There are some really gross things in New York City.
Take trash day, for example. This actually means the streets smell like rotting death. Literally. Sometimes I exaggerate, but I'm completely serious. It's so bad that I just throw up constantly when I walk down the streets. Okay, that was an exaggeration, but I really do gag a little. Just think about this: there are probably like 30 people in an apartment building and about 50 apartment buildings on each block. Now, multiply the amount of trash produced by the temperature outside and you get mountains of hot, smelly, gag-worthy trash. Gross.
Then, I went running last night, which was not the gross part. And I was running down this little side road to a sculpture park that overlooks the NYC skyline. Which was also not the gross part. The gross part happened when I was running up the block and could see a middle-aged man shooting a snot rocket right in the middle of the sidewalk right in front of me. Then he just smiled and walked into his house like it was no big deal. I didn't realize that was socially acceptable. I thought that was only reserved for hiking and other activities where people are not in sight. Disgusting. Oh, but it gets grosser. When I was about back to my house, I glanced across the road and saw this guy in scrubs full-out picking his nose at the crosswalk. I've never seen so many grown men playing with their snot in my life. And I hope I never have to see it again. But alas, the subway seems like the haven of grown-up nose pickers. So I fear I'll never escape it.
Speaking of the gross subway, I was riding the subway to work the other day. And I had some iced coffee in a water bottle, not because it's super trendy to drink iced coffee, which it is, but because I like iced coffee. So, I was drinking it, trying to be extra careful not to spill all over myself on the moving train when I dropped my lid. Face down on the subway floor. And then, my only options were to just screw it back on my bottle, carry it until I got to work in 30 minutes, or wipe it on my pants. So I just screwed it back on.
Then, as if this week could get more disgusting, my parents sent me some dishes in the mail, so I didn't have to eat off of the one tupperware bowl that I had for the rest of my life. However, one of the ceramic pans broke in transit, so I had to take a picture of it to send to the shipping company. But, while I was taking the picture, a baby cockroach emerged from the pieces of shattered pottery. I don't like it. Not one bit. That raises our apartment cockroach count to three and apparently, where there are three roaches, there are actually millions. Great. However, my friend Aubrey, told me that there is a little non-cockroach that just looks like a baby cockroach, so here's hoping that's what it was. We'll never know, though because I smashed it with a shard of pottery.
I was going to insert pictures of a baby cockroach and the non-baby-cockroach, but all the Google images really creeped me out. And then I was going to put a picture of a guy picking his nose, but that is just gross. I hate boogers more than any other body excretion. So this post shall remain picture-less. Deal with it.