The Fast-Walking Smoker

One of the worst things I can encounter while walking on the street is a fast-walking smoker. With my tendency to hold my breath while passing up smokers or people I would rather not smell (see Waiting to Exhale), it becomes a challenge and a nuisance when I get stuck behind a smoker I just can’t pass up.

I feel like this is something that has been happening to me more and more frequently. Maybe it’s just the time of day that I happen to be out and about on the street, but mostly, it’s probably because I’m not a very lucky person.

I was once climbing the stairs out of the 34th Street subway station when the person in front of me lit up a cigarette. Mind you, this person’s addiction was so strong that she could not wait until she was fully out of the subway station, but had her cigarette ready to go before she stepped out of the subway car.

Now, for me, the worst part of catching someone’s smoke is getting that first breath, because it is always a deep and particularly potent cloud of smoke. And fresh, cold air (can the air in New York City really be considered fresh?) after a sticky subway ride is something I always look forward to. To have it tainted with the first drag of a cigarette is, to say the least, disappointing and unsavory, especially when I have no where else to escape to.

Don’t get me wrong, I think everyone has a right to smoke, but it just sucks to be me when one of these smokers walks faster than I do – in which case I get stuck downwind and have no choice but to inhale their second-hand smoke. With the narrow walking space available today, it has become more than difficult to pass someone up on the sidewalk. Since single-file in both directions has become the norm, attempting to pass someone can quickly become a game of chicken with a determined walker in the opposite direction. Even when there is plenty of room on the sidewalk, the combination of fast walking and a cigarette still tests the limits of my lung capacity. Would it look weird to these smokers if they saw me run past them, as my face is turning blue, and then resume walking at a normal pace once I was in front of them while gasping for air?

Sometimes, I just have to give up and breathe, and it’s then that I think there’s nothing worse than a fast-walking smoker.

Please Jack Up My Car

Two weekends ago, I was out with friends, eating dinner and then bar-hopping. As we were walking east on 21st Street, we noticed an NYPD tow truck was attempting to tow a brand-new, silver Solera that was parallel parked across the street. There were approximately four police officers involved in this towing – one in the tow truck, one stopping traffic, and two helping the tow truck officer.

As none of us had ever witnessed the towing of a car that was in a rather tight parallel parking spot, we all stopped to watch this magical feat.

First, the tow truck slid a type of bar under the front of the car, which should have hooked on to both front tires to lift up and then pull the car sideways, rotating it on the rear tires. However, Mr. Tow Truck guy didn’t quite catch one of the front wheels correctly. Well, that didn’t work, so he tried again. This time, he was a little more successful, but still did not manage to catch the far front wheel correctly.

This is the inner dialogue, as I heard it, occurring in Mr. Tow Truck’s head at this point:

“Hmmm…did I get that front wheel? Maybe I didn’t, but do I really want to have to try to get it again? This is taking forever. Look at all that traffic building up behind me on the street. And damn those stupid little Asian people for staring and laughing at me, and putting me under pressure while I’m trying to do my job! Aw, well, even if I didn’t get that front wheel, it’s good enough, I can just force the car out anyways.”

So try anyways, he did. And at first it was pretty amazing – the front of the car started lifting up, up, up! But it was all just a teaser, because then the front of the car went *CRASH* and was suddenly back down on the ground in the same place it started.

We gave a collective gasp, and then started laughing. What idiots! What were they going to do now? They’ve managed to damage the car, create a ton of traffic, and were no closer to towing the car than they were before. Of course, some of the friends I was with felt the need to run across the street to survey the damage to the brand new car. Turns out the front bumper was starting to come off and the front right wheel was completely misaligned.

At a loss of what to do, the police officers decided to call back up. Suddenly there were three other tow trucks on the street, but what did they think they could do that the other tow truck couldn’t? Actually demolish the car?

This was great! It was freezing outside, and we were standing there, shivering, getting free entertainment (of course, I’m sure I was paying for it with my tax dollars). The only thing that could make it better was if the owners were to suddenly show up.

That’s when we heard the yelling. Two women and one man were standing next to the car, wondering what the hell was going on! We couldn’t help but start laughing, and then wondered if they would even notice the damage that had been done to their car.

In the end, the police officers let the owners of the car drive away without even telling them that their front wheel was completely jacked and the bumper was falling off. I was so disappointed that the car owners didn’t even notice the damage – I wanted to see how the police officers would handle that one. I bet those police officers breathed a sigh of relief as they watched the Solera drive away.

Just another reason I am thankful I live in the city and don’t own a car.

Culture Shock

I am always excited to attend weddings. So when I found out months ago that my cousin was getting married in Taipei, I was even more excited than usual. I was going to get a chance to attend a Taiwanese wedding and learn more about my culture!

So it turns out that a Taiwanese wedding is an all-day event that starts at 11 in the morning. My cousin went to pick up his bride at her parents’ home, and they started the procession back to our house, where we were all waiting. But en route, one of my aunts started babbling something about how my sister and I were not allowed to be downstairs and see the bride until after they finished praying at the Buddhist altar so we better go hide in our room upstairs.

At first I thought my aunt was joking, but then my grandma started to chime in too. Something about not knowing if our birth dates would conflict, so if my sister or I were to conflict on a spiritual level with the bride, then it would be bad luck for the new couple, so we weren’t supposed to see her until after they finished praying.

In disbelief, my sister and I went upstairs and sat in our bedroom. I couldn’t believe that I was going to miss the whole thing! I mean, there was still activity after this small ceremony, and then the huge wedding banquet for dinner that night, but I wanted to see everything. I didn't travel for over 20 hours for nothing!

From downstairs, we could hear the voices floating up through our window. “They’re here! Hurry up!” And then, the sound of firecrackers announced the arrival of the new couple. Sigh, I missed the firecrackers.

Suddenly, my uncle opened the bedroom door and asked my sister and I what we were doing hiding in the bedroom. “They told us that we weren’t allowed to see the bride!” we complained. He then told us that it was all right since we were younger than the bride.

Whoohoo! I was being released! I rushed out of the bedroom to make a dash for the stairs to catch what I could. However, once I made it out to the living room, I came to a sliding, and embarrassing halt.

The Buddhist altar in our house is upstairs in the living room. By the time I was released from my cage, the bride and groom had already made it up the stairs to pray at the altar, and I had just cut them off and probably got in the way of a bunch of pictures. Did I mess up their ceremony? Was this a total cultural faux pas?

Well, I brushed it off and started taking a load of pictures. I mean, c’mon, I missed the firecrackers, at least I should get pictures of all of this. After they finished praying, the wedding procession continued into their new bedroom, where they posed for pictures and drank tea, which I am sure symbolizes something. Too bad no one could explain a lot of these traditions to me.

The wedding couple went back to the upstairs living room, where they sat and ate a rice ball soup. And then the ceremony was over. “Are they married now?” I asked my mom. “I think so,” she replied.

And then it was time for lunch. The bride and groom had to stay at home, but the rest of the wedding party headed out for a huge lunch at a nearby restaurant, after which we would bring the wedding couple food. According to tradition, the bride cannot eat anything before the ceremony, must stay dressed in her bridal gown, and cannot leave the new house until it was time for the wedding banquet that night. Sadly, no one could explain the meaning of this tradition to me either. But it did seem rather painful and sadistic to the bride.

So it makes me wonder, all these traditions that no one can explain make up the Taiwanese culture. And these traditions seem what I would call superstitious in nature. I’m sure that once, these superstitions had more meaning, but now-a-days, it seems that people comply with these superstitions just for the sake of it.

Two days later my family went to the temple where my grandfather’s ashes are kept and the bride and groom couldn’t come with us. Apparently, for four months after getting married, they are not allowed to attend any weddings, funerals, or gravesites. Another one of these superstitions I don’t quite understand.

In high school, my sister and I were bored and decided to rearrange the furniture in her room while my parents were at work. When we were finished, the foot of her bed was facing the door to her room. My mom came home from work and started freaking out about the arrangement immediately.

“You have to change your room. Never face the bed out the door – dead people are taken out of their homes feet-first,” she explained.

Although I found it strange, we eventually moved the bed, and I will never be able to sleep in a room where the bed faces out the door because of what my mother said.

I come from a culture that says not to shake your legs or else all the money will fall out of your pockets. Or not to leave your chopsticks sticking straight up in your bowl because (1) that’s how the incense is placed when you pray and (2) dead people will come and eat your food (which is apparently bad luck). Or to place a mirror over your door if your house faces an electrical structure, like a lamppost, in order to reflect any evil energy away. Or to eat all your rice, because if you don’t, then your future husband will have the same number of pockmarks on his face as the number of rice kernels left in your bowl.

Is that all culture is? Just a bunch of superstitions? Maybe so, and while I might have once thought that would be a bad thing, it makes life a little more interesting.

Please Keep Your Seatbelts Fastened

I figure that there is good reason that airlines always want passengers to keep their seatbelts fastened while in their seats, even when the “Fasten Seatbelts” sign is not lit. What I find especially frustrating is when an airplane lands, and the second that the plane is stable on the ground, the sound of seatbelts un-clicking can be heard throughout the cabin. We all know that humans have this annoying habit – to be first, whether it be to the baggage claim (even though the baggage takes forever to make it to the carousels), to get off the plane, or to get on the plane. However, I have never been more annoyed with this human tendency than on the way home from a trip to Taiwan.

On the way home from Taiwan, I flew from Taipei to LAX, where I had a three-hour layover before I left for JFK. Due to the tailwind, the flight from Taipei to LAX is rather quick, at just over 11 hours. Still, 11 hours is a long time to spend in a confined area, and I was happy to land and get off the plane.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one. The minute the plane landed, a man across the cabin was already up and out of his seat, getting his stuff down from the overhead compartment. At this point, the plane hadn’t even slowed down. The flight attendant had to get up out of his seat and run over to tell him to sit down and wait for the seatbelt sign to turn off before getting up again.

Not too long after that, two giggly girls were up and out of their seats, waiting for the plane to be towed into our gate so they could disembark. The seatbelt sign still had yet to go off, but they were standing in the aisle, ready to get off. The weird thing is that, instead of going all the way to the very front of the cabin so they could be the first ones off the plane, they decided to stand right next to my seat, which was halfway down the main cabin. There was hardly an inch between my arm and giggly girl’s leg. Basically, they boxed me, and the fellow sitting across the aisle from me, into our seats.

Excuse me, but hadn’t I been sitting in the same seat for the past 11 hours? Was it not clear that when I finally got to stand up, I would need the aisle space they are usurping in order to get my belongings in the overhead bin compartment? I just wanted to tell the giggly girls to back the hell off.

When the seatbelt sign finally dinged off, I was up and out of my seat, reaching for the overhead bin, and trying to edge the giggly girls out of my rightful way. They didn’t seem to get the hint. Taiwanese people are pros at crowding and pretending that they don’t see other people.

I finally wedged myself between the two girls and decided that that was a victory in and of itself. When we actually got off the plane, it was then fun for me to walk crookedly enough to get in the way of the girl I cut off, preventing her from being able to catch up with her friend.

After that short-lived satisfaction, I began to wonder why I felt so territorial about my aisle space and the fact that it was only fair that people get off the plane in the order they are seated. Maybe because there are so few things in this world that are fair, and this is something that can be easily controlled and gauged. Or maybe it is just a common courtesy issue, where you always let the person sitting in the row in front of you have a chance to get up and get out. If they miss their chance, then too bad for them, but at least you did your part.

As an American, I feel the need to have a sense of personal space. This is my space, that is your space. It’s so simple – and everyone can walk away happy. However, when I feel that someone else has no regard for my personal space, well, that’s when I become edgy. But is it really their fault? Or just a byproduct of their culture

Selfishness is so easy to recognize in other people, but so hard to see in ourselves, especially when these emotions seem so justifiable. Maybe it was bitchy of me to try and regain my rightful place in the line to get off the plane, but after an 11-hour flight, I felt that I somewhat deserved it. And the last thing I needed were giggly girls pushing me out of the way.