Our Wedding: The Highlights

Weddings are notorious for whirling by in a blur—you plan all year for an event, and then it’s over in a matter of hours. So on the plane ride to our honeymoon destination, I jotted down a few moments that stood out in my brain before they disappeared forever and become an inaccurate memory.

Here are the highlights of our wedding week, from my perspective and in no particular order. I am obviously missing many other narratives, but I hope these quick tidbits will serve as a happy (and at time, hilarious) reminder of what happened on June 17th, 2017.

All of the below photos were snapped by the talented Katelyn James Alsop.

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Remember on wedding day...

…when the electricity was flickering off and on in the venue’s sitting room as a thunderstorm rolled through the area. I wondered aloud if this meant the power was also going off in the ceremony and reception tents. Every bridesmaid said, "Noooooo!" in perfect unison. Turns out, the power was going off in the tents—but it was better that I didn’t know.

…when Ryan first saw me in my wedding dress, and we had a beautiful moment to ourselves.

…when it started raining while the bridesmaids and I were doing our portraits, so we ran for cover. The girls tried to stuff me into the gift shop, but in the process Grace cut her finger and started bleeding. Meanwhile, I slipped on my dress and was about to face plant onto the ground, when Groomsman Phil screamed, "Briiiiiiiide!" and caught me just in time.

…when during the ceremony Father Jimmy kept trying to make us hold hands, but we were so sweaty and really just wanted to swat the bugs off our faces.

…when pregnant Bridesmaid Kelsey fainted during the ceremony, most likely because it felt like 120 degrees under the tent. She was OK after some fanning and water!

…when the bridesmaids, Dad, and I screamed “Sound of Music” songs before we walked down the aisle. (Video, below.) 

…when some of the groomsman and wedding guests took a quick dip in the James River. 

…when Leiv handed me a shot of tequila before the ceremony, as the thunderstorm roared on.

… when the drizzle stopped just as the bridesmaids were walking down the aisle. We all tossed our umbrellas over the hedge at the last second. The rain began again after Dad and I entered the tent. The momentary reprieve was a little blessing.

…when Suzanne, Kathryn, Grace, Mom and I sang "Going to the Chapel" on the car ride from the hotel to the venue. Looking back, there was a lot singing at this wedding.

…when Kelsey and Ryan Webb nailed their rehearsal dinner speech by creating a pretend app called the Brit Fit (not to be confused with a Fit Bit). The app would let my husband-to-be know when I'm getting antsy, among other facts to assist with my quirky ways. 

…when the Nugent men all teared up during their brilliant and well-thought out toasts.

…when Dad made everybody cry during his speech at the wedding. 

…when the Nugent, Fitzgerald, Lombardi, and Roberts families were all honored at dinner. The silver centerpieces on the tables were cherished heirlooms, mostly from our grandparents' collections. Lore, Mom, and my florist were so helpful in making this vision come to life.

…when my sisters gave the perfect speech. I felt so loved by the people who know me best.

…when Harlan picked up Mom on the dance floor and threw her over his shoulder so she was essentially crowd surfing. 

…when the Polaroid photo booth idea actually worked.

…when the wedding coordinator whispered into her walkie-talkie, "Bride and groom's plates, still full." Then she and the caterer brought out more food and basically made us promise we’d eat it.

…when Dad and I danced to Barbra’s "Happy Days are Here Again." It was the live version of the song, so there was tons of applause on the track. People must have thought the applause was all coming from the tent, so they gave us a standing ovation! We also did an impromptu kick line and I hope it was documented on video somewhere.

… when the New York girls tossed me in the air on the dance floor. I remember looking down at Sarah and Chinae. They were surrounded by my huge dress and using every muscle in their bodies to keep me afloat—but both were still smiling.

…when some of our friends and family wore trash bags from the bus while running to the ceremony tent. Most also abandoned their shoes as the rain came down. (Sorry, my dears. You all still looked stunning.)

…when I tried to quietly sneak into my hotel room after being at the Tobacco Company Bar until 2 a.m. the night before the wedding. Suddenly, I heard from the darkness, "Britney Fitzgerald, I cannot believe you are just getting home." My sister Grace was tucked in bed and laughing at me. 

…when we spent two days putting together welcome bags and favor boxes with the whole Fitzgerald-Spicer Clan the week of the wedding. Copious amounts of wine made it worth our time. 

…when we played hard on Thursday night at Casa Del Barco. There were definitely some parent tequila shots. 

…when we had to make about six rain plans the week of the wedding, due to one tent being too small and a 100% chance of scattered showers. 

…when Ryan and I took a moment to observe the celebration from afar while holding hands and smiling. 

… when the CNU crew waited 10 minutes to take a picture with me (unbeknownst to them, I’d gone to the restroom). I felt so loved by longtime, loyal friends.

…when shirtless Karl and Dylan had a dance off to Britney Spears’ "Toxic." 

… when Photographer Katelyn hesitantly walked over to Ryan and I at dinner. She said, "So I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't tell you this. And you don’t have to, but… there is actually a sunset. I know we weren't planning on doing sunset photos because of the rain. But I thought I’d let you know..." Ryan and I agreed to take a few more photos. KK became super excited, and we ran together through the tent to catch the glowing light just in time. 

… when Uncle Michael spun me around the dance floor, like a true professional. The full circumference of my dress was finally captured!

…when one of our guests told us that she never once used the restroom trailer and peed in the woods all night. I later found out she was not the only one to do so.

…when everyone sang “New York, New York” as Ryan and I exited the venue through a tunnel of sparklers. I almost cried as the faces of loved ones in the crowd glowed in laughter. It was a cinematic moment that felt like a proper end to the evening.

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One of my favorite takeaways from this whole experience is that you all have memories, too. Every person I’ve spoken with post-wedding has told me a hilarious, insane, or perfectly lovely anecdote about their time in Richmond, Virginia. Thank you for turning our special day into a story—there were so many tales of adventure, love, and sacrifice.

And that is the best gift we could ever receive. 

Slideshow

On Marriage

There is a tall, wooden pepper grinder that sits in our kitchen.

I’ve never refilled the pepper grinder. In fact, before joining forces with Ryan, I’d never owned one. But when I scramble my eggs, it's there ready to season my food. It dispenses perfectly ground, fresh pepper—just like at your favorite Italian restaurant. Sometimes when I make crude dinners that require 3 ingredients or less, I pick up the pepper grinder and think, “When did I become so fancy!”

This kitchen tool also magically refills itself. It’s never empty; it’s always reliable. The same rules apply to our bar: It’s as though a liquor fairy comes in the night and blesses us with the finest whiskeys and gins.

But, of course, there is no fairy and the pepper grinder does not possess any special powers. Ryan restocks the bar and refills the pepper. He does a lot of little things I don’t always appreciate until he’s not by my side. Ryan has slowly snuck into my world, and I would be devastated if one day the pepper grinder was not full because he wasn’t there to do it.

Becoming codependent is a heartbreaking process—quite literally. The comfort and adoration you receive from “your person” chips away at the muscle beating inside of your chest, until little pieces of it crumble off. With a mix of work and love, those pieces are then gone forever; you’ve given them away eternally.

Sometimes when I look at that pepper grinder, I get irrationally anxious. What if Ryan was gone? I’ve already offered up my heart pieces! What if Ryan dies in a plane crash? What if my love is hard to reciprocate? What if an AC unit falls on his head? What if, what if, what if…

Getting married makes you think of your whole life’s timeline, from birth until death. You begin to fear loss more fervently because you have stretched your concept of love. While I have come to the conclusion that looking at the pepper grinder and feeling anxious is not-so-healthy, I would argue my fears are not irrational.

But that’s the whole point.
That’s everything.

Devoting your life to a partnership is supposed to be a humbling, life changing process, and I’m so excited to have my little heart destroyed.

Ryan, thank you for always refilling the pepper grinder.
Thank you for being reliable, patient, and loving.
You’ve broken my heart in the best way imaginable.

PS: I hear these feelings only get worse when you have kids. Thank God we're absolutely not there yet.

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“Do whatever comes your way to do as well as you can. Think as little as possible about yourself. Think as much as possible about other people. Dwell on things that are interesting. Since you get more joy out of giving joy to others, you should put a good deal of thought into the happiness that you are able to give.”

— Eleanor Roosevelt

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Kendrick Lamar is Always in My Kitchen

I turn on the bathroom lights. One of the bulbs sputters and flickers, like someone gasping for their last breath of air. The sound is mildly unsettling, so I reach up and whap the fixture with my brush. Silence is regained, though only for a moment. Now a siren is squealing down 4th Avenue and my upstairs neighbor has turned on his television. I’m engulfed in uncontrollable noises once again.   

Nothingness is hard to find no matter where you live, but nothingness is nearly impossible to find in New York City. The whole island rumbles twenty-four hours a day, and if it stops we all ask, “What went wrong?” No one wants this town to pause and catch its breath—that’s why we live here. The buzz of the city is our fuel.

But people? People need rest.

We cannot function at the same pace of our fair city’s heartbeat. She is immortal and concrete; yet her inhabitants are simply human.

As an extroverted creature, it is against my nature to rest in silence. But often, when I’m quiet—and turn on my fan to block out the noises of this distracting town—I am more introspective. I am quick to pick up a pen, and process the current state of affairs.

Which, is what I’m doing right now.

It turns out there is much happening in my tiny brain. The most common narrative of my thoughts is that of change. There are obvious reasons for this: I’m about to get married, the agency I work for is closing its New York office, and the weather is (finally) turning warm.

But there are other forces at play that nod to the subtle movement of time.

I met Ben when I was going to church in the East Village. He was a part of my “small group”—a rag tag cluster of New Yorkers who were looking to connect with a community. We ate, laughed, read, played, and prayed together. To this day, a portion of that eclectic set of people are still some of my closest friends in the city. They will be in my wedding and part of whatever comes next.

Then, there's Micole. She and Ben met one Cinco De Mayo and starting dating soon after. I remember talking with her about relationships; she was wise, patient, and hilarious while sharing advice. Micole works in the fashion world and was briefly featured on a reality TV show (which, was short-lived because she’s not dramatic or petty in the slightest).

Ben and Micole got married, got a dog, and got pregnant. Now they are leaving the city for multiple intelligent reasons. They will have a much-needed season of rest, far away from New York City’s palpitations.  

But today is the first day that I feel sad about their quick exit. Suddenly, the movement of time does not seem so subtle. I’ve known Ben for nearly seven years. He asks good questions. He likes dumb country songs. He always implores me to show emotion. “It’s OK to be sad, Britney!” he’d say when I was covering up stress, while making $10 an hour in grad school. “Let it out! You can tell us.”

We non-married people were also lucky enough to watch Ben and Micole fall in love. And fight. And apologize. When they tied the knot at a beautiful loft in Greenpoint, it felt important—like a tangible chapter in time was closing. We were city kids becoming adults.

"Nobody pray for me
Even a day for me
Way (yeah, yeah!)"

All the windows in my apartment are closed, but Kendrick Lamar is suddenly projecting from someone’s car. Our walls are so thin, it's as if the rapper himself were standing in my kitchen with a megaphone. I wish I could say this is the first time the talented Mr. Lamar has showed up unexpectedly, but ever since his latest album dropped, I can't keep him out of this apartment. There is always someone on 4th Avenue blaring his hit tracks, so I just nod along. 

This is how close we city dwellers live to eight million other people.

Still, for a few hours, I was able to peacefully process—to find a nothingness even from within my uninsulated apartment. Ben would be proud that I unapologetically shed some tears over he and his wife’s departure.

Now New York rumbles on. Someone calls about brunch; someone else about job opportunities. A car alarm wails in the distance. As I consider going for a walk around Brooklyn, I feel a growing sense of excitement for my friends’ new adventures—where will they live next? What will they name the baby? Most importantly, when can we all visit? 

The not-so-subtle passage of time doesn’t seem as depressing. 
I cannot sit in the nothingness for long. 
There’s a time to pause.
There’s a time to prepare.

And then… there’s a time to get married, find a job, have babies, move across the country, travel the world, or simply run full speed ahead!

Best of luck, my friends, to where ever you may be in that process.
 

Ben + Micole

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“And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”

— The Perks of Being a Wallflower

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What Was Your Biggest Culture Shock Visiting New York City?

Note: I was originally asked this question by someone on Quora, a Q&A website.  

I came to NYC seven years ago and never left. But I moved here from the South, which is a very different part of the United States—so, believe me, I was shocked 100x over. Here are some of the basics that threw me for a loop.

1. You don't ever hang out in Times Square. You see it in movies, pictures, and read about this iconic neighborhood in books. But in reality, unless you work there or frequent Broadway once a week, you will not spend anytime in this (very crowded) area. I don't know why, but I just assumed Times Square was the social hub of NYC. Wrong. When you're visiting, go downtown!

2. There's a reason no one smiles on the subway. I used to think, "These people look miserable. Why don't they ever smile?" It took me about 2 months to get the vibe. In the South, we greet everyone. You wave at neighbors when you drive by, or make conversation at the grocery store. But here? There's just too much. Too many signs, messages, noises—if you interact with every person you come across, you become overwhelmed. Mentally exhausted. This isn't an excuse to be rude, but it explains the blank stares and headphones on the subway. Everyone just needs a minute to themselves.

3. Bodega is not a word in Virginia. I never heard it until I moved here. Now, it is a life source.

4. Mom and pop shops/restaurants still reign supreme. This may be true for many cities, but if you're a child of the suburbs? This is news to you! When I go home now, I get panicky when we roll into Applebee's. That said, occasionally your errands can take forever in the city. To the Polish bakery, to the laundromat, to the organic juice guy, to Urban Outfitters, to the hardware store. There are not very many malls or "one stop shops."

5. Some buildings need a revamp. The grittiness of the city has never bothered me. I suppose I just expected it. But I'm always shocked at how outdated Port Authority and Penn Station are—WTF? 1970s NYC is alive and well!

6. There are many homeless and mentally ill people sleeping on the streets. Old men, families, and a slew of teens. It's totally heartbreaking and becomes such a common sight that you forget it's actually a huge problem.

7. This city moves fast. Everyone is going somewhere, everyone is fighting to be here, and everyone is walking 100 miles an hour, especially during the commute. I also walk an average of 5 miles a day—so if you're visiting, be prepared. Bring good walking shoes! (I’ve worn these tennis shoes, these nice boots, and these rain boots for years.)

8. You still need green space. This one surprised me, but my love for nature has actually increased while living in the city. Take an afternoon to go to Central Park or Prospect Park. Enjoy a booze cruise on the water. And, most importantly, you need to leave the city at least once a month. You'll come back refreshed, and in better shape to take over the world. Promise.

Have a question about living in or visiting NYC? Leave your thoughts in the comments section!

Related Posts:

• New York Tip #1: Become a Regular Somewhere

• What Are Some Underrated NYC Attractions?

What Are Some Underrated NYC Attractions?

When people visit NYC, they want to experience "the real deal"—not just the Empire State Building. So here's a pretty specific, localized list of underrated attractions in the East Village of Manhattan. Skip the hop-on, hop-off bus and do you own weird walking tour! 

1. Get some of the best coffee in the city at Abraco on 7th street and if you're hungry, sample their olive oil cakes. Then walk down 7th and pop your head into thrift stores like punk-themed Trash and Vaudeville, or AuH20.
2. Keep heading east on 7th, and walk around Tompkins Square Park. There's a lot of history here, including riots in both the 1870s and 1980s. But now visitors stroll through and people watch, listen to music, or check out the dog park on the far side of Tompkins.
3. If you're hungry, I would recommend Tompkins Square Bagels for the real hand-rolled, water-boiled experience. Or, stop in to Crif Dogs for a tasty hotdog with all the fixings. Note: There's a telephone both at the front of this restaurant, and a speakeasy rests on the other side of the wall. Please don't tell...
4. Head back west on St. Marks. The Museum of the American Gangster is usually open from 1-6pm, and is a fun little tour.

Other Things to See in the East Village

• Nuyorican Poets Cafe
• Community Gardens (my favorite is on 6th between Avenue B and C)
• The Museum of Reclaimed Urban Space
• Sidewalk Cafe, a hub for the Antifolk music scene
• STOMP's Off-Broadway show

Places to Eat and Drink

• McSorley's (the oldest "Irish" tavern in New York City)
• Ace bar (with arcade games)
• The Wayland (best garden margarita, tasty brunch)
• International Bar (total dive with outdoor space)
• ABC Beer (outdoor space, craft beer)
• Lois Wine Bar (good snacks, wine on tap)
• Ten Degrees (good happy hour)
• Mudspot on 9th (yummy brunch)
• The Smith (brunch spot that takes reservations)
• Death and Co. ("speakeasy" that's easier to get into before 8pm)
• The Mermaid Inn (more expensive, but amazing seafood)
• Van Leeuwen Ice Cream
• Big Gay Ice Cream

Walkable Attractions + Neighborhoods

• Union Square
• The Strand Book Store
• Soho and Lower East Side
• Washington Square Park

Have a question about other underrated attractions? Leave a note in the comments section below! 

Family brunch at Mudspot.

What is the Climate in NYC by Season?

So you want to visit NYC, but you don't know the best time of year to schedule your visit. Here are some facts to consider: The Big Apple has all four seasons (though our spring is quite fickle!). This image from Weather.com is a helpful visual of our average temperatures by month. Note that July is typically the warmest, and January is the coldest.  

Other Considerations

• In the summer (June - mid September) NYC has some major humidity, like much of the East Coast. We don't have “dry heat” like you might experience in Arizona or parts of California. So you need to stay hydrated because you’re going to sweat—quite a bit! Also, please wear deodorant, especially if you are taking public transportation. 
• Many large department stores and restaurants blast the AC in the summertime, so if you’re one of those people who gets cold indoors easily, pack a light sweater in your backpack for the day. 
• In winter, wear layers! I repeat, wear lots of layers. I invested in a knee-length down coat as soon as I moved to NYC, and it was probably one of my best purchases. I wear fleece-lined tights in winter. When it’s really unbearable outside, I also wear tights under my jeans. While New York is not the coldest city in America, it's important to remember walking is one of our main forms of transposition. Be prepared for snow if you’re visiting in December - February.
• In my opinion, New York was made for fall. Summer is my favorite time of year, but I think autumn is a lovely time to visit. You can see the leaves changing in Central Park, wear a light jacket, and worry less about rain than in the springtime. But honestly, every season has its perks :)

Me and my #1 Dude in Brooklyn during fall. 

Have a question about a certain season in NYC? Leave your thoughts below in the comments section!

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Double Decker Bus Tour of Downtown Manhattan See the best sights in lower Manhattan with a pass valid for 24 hours. This New York tour includes stops to Greenwich Village, Times Square, Empire State Building, Rockefeller Center, SoHo, Chinatown, Little Italy and more!

In Local's Guide to NYC, New York City Tags new york city, new york city climate, new york city seasons, local's guide to NYC, brooklyn seasons, average nyc temperatures

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The Full Circle Black Dress

I slip on a black dress. 

This particular type of garment always reminds me of Bloomingdale's. The dress code for a salesgirl was black from head to toe. My shoes, dresses, headbands, and even my tights were a vibrant black. Washing your clothes led to fading, which, in turn led to being called out by management. So we all washed our laundry in cold water and talked about the benefits of air drying.  

The department store that I worked for was, and is still, located on Broadway in the fashionable Soho neighborhood of New York. At one point during the 1980s, this stretch of street was a graffiti-covered eyesore complete with squatters and dingy bars. Now, Michael Kors, Longchamp, and Apple are just a few of the profitable high-end retail shops that call Soho home. I always struggle to decide if pre- or post-gentrification is truly better for the middle class residents of New York City—but the Soho I know is the second one, and from here on out that is how we shall picture it: tenements converted into luxury lofts, with retail shops on the first floor and cafés or national banks on the corners. 

Bloomingdales' building was six floors with a basement or three. At the very top was the employee lounge, complete with couches, lockers, and a kitchen. I spent several lunches up there attempting to finish homework for grad school while eating a PB&J and a bag of chips. But for me, the worst part about working at Bloomingdale's was the exceedingly long amount of time I was expected to stay indoors under fluorescent lights. Therefore, most of my breaks consisted of 20 to 30 minute walks and a stop for food somewhere along the way. As long as I could see the people of New York moving about like buzzing bees, and feel the warmth of the sun burning my scalp, I was at peace. Sometimes Kelley Rippa would walk past me toward her Crosby Street home, and I’d smile and think, “Hey, you’re really doing this.”

Me, circa 2010, working at Bloomingdales Soho.  

(I’m now zipping up my black dress, reflecting on past versions of myself.)

The bottom basement of Bloomingdale's housed the managers’ offices, some stock rooms, and a massive amount of Brown Bags. These were important marketing tools for Bloomies and came in “big,” “medium,” or “small.” Every item of clothing a customer purchased was wrapped in white tissue paper, and then placed in these iconic shopping bags—which, also reeked of mold when left in a damp NYC basement for too long. The stench made me depressed because I hated rounding up these moist containers from a basement that never saw the sunlight, but joyful because ungodly humans with grotesque bratty children valued them and trotted around the city boasting of their newly purchased treasures in a bag that was already rotting from the inside out.  

A strange pang of rage shoots up my neck as I look at myself in the floor-length mirror attached to my bathroom door. Until this moment, I hadn’t realized my anger at certain types of customers still lingered deep below the surface. But maybe I should have guessed. To this day, there is a small collection of acquaintances that I can’t stand accompanying to a shop or restaurant. Their blatant ambivalence—or worse, neediness—of the salesgirls and wait staff is so uncomfortable, I find myself acting overly smiley and apologetic to the person being mistreated by the entitled patron in my presence. No “please,” no “thank you,” and an authoritative tone make me want to shake whoever I’m with and scream, “you’re nothing special!”

The customer is not always right. But then again, neither is the employee. 

“Excuse me, where’s the restroom?” a woman with a fanny pack asked the sales associate closest to me. This particular member of the staff held the record for number of dresses sold, and had worked on the third floor since the opening of the Soho location. But when she didn’t sniff out a sale, she often acted like a cavewoman, complete with monosyllabic grunts and hand gestures. Today was no exception: She didn’t even look up as she pointed a thumb over her shoulder, indicating the direction of the toilets.  

This was the worst type of person to work with: aggressive about getting her number of sales, and completely useless for anything else. Counting the money? Straightening the racks at night? The cavewoman would halfheartedly do a little of this, or a little of that. But the second a sophisticated guest walked in, her posture changed and her vocabulary grew to include phrases like, “This is a completely new Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress, created for the spring line—it’s only been here a few days and selling out fast. I’m happy to leave one in the back for you, my dear.”

And now, seven years later, here I am working at an advertising agency, and wearing my own DVF dress. Vibrant black. Patton leather heels. A manicure.

But look closely…

There’s a chip in the nail polish on my left thumb. I’ve never been able to completely kill my nail biting habit.

And the attire? All of my name brand clothing is secondhand, including the Jimmy Choos on my feet. I’d rescued those poor stilettos from a dumpster while I was interning at a magazine in midtown. Like Cinderella and her glass slipper, they fit just right and they’ve been mine ever since.

And my job? Well, I didn’t know it yet—but I was about to lose it.
To be continued...

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“The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun.”

— Jon Krakauer, Into the Wild

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New York Tip #5: Some Things Are Worth Paying For

I do not enjoy the repetition of seemingly insignificant tasks. Laundry is a prime example. I can’t think of a chore I loathe more.

In the city, “doing your laundry” typically means you have to lug a heavy pile of dirty underwear and dresses down the street. You don’t have a car, and your mesh hamper is always on the brink of ripping apart. (But that’s your own fault because you haven’t replaced it since college.)

Then, you start sorting your apparel in a dingy room, complete with soul-sucking florescent lights and other people’s dirty underwear. It’s usually stuffy and crowded on the weekends, so try to make your trips at random times, like a Tuesday night post-happy hour.

Once you’ve crammed all your laundry into one washer with both hands and maybe a foot, fish out 12 quarters and hope you’ve done your math appropriately. NO, I see you! Don’t bother sorting your colors from your whites, my dear. You’ll be here all day, and these industrial washers make your laundry sixty shades of gray anyway.

$1.75 for a 20-minute wash seems about right. So toss in the quarters—one will always get stuck—and then consider what other chores you can do for that odd period of allotted time. Going home is a waste of movement, as it takes five minutes to get there and five minutes to get back. Looks like it’s time for another coffee at the café nearby?

Ok! You’ve refueled and you’re feeling fine—this terrible process is halfway done. Now, wrangle one of those huge metal carts used for taking your clothes from the washer to the dryer. Scout out the territory and walk with confidence. Fight off the angry old bat who smells strongly of cat pee. Procure your wet laundry’s vehicle with authority!

As you pull your clothing out of the washer, one of your bras will inevitably fall to the floor.
Throw the old thing out?
Rewash it? (No.)
Just shrug and stick the now dusty garment into the cart with your clean clothes.
A little dirt never hurt.

Squeak, squeak, squeak.

Roll the cart across the aisle and examine the wall of endlessly tumbling dryers. Someone else has also just finished their wash cycle—you can hear the squeak of their cart approaching.

And then disaster strikes.
Full dryer, full dryer, full dryer…
All the machines are taken.
You will have to wait.
We don’t like to WAIT.

But what’s this… ah, do you see it? In the far-left corner there’s a perfectly empty machine, glimmering in the distance. It's the trophy your hard labor deserves.

Sq-sq-sq-squeak! Sq-sq-sq-squeak!

The other Washed Woman has also spotted the dryer. Move, my friend. Act fast! This is now a race you cannot lose! Being damned to the laundromat with a cart of wet clothing and waiting in dryer limbo is one of New York’s worst punishments. This, and being grazed by a rat. 

Your cart is slightly ahead of the other woman’s so lock in and push fast. Past the crying baby, past the women watching a soap opera. You roll over the forgotten towel on the floor—speed bump!—and squeak your way into first place. Washed Woman closes in behind you, but don’t turn around; don’t engage. Put your damp clothes in that dryer and mark your territory like a dog peeing on a mailbox.

Victory is yours! Yes, you might feel a little out of breath. You heart is racing and there’s sweat on your brow, but the extreme anxiety you’re feeling only makes you more successful in your pursuit for moderately clean clothing.  

Doing laundry in the city is its own specific type of hustle. I can only imagine what urban mothers must endure—those heaps of clothing I see on Instagram are panic-inducing.

This, my friends, is why I now utilize the drop off service. I still walk to the laundromat with my college hamper, but no longer do I engage in cart competitions. Some other kind soul washes and folds my wardrobe. I am a seasoned New Yorker, therefore, I know the extra $8 is worth my mental stability. The same rules apply for $10 late-night Ubers. 

And if I had a psychiatrist, I’m sure she’d advise the same.

I haul my laundry to this little street in Brooklyn. 

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“New York is an ugly city, a dirty city. Its climate is a scandal, its politics are used to frighten children, its traffic is madness, its competition is murderous. But there is one thing about it: Once you have lived in New York and it has become your home, no place else is good enough. ”

— John Steinbeck

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Editor's Note: This is real life. 

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