How Do We Get to Greenwitch Village From Here?

By A.E. Grant

This is the tale of my misadventures in New York City. During the Recession of 2008 I lived in the Upper East Side, in one of the wealthiest zip codes in Manhattan, and struggled to keep the lights on while working as a hotel concierge. I witnessed how my wealthy neighbors lived and experienced what it was like to be the help in the toughest job market in the country. This period in my life was humbling, yet invaluable to my personal development. I like to refer to that time as- New York City Boot Camp-shape up or ship out! I laughed. I cried. I cursed. I grew up. I came to terms with both my financial crisis and my past. This book will make you laugh, make you want to rebel, or inspire you to take on New York City yourself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.E. Grant
• Release date: Sep 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463197394

A.E. Grant

Jill of many trades. I have had many life chapters. I was a tennis player, swimmer and body boarder when I was young. After graduating from college with a Communications degree I took a one way train trip to San Francisco and worked in magazine publishing for a couple years then began working for social service non profits. I eventually became a non profit fundraiser. I lived in San Francisco for 13 years and moved to Manhattan in 2008. I took a career track detour in New York and worked in hospitality. I loved living in New York but had my ass kicked financially there and moved back to San Francisco with friends who were like family. I recovered with good California living for several years. I enjoyed riding scooters and singing karaoke. Moved to DC Metro area for work- did not enjoy myself very much with all the policy folks- and ended up back in the SF Bay area.My next chapter? New mind set, new thought patterns. transformation happening. Preparing to riding in my chariot to victory!

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How do we get to GreenWitch Village from Here?

By A.E. Grant

Copyright 2018 by A.E. Grant

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Contents

Chapter 1- Hey You with the Stars in your eyes

Chapter 9 Stardust Dreams-the back story

Chapter 15 New York Fucking City

Chapter 22-Under Pressure

Chapter 39 Doubling Down

Chapter 55 Lowered Expectations

Chapter 88 Secret Codes

Chapter 96 Sound the Alarm

Chapter 100 Trouble in River City

Chapter 115 In Just Spring- Mr. X

Chapter 117 My Day in Court-Emancipation

Chapter 134 Resistance is Everything

Chapter 142 Pleasant Distractions

Chapter 151 In Conclusion

One

I have never been overly interested in details; I’m a big picture person. I happily exist in a world of my own design, a world of ideas which interest me, of imagination, of music. My life so far has been a continuous visit to life’s ample buffet, selecting the most delicious morsels for myself. I don’t give a second glance at the dishes I pass over because my appetite rules the day. It’s a simple yes or no. It is impossible for me to feign the slightest interest in certain people and topics. I am completely transparent, the thoughts running through my mind display clearly on my face. I glare at rude guests, I roll my eyes at their whining, I raise an eyebrow at ill-behaved children, and wrinkle my nose at yapping little dogs and their shit baggie carrying owners. I value good manners, charm, and wit. Maybe working as a hotel concierge was not the ideal occupation for me. The long hours and low pay depressed me. The trivial questions annoyed me. The cheapskate guests filled my heart with despair, yet I found myself working in such a position because the American banking system had begun to collapse upon itself, a sinkhole of greedy money lenders and their unwitting clients. I was sucked down in the maelstrom because I had failed to amass the gold needed to secure my fantasy duchess title on the phantom estate I should be raising unicorns on. I had failed to protect myself from the necessity of rising early in the morning like a peasant. I now face the animals—the general public. I cringe at the thought of it, it is too harsh of a penalty, even for me.

I’d recently moved to New York City after finding an apartment through a friend of a friend I had cat sit for. The cat sitting job involved shooting an ancient mummy of a cat up with insulin and wrestling a pill down the poor creature’s dry throat. Because of this feline wrangling adventure, I was able to sign a lease on a rent stabilized studio in the Upper East Side. This is precisely when the trouble began.

Two

My first order of business in New York was to find a job. I registered with employment agencies and met with twenty-something girl-bot recruiters who seemed to delight in discussing the gaps in my resume. I dodged the most troubling interview question, Where do you see yourself in ten years? I paused as the potential answers to this pesky human resource question flooded my mind. I considered each of these replies carefully:

a) Straddling a teller brandishing a machine gun at Chase Manhattan yelling, Eat it, you fucking rat bastards!!

b) In a grass hut on the beach, listening to the coconut short wave, working on a cross word puzzle.

c) Discussing my third novel with Regis.

d) In solitary confinement working on a frivolous master’s degree in romantic poetry. *

*I’ve been told both romance and poetry are irrelevant in the 21st century. Yes, so much seems completely immaterial at this point Madame and Monsieur, but poetry still matters, my dears.

Well I couldn’t say any of these answers aloud, could I? I could only keep them safely corked inside my head in little cartoon bubbles. (I found this to be the case quite often) I don’t remember what horseshit answer I fed them. I am terrible at selling myself, taking tests and often make a poor first impression. Needless to say, they weren’t very impressed with me, or my typing test results. I begin to grow desperate when the temp assignments didn’t start pouring in immediately. I worked at a friends of the NYPD non-profit for a week in a windowless hermetically sealed basement office typing documents and sharpening pencils. The lack of sunlight and fresh air made me feel a bit like a mushroom. Needless to say, it was an extremely poor fit because I enjoy natural light and I don’t care for law enforcement, though I do appreciate snappy police uniforms. I ended up roaming the streets doing the free or cheap activities in New York City, which for the most part meant milling around eating a lot of pizza slices and people watching. One afternoon in Ray’s Pizza in Hell’s Kitchen I was watching the news as George Jr. pushed for an economic stimulus plan to rescue the country from impending economic doom. The big shot money lenders were ringing their hands and threatening to throw themselves out windows, and I thought that’s a good start, you bastards. I wanted to see some real remorse for ruining working people’s futures. I am still waiting. (Arrivederci retirement!) I struck up a conversation with a woman watching the news, and we expressed our disgust over the current state of affairs in the country. I said, How do you think I feel, I’m unemployed. She gave me a business card and suggested I call her supervisor about a job. I absently tossed the card on the coffee table. A few weeks later I called her supervisor and was asked to come in for an interview. The interview went something like this:

So why did you come to New York? I see you lived in San Francisco, what a beautiful city. The weather’s great there, isn’t it? Why did you come to New York? Why do you want this job? I see you have a degree and professional experience. You’ll be required to work holidays and weekends. It’s hard for young people such as yourself you to have a social life. Are you familiar with the city? Because we’re looking for people who know the city, and we only pay $34,000 to start. I see you were making much more- are you still interested?

Only a fool would persist. I was hired. In retrospect, my blind enthusiasm and cheerleader Yes (Go bankruptcy!!!) to the job offer was the second step toward financial ruin. The first step was getting myself into credit card jail.

Three

I began working at a real armpit training desk near Penn Station with a sweet guy who was a disinterested trainer. In the beginning I mainly stood by and observed the guest transactions. The interactions went something like this:

Trainer: Ok, so you’d like to book the airport shuttle, right? What time is your flight?

Guests: We want to be at the airport at 5:00.

Trainer: What time is your flight?

Guest: We’re going to John F Kennedy.

Trainer: What time is your flight?

Guest: Our flight number is 141.

Trainer: WHAT TIME IS YOUR FLIGHT?

Guest: How much is the shuttle? Oh, that’s too much, we paid $17 each for the blue van.

Trainer: Why don’t you book the blue van then? We don’t work with that company, call the 800 number and make a reservation.

Guest: We can’t make the phone work in our room. It doesn’t work. What will we do?

You get the idea. There was a lot of repetition involved.

Many of the guests were cheap, mistrustful, terrible listeners. For instance, they would ask, How do I get to Penn Station from here?

Trainer: Go out the front door, take a left and go down Seventh until you reach 33rd street.

Guest: So, you go out this door and take a left and then, go where?

Go left out the front door until you get to 33rd street. Ok so go left to 33rd Street.

The station is at 33rd and 7th, 33rd and 7th, 33 and 7th, 33 and 7th. Repetition, hand signals, or increasing your volume didn’t seem to help guests with information retention.

Guest: Are you sure? Because the taxi driver took another street from Penn Station and I don’t remember going that way. Would you circle it on the map for us?

It went on like this all day for twelve hours with only two twenty-minute breaks to disrupt the tedious madness. The rule was absolutely no eye contact with the guests the last ten minutes of your shift- the hotel could be on fire, but we would be looking wistfully toward the horizon ignoring the wail of the sirens. Every ounce of our energy was focused on a clean exit. No quick questions, no quotes for Mamma Mia tickets, no assistance mapping routes to Long Island, it’s strictly lights out and good night.

Four

My life in New York City was so different from the life I’d left behind. I gave up a decent paying job, health insurance, cheap rent, clean air, a fast Italian scooter, and best friends who lived nearby. The specific action that precipitated the move was my landlord selling the building. I could either stay in San Francisco and try to find a comparable apartment for double the price in a less desirable neighborhood, or move to a new place like New York City, a city I’d always been intrigued by. To tell the truth the time was ripe for me to shake things up. After thirteen years I had become complacent in San Francisco. I gave up security for adventure, it’s as simple as that. Did I know the economic crash was coming? No. Did I consider what could go wrong? No. I was ready to act and when I’m ready to act nothing and no one can deter me. I’m headstrong. I’d operated my intuition for so long that careful planning didn’t seem necessary.

For the most part I welcomed the new challenge, but a nagging subconscious resistance began to develop as I began to compare New York to my idealized version of San Francisco. (Bad idea) For one thing, I had trouble adjusting to the cynical New York attitude prevalent among my colleague’s and fellow New Yorkers. Perhaps I had been ruined by living in California for too long, by having developed the ability to smile, trust people, and eat well. First of all, no one smiles freely on the street in NYC unless they are some kind of lunatic. And they won’t invite you in to their apartment either unless they have run a background check. (I would understand their mistrust and caution later) While I smiled and said, thank you ma’am, they stared me down. They weren’t having any of my nice bullshit, good manners, or new suit. They were probably taking bets as to how long I would last. As I traveled from desk to desk at the company’s many properties in Manhattan I received all kind of receptions, ranging from disinterest, to amusement, to open hostility. I was elbowed a couple times and I pushed back. Mostly the agents simply yawned or grimaced, allowing me to process the most laborious transactions- the airport shuttles and bus tours.

The bus tours packages had a whole spiel which the more experienced agents had reduced to mere bullet points. Using the brochure map as a prop my rooky version went something like this:

A great do it yourself city tour is the All Loops hop on hop off bus tour which provides you with two days access to Manhattan’s neighborhoods and attractions. The Uptown loop covers Central Park, the Museums, and Harlem. The Downtown loop goes through Little Italy, Chinatown, Soho, United Nations, Empire State Building, Battery Park, Macy’s … You also have access to the Brooklyn tour and the evening tour which runs on the Downtown tour loop in the evenings. The buses run daily from 8:00 am to 6:00 pm, departing approximately every 30 minutes from the visitor center in Times Square. It’s a great way to get an overview of the Big Apple. An informed guide gives you background on all the sites as you go. Fascinating.

After offering the guest the guided tours, the seasoned agents would simply hand the guest a brochure and say, then there’s the red bus. And don’t get me started on that son of bitch Statue of Liberty that everybody wants to visit. Ooh la la, thanks France! God they wanted to know all about it- the ferry schedule, the ID required, whether they could skip Ellis Island. My answer was, only if your ancestors could. One of my co-workers, who I would later think fondly of, told me I talked too much. (You don’t say.) Eventually I began to pare down my sales pitches to conserve energy. After a few months of working twelve-hour days for very little pay I was able to distinguish the buying, tipping customers from the energy sucking vampire loiterers, and adjust my pitches accordingly. I was beginning to understand the reasons for my coworkers’ bad attitudes and work habits. Here’s a few typical guest interactions:

Let me get this straight, you want to wait in the discount ticket line, you want to ride the free ferry, you want to use a twenty percent off coupon, you want to experience the New York City subway in the summer? Ok, hope you enjoy boiling in your pants.

Help yourself, the business center with free wi fee is at the end of the hallway, next to the toilets. Good day.

Yes, sir we can assist you with booking a deluxe city tour, making a reservation at Per Se, and purchasing premium Broadway tickets. Sure, anything you like. What a lovely watch you’re wearing, I can see you have very good taste and that is so rare these days.

I know it’s not nice to favor certain guests, but cash is king in NYC because without it you are so fucking hungry.

Five

The days flew by during my three-month training period. I was introduced to employment in the hospitality industry in New York. It was difficult for me to adjust to a few things- for example standing up in one position for ten to twelve hours a day was hard on my body. And mentally it was also tough for me to work solo at a desk for those hours. It could be depressing, it could be lonely if you were working at a slow desk tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the hotel near the exit stairs. There was plenty of time to scrutinize my life decisions. I had to develop a strong mental game. I also found running around the city back and forth between the company’s many desks disorientating. Sometimes you were scheduled to work an am shift at say the Holiday Inn, way out by the West Side Highway and a pm shift at the Hilton in Midtown. The minimum shift was six hours, but it was unusual to be scheduled just one shift a day. The average work day was twelve hours, and many of my co-workers worked two or three consecutive doubles. In the beginning, I worked the hours the managers scheduled me without protest, but eventually I set boundaries. I discovered that my limit was working two consecutive doubles, and that on day two I was foul mood by the eighth hour. And all bets were off in my final hour. I did my best to avoid guests because I was exhausted. I was usually in the back hallway, or chatting with the front desk staff, or on a break for my own sanity. In the beginning it was difficult for me to remember each desk’s specific services. There were usually notes at the desks and the phone number of the regular desk agent listed if you had questions. Many desks used different venders for transportation. Some booked transportation services, some did not. A few properties were sales only desks, some were full concierge service desks. I never really knew where I was. I wasn’t looking at the map just to assist the customers. So off to Midtown I went, off the Times Square, off to the East Side I ran. I did my best to remember the locations, employee entrances, and break room pass codes. I ate in the hotel’s employee cafeterias in the bowels of the big hotels. They struck me as prison cafeterias equipped with glaring lights, low ceilings, substandard food, and a real potential for violence if supplies ran low. And I am talking about the best ones. In the worst one’s I couldn’t tell what the meal was intended to be. It was like modern art with dash of botulism thrown in for good measure. The lettuce was wilted, the soup resembled primordial ooze, and the hot dogs were antique meat sticks. I stuck to french fries. chicken fingers, oh delicious fried manna from heaven! When I wasn’t eating I was standing thinking murderous thoughts about getting even with my employer, the rude guests, and New York in general. I day dreamed of becoming a rock star and giving candid interviews about working in hospitality, a world rife with labor law violations, nasty customers and smarmy general managers- turds with legs slinking around stinking up everything. I knew someone would notice my special spark, style, and whisk me away in his/her limo into a life of opulence. The People’s Court in Times Square did ask me if I’d like to comment about a case’s verdict on tv and I said, Absolutely not. I think they liked the jaunty Madmen look I was sporting. I was studying music in New York. I had enrolled in voice lessons and piano lessons at Turtle Bay Music School. In San Francisco I’d become an enthusiastic karaoke singer -a hobby I discovered late in life. I took voice lessons at Blue Bear Music School in San Francisco. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed performing. I took drama classes in junior high and performed in school productions when I was younger. I possessed passion and a unique style but needed to develop my vocal range. I figured this was the time to go all out and didn’t understand what I had been waiting for. I wasn’t sure exactly how to excel, but I wanted to see what the big City could offer. I couldn’t contain myself anymore, I had to be me! It is easy to get a little stardust in your eyes in New York, it’s the energy, the lights, the money, the alcohol. You get caught up in the excitement and you say to yourself I want to be a part of that, I want to be an insider, someone who gets to go behind the velvet rope. Everyone wants to be special.

Six

I hung on to go all out. As I mentioned previously I arrived in New York carrying significant credit card debt. I expected to pay down the debt as I had done many times before once I found a good job. This time, however, the situation was different because of bad timing. The deeper I waded into financial ruin the more determined I became to recover. I sweated making the rent. I worried about my credit score. I worried about returning to San Francisco humbled. I simply couldn’t bear crawling back defeated. So, I dodged the landlord and the super. Unfortunately, there was only one building entrance. I avoided the calls from my concerned family who wanted me to move home to Florida. My brother suggested that I stay with him and his wife until I got on my feet. I ground my teeth at night. My eyelids twitched during the day. What do you mean, you don’t want the King of the Lion’s tickets? You just bought them lady! Even though I was afraid, I had to stay and make my own way no matter how homesick I was for San Francisco, no matter how tempting it was to be among friends in the promised land of California. So I played Russian roulette with my life and future wellbeing, because of pride, because of stubbornness. I’m aware how insane I might seem from an outsider’s perspective, when we’re talking about what seems to be an endorsement for poverty, for career suicide. Well, I never really was traveling on a career track, so it was more like embracing inertia. So there I was, adrift without any viable prospects--single, uninsured, broke, working a nonsense job in New York City. Yet I still believed I had a chance to be someone, to make something worthwhile of my life. Holy shit.

Seven

In the beginning the days passed without incident for the most part. My job training continued. I was scheduled at one of the training desks and met two very interesting characters at this desk-- one who would really fascinate me. The first salesperson was a tough talking Puerto Rican single mom from the Bronx. She let me know right away that she was nobody’s fool, resting her foot on the bottom step of the desk, hand on her hip. She’s was a selling machine who let me know she was the senior desk agent honey- a role I never fully understood the benefits of. I was told the pay difference was minimal and that the privileges were a better schedule, maybe your own floor personalized mat? She was quite knowledgeable about the company’s products and services, one of the best salespeople I’d seen at the company and completely in control. The only time she lost her composure was when her kids called her at the desk to tattle on each other or ask for money and she lost it. The sting of obscenities that floated from the back office would have made a drill sergeant blush. Phrase by phrase she constructed a masterwork of vulgarity. You 4444##$$&&**))(*&&##### little sob bastards, just wait till I get home and I’ll give you something to firkin cry about you little fuckers, etc. She enjoyed a good swear and the company with bad boys who drove low riders. Well what the hell, life is short. I really liked her because she was real thing, and she was very kind to me. She never received the recognition she deserved from management for her Wonder Woman sales prowess which was very unfair. She wanted to be promoted to management and maybe the company thought she wasn’t polished enough. Well, if I ever start my own company I’ll recruit her as my Sales Director. You talkin to me, bitches? Hey honey, want to buy some tickets? Her desk counterpart, J, was a force to be reckoned with as well. She was a sexy, mature, dark haired woman of the world, and more importantly, a denizen of the Upper East Side. Her confidence in her place in the world was evident, and as an employee trainer she was no nonsense. The first thing she told me was, We don’t bullshit around at this desk. She quizzed me on tour information and Empire State Building operating hours. She reminded me about dropping my cash envelopes in the safe and completing the logs accurately. She raised a sculpted eye brow, peered over her reading glasses, and asked, Am I boring you? I stood up a little straighter and replied, No Ma’am. She arrived at work a half hour before her shift, greeting all the hotel managers and admirers by name. She was also a selling machine and used an efficient air traffic controller’s sweep to redirect non-sales transactions elsewhere. This particular desk was strictly a sales only desk, the hotel employed their own concierge staff. Questions about restaurant reservations, directions to Green WITCH Village, the address to American Girl-- concierge desk please. (Oh, the sweet, sweet sounds of the sales only desk- the idyllic clover covered pastures of better days, sigh) J was and is a force of nature. I traveled home with her often because we were neighbors. She would interrogate me about the mode of transportation we should take. She’s fond of speaking in bullet points.

E to the 6, to 86th?

M31 four blocks and walk four blocks