silly story one

When I was living in Peru, I heard many complaints from natives and expatriates about the bureaucracy of Peruvian institutions, the incompetence of Peruvian workers, and the laziness of Peruvian citizens.

Well, the same holds true of New Yorkers. Here are three examples of silliness I have been the victim of in the one month and two weeks since I have returned to live in New York.

"The Story of the Snaggletoothed Raven"

It all started two years ago when I bought a bicycle. I spent months searching for the perfect fit. I searched online, in used bike shops, and in fancy boutiques. I called stores in North Carolina that imported Pashleys and schemed to visit England to bring one back in my luggage. Finally, I bought a baby blue Ross cruiser refurbished by Recycle-a-Bicycle in Brooklyn and promptly had a metal basket installed in front while I continued my search for the quintessential bell, headlights, and helmet (and perhaps even a honey-tanned Brooks saddle).

I was infatuated with my new gadget. At last, I would be among the bicycle-riding crowd; I would no longer need to explain and apologize for my freak status as a Chinese who didn't know how to ride a bicycle. Yes, you heard right. I didn't (and don't) know how to ride a bicycle.

After a few lessons, and many more falls, I stopped trying. My excuse was that I until I found the right helmet, I couldn't ride the bike anyway, so I wouldn't. While I (half-heartedly) searched for a helmet, I stored the bicycle at work, in a file closet.

When I left for Peru, I still didn't know how to ride it and had no other place to store the baby-cum-bane. I asked my friends at work if it would be all right if it stayed in the file closet until I returned, next year. They said, grudgingly, yes, but hurry.

So I went to Peru and came back, the next year, to retrieve my bicycle. With Carlos's help, we picked up the bicycle, exited the office suite, and, doing the responsible thing, we went to use the freight elevator. After waiting and repeatedly ringing the bell for 20 minutes, we realized that the elevator wasn't going to come. We didn't hear the elevator belts move nor doors open and close from other floors, and we couldn't get back into the offices. In short, we didn't know why the elevator wasn't working and we were stuck in the small, windowless room, surrounded by four locked doors and one non-functioning elevator. We used our cell phones to call security for help.

That's when the snaggletoothed raven came swooping down on us and ruined my day.

She was incredibly tall, a giant with a big bust and big hips and a teeny, tiny head. Her hair was coiffed in a chin-length bob and eyebrow-length bangs and dyed in a shade so impeccably orange that it could only be a wig. (OK. She wasn't a raven, just a security guard, but she did have a snaggletooth.)

Immediately she informed us that we could not bring the bicycle down the regular elevators, how it was building policy, and that we weren't allowed to leave the room. She insisted that we should wait and that she was just on another floor and heard the elevator working. She made pronouncements into her hand-held radio in educated-speak like "they have been made aware" instead of human-speak like "I told them." And whenever she finished telling Carlos another rule we weren't permitted to break, she would swoosh around, tilt her head, and smile at me in a have-a-nice-day kind of way that made me wonder if I should have been making her aware of her snaggletoothedness.

"This is the building's policy. We have no control over that," she said.

"Well, that's obvious," I said.

"You are not permitted to transport the bicycle from the building other than via the freight elevator. You can leave your bike here while I investigate the matter further."

"Can't we just wait inside, where there is air-conditioning, while you find out?"

"No."

"But we just want to wait inside with the bicycle. We won't bring it down the other elevators."

"No. You may leave the bicycle in this room if you so wish."

"But I don't want to. Someone might take it."

"It will be safe. I assure you." (Snaggletoothed smile again.)

"Will you guarantee its safety?"

"It will be safe."

"But will you guarantee its safety?"

Thank goodness someone interrupted us. Jumping to the end of the story, it turned out that the freight elevator operator was on his lunch break (which meant whatever elevator sounds the security guard claimed to have heard must have come from inside her head). The company's division president vouched for us, escorted us to his office (with the bicycle), and let us keep the bicycle there until after the freight elevator operator came back from lunch. The security guard left us in peace. And finally, two hours after I came to pick up my bicycle, we were able to leave the building.

(This was a really long story. I'll continue with the other two examples in separate posts.)