Tourists in New York City

Grumbles from a Breakfast Cart

Re-imagining something wonderful

The nonsense you are about to read was inspired by janna barrett’s piece about the time one hundred strangers bought her a cup of coffee. It is a lovely piece, and I encourage everyone to stop reading this drivel immediately and read her work first.

Now that you’re feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, let me get you back to your everyday cynical self with my re-imagination of these events. Here’s how the man inside the breakfast cart might have seen it.

There is one rule in New York City: you don’t stop to smell the roses.

Manhattan is not an amusement park. Want to stroll along holding hands with your spouse and all six of your snot-nosed kids, playing red rover across the entire sidewalk? Get your butt to Disney World. This city has no place for people who miss the walk signal because they’re too busy staring at the top of the Empire State Building.

Don’t get me started on taking selfies with yellow cabs.

It’s a taxi. It’s not your Aunt Theresa.

You don’t take pictures with taxis. You get in, you tell the driver you need to be thirty blocks North five minutes ago, and you disappear.

It is 2.4 times more expensive to live in this city as it is to live in everyday America, which means we need to cram two-and-a-half Tuesdays into every Tuesday just to survive.

Look at me: I sell coffee, bananas, and bagels. It takes me eight seconds to sell a coffee to a New Yorker.

“Can I get a small?” “1.25” “Here’s two. Keep the change.”

Done. Easy. Over.

It takes me one-hundred-and-twenty-eight seconds to sell a coffee to a tourist. They always start by saying something ridiculous like:

“Hi! What’s your name?” “What’s my name? My name is Breakfast Cart Man dummy! Do you want a bagel?” “Well I like cinnamon raison, but I don’t like the raisons. Is there any chance you can pick them out for me?” “Is there any chance you can jump in the East River and swim back to Delaware?”

So when I see this young woman skipping down 22nd street with a big smile on her face, I knew I was in for it.

“Hi! Good morning!” She’s staring into my eyes like she’s Medusa trying to turn me to stone. You have to respond to these vagabonds, or else they clog you up and your best customers run off to Jack in the Box.

“Hi,” I said.

Big mistake. Now this lady thinks we’re old fiends, sitting down for story time on a porch swing. “I’m wondering if I could pay you in change. I know that’s unusual, but there’s an important reason.” She’s giggling too. Big joke.

“No problem at all.”

“Do you wanna hear why?!”

“Sure,” I said, in a tone as far away from an exclamation as I could manage.

“Well,” she says, and she starts rifling through her purse, sifting through every possession before she finally produces a Ziploc bag full of pennies. “I’ve been collecting these coins for more than a year. It’s all the pocket change I’ve found laying around on the sidewalks here. Today I counted it, and it’s $1.27. Your coffee is pretty much the only thing I can buy with it!”

Apparently the joke’s on me. This nut wants to give me the spare change she’s spent six months scraping off the sidewalk. I’m staring down at a bag full of Staphylococcus, a whole culture of bacteria dug out of every cement butt-crack between here and Hell’s Kitchen.

“Wow, that’s pretty cool . . .” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Yes, thank you! It is cool!” Why is she shouting? “And do you know who’s paying for this? A bunch of anonymous New Yorkers!”

And do you know whose standing behind you staring daggers through your skull? That same bunch of anonymous New Yorkers.

No eye contact. Just stare at the bagels. Pretend to rearrange them. She’s been babbling on this whole time, and so I’d better say something when I hand off this coffee. “That’s amazing.”

“Any chance I can have an extra cup to keep as a souvenir?”

I gave her a blue cup and you would think I just handed over her long lost Teddy Bear. She held it to her chest and did this weird hunched shouldered giggle twirl thing. Then she said it.

“Keep the change!”

Coffee costs $1.25. This bag had $1.27 in it.

She’s skipping down the sidewalk, saying ‘Cheers!’ to the Flatiron building like an absolute fool, thinking New York City just bought her a beverage.

Now maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m jaded. Maybe I shouldn’t be looking at this lovely young woman creating her own joy out of everyday occurrences as a kook. Maybe she’s a role model. Maybe the frenetic speed of New York street life kills even the simplest of delights, like sipping on a coffee bought for you by one-hundred strangers.

I took those two pennies, and do you know what I did with them?

Absolutely nothing! They’re pennies! What is this, 1956? Pennies literally can’t even buy penny candy! Maybe I’ll go down to Central Park and throw them in the pond, and while I’m at it I’ll make a wish that I never have to serve another tourist so long as I live!

Then with my luck, tomorrow some maniac in a scuba suit will come by looking to pay for a banana with all the change he found at the bottom of the Bethesda Fountain.

janna barrett, if you’re still here, thanks for being such a good sport!

Enjoyed yourself? Then read this, Stupid:

Also check out Globetrotters. Adrienne Beaumont, Anne Bonfert, Michele Maize, Jillian Amatt - Artistic Voyages, and JoAnn Ryan have made it a fantastic Medium publication for travel stories, like this one from Julie van Maanen: