said.

  “No, Osei. O-S-E-I,” he said, correcting me.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I totally know how you feel,” I said, apologizing. “My name is Karyn with a y. It’s spelled K-A-R-Y-N, not K-A-R-E-N. And I get really annoyed when people get it wrong.”

  I guess I like the spelling of my name now, but I didn’t always. I hated it when I was little. I could never have pencils, key chains, or pads of paper with my name on them because it was always misspelled. It sucked. So I felt for Osei.

  “Osei will take you to your apartment, Miss Karyn,” Sam said.

  “Great!” I answered as me and my five suitcases boarded the elevator and rode up to the fourth floor.

  “There are a lot of doormen here,” I said.

  “Yes. There are always at least three of us on duty. One to greet you, one at the desk, and one in the elevator.”

  “Wow,” I said, “fancy.”

  The doors opened, and Osei pushed my suitcases to the left and three doors down to 4E. I pushed my key into the lock and the door opened. It was the cutest apartment! Osei unloaded my suitcases and put them just inside the door.

  I didn’t know if I should tip him or not. I mean, he’d just unloaded all of my suitcases. I’ve lived in other buildings with doormen before, but there was only one and they never helped me up to my apartment. But this was New York, after all, and I bet these guys got tipped. George Jefferson tipped Bentley all the time and Bentley expected him to. And if Osei is used to getting tips and I don’t tip him, then he’s not going to like me and he’s going to tell all the other doormen not to like me either. And the last thing I wanted was to be known as the new cheap girl who just moved into apartment 4E. So I decided to tip Osei. I reached into my wallet and gave him a $20 bill. That assured that I’d be in good with the doormen and they would believe that I belonged in a swanky place like this.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You are welcome,” I replied.

  Osei left and I turned around and looked at my apartment. It was the first time I had seen it. Even after plopping down $4,000 for it. It’s not the easiest thing to get an apartment in New York, especially when you’re living in Chicago. But I knew this guy who used to live in this building and he gave me the phone number to the management office. So I called them up and found out that a studio apartment just happened to be available when I needed one. The rent was $1,800 a month, which was more than I wanted to spend. But in order to find something cheaper, I’d probably have had to use an apartment broker (that’s what you have to do here) and that would have cost me about $2,200 more (10 percent of the annual rent), so I decided to take it. So I mailed off my $4,000 for the security deposit and first month’s rent, and crossed my fingers that it would be okay. And okay it was! All 475 square feet of it!

  It had hardwood floors and three big windows that looked out onto the corner of First Avenue and 57th Street. I also had two big closets, and a small kitchen with a short fridge. The bathroom was a bit old, but it would do just fine. As I looked around the apartment, my eyes stopped at the front door. I realized there was a big hole in it.

  I found a funny-looking phone right next to the door and picked it up. It immediately rang the lobby. Cool. Edson picked up.

  “Hi, Edson, it’s me, Karyn, in Four-E,” I said.

  “Hello, Miss Karyn,” he replied.

  I liked that they called me Miss Karyn. It made me feel special.

  “Hello. Edson, there’s a big hole in my front door, maybe where a lock is supposed to be? Did my apartment not come with a lock?”

  “Oh, no, just the knob lock. It doesn’t come with a dead bolt, you have to buy your own.”

  “Really. Huh. Where do I get one of those?”

  “There’s a hardware store down the street. They have them.”

  “Okay, thanks, Edson,” I said, and realized I was a bit hot. “Oh, one more thing. Edson, how do I control the air?”

  “Oh, Miss Karyn, there’s no air conditioner in there. You have to buy one of those too.”

  “Oh, okay,” I said and hung up.

  No lock and no air. Maybe I should have asked about those things before I moved in. All the apartments I ever lived at in Chicago came with air. I wonder why they didn’t in New York. And a lock. What kind of place doesn’t come with a lock?

  Oh well. I decided to hide my suitcases in the closets and venture out to the hardware store. But when I got outside, I remembered that cute little shoe store called Otto Tootsie something…. You know, I can always get a lock, and it really wouldn’t be that hot for another few months. So I decided to check out the shoe store instead….

  A NICE PAIR OF WALKING SHOES

  Otto Tootsie Plohound was a short fifteen-minute walk away, straight down 57th Street. I couldn’t wait to see the shoes that I’d seen from far away in the cab up close. As I approached the store, my heart started racing. I walked in and was surrounded by hundreds of shoes. The walls were lined from top to bottom with shelf after shelf of shoes and more shoes and more shoes. These shoes weren’t like anything that Nine West sells or even Bloomingdale’s for that matter. These puppies were the coolest things I had ever seen!

  I walked around and slowly looked at the shoes. I looked at the brand names and had never heard of any of them. Oh, wait, there’s Miu Miu. I’ve heard of that. Miu Miu is the cheaper line from the Prada people. I picked up a pair and looked at the bottom: $250. Ouch! That’s not very cheap to me. I quickly put those shoes down and continued to make my way toward the back of the store. In the distance I saw a great pair of sandals. They were kind of clunky, but in a city chic kind of way. I turned them over to reveal the price: $280. Oh c’mon! I started to pick up all the pairs sitting around them and they were all that much. These shoes were expensive! Just then I looked down at my Steve Maddens. There was a tear at the corner of the leather strap. Yuck. They were cruddy. They were teeny-bopper. I decided to continue my search for a pair of shoes that I could afford. Surely they couldn’t all be that expensive.

  Finally, after picking up almost every shoe in the place, I found a great pair for $160. They were the cheapest pair there. But they were cute. They were tan and red and looked great with my jeans all cuffed up. And I really wanted a pair of shoes from Otto Tootsie Plohound.

  Now, I didn’t have any money because I had been in New York for all of two weeks and I hadn’t gotten paid yet. But what I did have was an American Express card. You see, I had to pay for my first month’s rent when I signed the lease for my new apartment, so I technically didn’t have to pay rent until July, which was a whole month away. So I decided that it was okay if I charged a few things on my Amex card. I made a vow to use it only for emergencies, and this was an emergency! Well, not really, so I struck a deal with myself to justify the purchase: I would charge the shoes, and then walk to and from work every day for a month. Since the bus was $1.50 either way, I’d save myself $60 in a month. It was June. It wasn’t too hot outside, work wasn’t that far, and I could use the exercise anyway. Doing this would be the same as taking the bus every day and spending $100 on a new pair of sandals, which is pretty reasonable. I needed them anyway. The ones I had on right now would probably break any day now. So I pulled out my Amex card and swipe, sign, they were mine!

  BY THE TIME I WAS DONE, it was too late to go to the hardware store, so I headed back toward my apartment. All three of my doormen greeted me.

  “Hello, Miss Karyn,” they all said in unison with big smiles on their faces.

  They were so nice. They were going to become my new friends.

  “Hello, everyone!�
� I replied.

  Sam asked me if I had luck finding a lock. I explained to him and the other doormen that I got sidetracked. I asked them again why I didn’t have a lock, and suggested that maybe there was some sort of a mistake. They told me again that none of the apartments came with locks and I had to get my own. But they suggested that I ask the superintendent if he had one that I could buy from him. Sure, I thought. I bet he has the same lock that he took off my door before I moved in and now he’s going to sell it back to me. Oh well, I guess it’s just the way things worked in New York.

  Osei was at the elevator and pushed the button for me. Phew! Good thing he was there! I don’t think I would have been able to find the 4 button alone, let alone push it. I got out at my floor and unlocked my knob lock with my key and entered my apartment. It was so small, but it was just perfect. I loved it.

  I unpacked my five suitcases and then realized that I had nothing to sleep on because my furniture hadn’t arrived yet. So in my little “bed nook” area, I piled up some of my clothes and made a bed. I laid down, covered myself up with some more of my clothes, and tried to get comfortable. I was so excited to be there that I didn’t care how hard the floor was beneath me. I closed my eyes and fell fast asleep.

  THE NEXT MORNING I was awoken at the crack of dawn by the immense sunlight that was pouring in through my three big windows. Wow, it was bright. My back hurt. I put my hands over my head and stretched myself as much as I could. And I screamed. I love to stretch and scream.

  Manhattan is set up like a grid. The streets run east and west, and the avenues run north and south. From the very east of Manhattan to the very west of Manhattan, the city is about two and a half miles wide. My new apartment was at the very east of Manhattan on East 57th Street and First Avenue. My new job was on the west side of Manhattan on West 57th Street and Tenth Avenue.

  I got ready for work, put on my new walking sandals, locked my knob lock and headed out the door. I was so excited for my first day’s walk to work! My new sandals were so fine! I pushed the elevator door button and was greeted by Sam’s smiling face.

  “Ah, good morning, Miss Karyn,” he said.

  “Top of the mornin’ to ya, Sam!” I replied.

  When I got downstairs, I bid farewell to Sam and the other doormen and started on my commute.

  It was such a beautiful day! As I walked down the street, I looked into all the fancy buildings. Some of the lobbies were really nice. All of them had doormen. There were people everywhere. It was a busy morning.

  After a few minutes, I started to get a bit winded and looked up at a street sign. Third Avenue. Only seven more to go. I continued on and tried to walk more slowly, but I realized that if I didn’t hurry it up I was going to be late for work. These blocks were long!

  Almost forty minutes later, I finally arrived at Tenth Avenue. Work was farther away than I thought. My feet ached. They hurt. I pulled one of the leather straps away from the top of my foot and saw a huge blister. Damn! There was a blister in the same place on the other foot too. Maybe my feet just needed to get used to these sandals and build up some calluses.

  When I got upstairs, I immediately went to the bathroom to remedy the situation. I looked in the mirror and was horrified at my appearance! What had happened to me? I was pretty when I left my apartment! I had a sweaty face, flat hair and smudgy mascara. And my feet were all grubbed up with street grime. I was a mess! It wasn’t even that hot outside. I had to figure something out. I couldn’t walk to work every day if it meant looking like a wet dog when I arrived. I found some Band-Aids in the first-aid kit on the wall and put them on my blisters. I’d survive.

  As I walked to my desk and sat down, Gwen, a producer who sat next to me, noticed that I was limping.

  “Are you limping?” she asked.

  “Oh, no. I’m fine. I just have a small blister. New sandals,” I said, kind of embarrassed. “I walked to work.”

  “You walked to work? Where do you live?”

  “On Fifty-seventh and First. It’s not that far.”

  “Not that far? That’s all the way across town! I’d never walk to work. Why don’t you just take a cab?” she asked.

  “I really like to walk to work. It’s a really easy walk, just down Fifty-seventh.” I didn’t want to tell her that I bought shoes that I couldn’t afford, and in order to make it up to my checkbook I had to walk to work for a month.

  “Yeah, I can tell by your blisters. Not far at all,” she said and laughed as she turned away.

  Why did it matter to her if I walked to work? I noticed that people in New York tell you what’s on their mind. I grew up in the Midwest. If someone told me they had blisters, I would have asked them if they needed anything. Gwen wasn’t being rude. She was just being direct. Five minutes later she probably would have forgotten about our conversation. Whereas I remembered it and felt stupid for walking almost three miles to work just so I could buy a nice pair of shoes. Maybe she was right.

  Later that day, I decided to get some personal stuff done and called the phone company to have the phone set up at my new apartment. They told me that I would have to wait for two weeks. I then decided to call the moving company to find out when my furniture would be arriving. They’d picked it up two weeks ago exactly, so I expected it any day now. I found the number on my receipt.

  “Mini-Moves,” a woman answered.

  “Hello, I’d like to check on the status of my furniture,” I said. “I just moved from Chicago to New York.”

  “Do you have your job number?” she asked.

  I read the job number on my receipt to the woman on the phone. She put me on hold. I held and held. Ten minutes later I was still holding. Just then the woman came back.

  “I’m sorry, miss, but we can’t find your furniture.”

  “What do you mean you can’t find my furniture?” I asked. “You’ve had it for two weeks. And the guy I talked to on the phone told me it would be here early next week.”

  “Miss, settle down,” she said, “I just can’t find it in the system. Let me look into this and I’ll call you back later.”

  “Okay,” I replied. What kind of moving company loses your furniture?

  Later that afternoon, the woman called me back and told me they think they might have found my furniture in a warehouse in Illinois, but wouldn’t be sure it was mine until Monday. They think. They might. Damn.

  Upset, I packed up my stuff and decided to go home early. My first case was on Monday, so I took some work home to make sure I was prepared, as well as some cases to call on because I was still getting caught up. I made my way outside and hopped into a cab. I was cranky, I was tired, my back hurt from the wood floor the night before, and there was no way I was going to walk all the way home with my blisters. I’d give it another try on Monday, but today, I was taking a cab.

  OH, MY ACHIN’ BACK!

  On my way home, I stopped by a drugstore to get some stuff, and as I was paying, I picked up a New York City Zagat guide that was sitting by the counter. If you are from a small town, then you may not know what a Zagat guide is. It is a book that surveys all of the best restaurants in the city. Most major cities have a Zagat guide. I vowed to myself that I was going to visit every restaurant in that guide because I love to eat out!

  That night I went home and sat on the floor. I pulled out my cases from work and realized I couldn’t call on them because I didn’t have a phone. So I decided to eat dinner and go to bed early. I couldn’t cook because I didn’t have any of my pots or pans because the moving company lost my furniture, even though they think they might have found it. So I decided to order in from this cute little Italian place that I saw across the street.

  When I was done, I found the page in the Zagat guide that listed Trattoria Pesce & Pasta and circled it. Next to it I wrote, “By myself on wooden floor with plastic silverware and a hole in the door.” I vowed to hit more restaurants and planned on doing this for every restaurant I would go to. I made up a new rule. I’d onl
y eat at places in my guide, and never eat at the same place more than once. There were just too many to choose from, and it would be a fun little game anyhow.

  The next morning I was again woken up at the crack of dawn by the sun coming up. I’d have to get some curtains soon. I turned on to my side and could barely move. My clothes weren’t the best mattress I had ever slept on. And I have slept on tons of mattresses, let me tell you. Kidding. Not really. Anywho, my back was busted and I needed to fix this situation.

  I decided to take a trip to Bed Bath & Beyond—a place that wasn’t in my Zagat guide but was in my Moving to New York guide. In the two weeks that I had been here, I had now acquired six guidebooks. They all had different information in them and I wanted to make sure I knew as much about this city as possible. I had become a guidebook whore.

  I got dressed and headed in search of the subway. It was a beautiful day. I pulled out my special laminated subway map (guaranteed by the saleslady to last me a lifetime) and found the closest stop to my apartment building. This would be the third time on the subway for me, and the first time on my own. I figured out where I needed to go, bought a subway card and waited for the train.

  Chicago had a train—the El—but it was an elevated train, not a subway. The El actually did have a line that went underground—the red line—but I rarely took it. I wasn’t scared on the New York subway. I was just grossed out.

  If you have never been in the New York subway in the summertime, then that’s a good thing. Just like Martha says. It smelled like something I had never smelled before in my whole life. It was ripe.

  I tried to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, so the stink wouldn’t pass through my mouth. I didn’t want that stink on my tongue. Because we all know what stink is: it’s little floating particles of whatever it is that’s causing the stink. And my guess was that this stink was being caused by either mold (and I have allergies), or rotting rodents (and I have a general distaste for those as well). I briefly thought about investing in one of those paper facemasks that doctors use to keep their spit and stuff out of the patients they operate on, but thought that people might look at me funny if I wore one of those.