New York's New Normal?
NYC During COVID
POST 21: Saturday, August 22, 2020
I was back on the Merritt Parkway yesterday. Although I admired its sinuous beauty, the parkway did not live up to its end up of the bargain. (See POST 20 if you have no idea what I’m referring to and think I’m barking mad.)
My 17-year-old daughter and I are headed to NYC to clean and organize my mother-in-law’s house. She's returning from rehab next week (whoo hoo!!) after being hit by a car last spring. We decided to give ourselves a little treat and stay overnight in Manhattan before heading to Queens.
Our hotel is located where artsy/gritty Chelsea meets commuters’ Midtown. I selected it because of its location: close to but not in Times Square and other touristy areas to the north, a good-workout walk to the south, with its consignment clothing shops, The Strand book store, and lots of outdoor dining options. Also, it was about $200 less per night than you'd normally pay for a hotel in this location in August.
When we checked in around 3:30 PM, the huge art deco lobby smelled “mmm, yummy” fresh and was empty of everyone except a janitor vigorously rubbing an ornate brass railing. Both the emptiness and the hits-you-in-the-face-in-a-good-way smell of clean are what I was hoping for at a hotel during a pandemic. The friendly woman behind the desk asked how things were in Massachusetts during The Time of COVID. It felt like we were comparing notes from different war zones.
Lucia and I took the elevator to our room on the 22nd floor, where we "oohed" and "aahed" at our view, appreciated the serviceable job the hotel has done of updating its aging bones with fun wallpaper, and the fresh, clean smell of the bed sheets and towels.
After descending back into the empty lobby, we left the hotel and enjoyed wandering around Chelsea and Greenwich Village for a few hours. These neighborhoods have retained their vibrancy during COVID since actual people live in them, yet, with far fewer tourists, the streets are easier to navigate and there was no wait for an outdoor restaurant at 6:30 PM.
People-watching was the usual entertaining circus it always is in New York—that is, until late afternoon gave way to early evening, when the peacock-hat-wearing, roller-blading-shirtless-with-dog-in-backpack types were suddenly outnumbered by homeless people grouped on park benches, a toothless woman trudging along The Avenue of the Americas pulling a dilapidated grocery cart, sleeping bodies tucked into doorways of the shuttered businesses we passed as we hurried back toward midtown and, specifically, our bathroom. In NYC, you can’t just pop into a restroom anymore after you’ve had a sangria and several glasses of water.
About ½ block from our hotel, we passed a woman wearing bright yellow patent stiletto heels and the unmistakable attire of a streetwalker. Once she’d sauntered/staggered past us—the woman was clearly on drugs—I asked Lucia, “Do you know what that woman does?”
“Yes, mom, I do,” she replied through gritted teeth, looking at me like I was the stupidest person alive and darting ahead into the revolving door. Much to her chagrin, I managed to squeeze in with her.
When we stepped into the lobby, we saw a family—mother and father carrying paper bags of clothing, a young girl hugging a stuffed animal—huddled next to an ornate couch that was roped off and had a “do not touch” sign next to it; a young couple slumped on the marble floor near the elevator; and a withered old man leaning against a white column. The vibe of the hotel had completely transformed: the feeling was taut, full of the mental and emotional baggage these people had brought inside with them.
I realized that I was seeing, in action, Mayor Bill DeBlasio’s controversial plan to house homeless people in hotels that would, in non-COVID times, have been populated by tourists.
My jumble of thoughts at this recognition included:
Good for this hotel for taking them in;
No wonder this place smells like it’s cleaned 50 times a day: it probably is cleaned 50 times a day;
That poor little girl, where does she go during the day?
The taxpayers of New York are up in arms about this and I don’t blame them;
The taxpayers of New York are up in arms about this and, if they saw these people. maybe they wouldn’t be so upset;
I always thought it was a waste when hotels had empty space while so many people were living on the streets or in tiny rooms: well, here’s the space being used;
Please tell me that prostitute isn’t staying here.
When we left our room later in search of dessert, the elevator doors opened in the lobby to the sight of the prostitute taking off a yellow stiletto heel and rubbing one of her feet. Her pimp? John? Boyfriend? was standing behind her, jabbing at his cell phone.
As our school district is overly fond of saying, there’s a lot to “unpack” here. And I'll attempt to do it in my next post.