Diamond District Glory

What: Pawning Silver

Where: Diamond District, New York
Who: Jehdy and Myself

Having lived in New York for some time now, my father decided it was time for me to do him a favor and sell the silver his father left to him when he passed away. Seeming like a simple task I obliged and scouted out the diamond district for the best possible place to sell his metal.

Review after review popped up on my Google search. Most of the reviews were awful claiming that they had been ripped off. This was no surprise, the business of pawn shops and jewelry stores is very clear: make the most money possible and screw the person selling to you.

I finally decided on three locations that had the best of the bad reviews and dragged my coworker Jehdy with me during lunch. Not sure what I was up against I knew I might need backup.

Upon arriving to the first store we were lead to a back room where the price of silver was looked up online for the trading price that day and then my treasure was weighed. The old Jewish man then told me the best he could do was 4 dollars per ounce below the selling price, he was screwing me essentially.

The next office procured another Jewish man who went through the same process. They must have felt comfortable trying to screw me out of hundreds of dollars assuming that I had no knowledge or backbone, unbeknownst to them many of my family members are Jewish and I learned to haggle with the best of them.

This time the man offered me a reasonable price for the silver and I accepted. As I signed away the rights to the silver he asked if I wanted cash or a check. Having still not opened a New York bank account (way overdue) I asked for cash to hold me over for a while.

As the man counted the cash he gave me an extra $100. Unsure if he miscounted I took the cash and walked out with Jehdy. We both felt slightly violated by the back room experience and had to shake off the dirty feeling we were sure was associated with being a call girl (not that we saw anything wrong with this lifestyle.) As I counted my extra hundred dollars I smiled to myself thinking that I was the first person to screw the diamond district (a title I will not let go of soon.)

When I've retold this story to my friends I assure them I robbed the man and took more than he offered...there is only one witness to deny this, but luckily her price was only $50.

Goals Accomplished:

1) First visit to the Diamond District
2) Uncomfortable feeling like a hooker

3) You can beat the people trying to screw you

How Far Down Does the Club Have to be in order to be Considered a Bunker?

What: Soft Opening for a club

Where: The Bunker Club, Meatpacking

Who: Amanda, Alex, Me

Welcome to Bunker, another sheik club that the meatpacking district can add to its repertoire. While I would normally not attend an overly buzzed about club because I don’t believe in lines on principal (there are 30 other clubs in a 5 block radius without lines) I went because a friend who works there put us on a list for a private party sponsored by Veuve Clicquot. No waiting and free alcohol? It was as though this friend knew my hopes and dreams…at least for the evening.

Virtually impossible to find Bunker is located beneath Bill’s Bar and Burger and right around the corner from 675; owned by the same group. I arrived to the club with my friends Amanda and Alex and were immediately prompted to specify which list we were on…apparently there were multiple. After finding the appropriate list and getting my ID checked twice we were ushered down a dingy stairwell to arrive in a very hip, well decorated club.

Once inside the club partygoers can gaze up at the arched stone ceiling dotted with skylights that are cast with shadows of passerby’s on the street. A giant disco ball spins over the small, but adequate dance floor in front of the DJ who is spinning an eclectic selection of classics intertwined with modern beats.

The walls are lined with tables for bottle service and further back past the dance floor is a wall of open glass doors leading to a semi-private bottle service area. The overly attractive waitresses and bartenders are quick, polite, and radiate just a hint of arrogance; a perfect combination of the service they provide and the slight power they have over guests.

Along the bar that spans almost half of this intimate nightclub one can grab a seat and enjoy nearly any cocktail their heart desires. At the very end of the bar stand two bookcases, relics of an old Saturday Night Live set, both a great talking piece and amply appropriate for the décor.

And while I enjoyed the free champagne and chocolate covered strawberries, my most entertaining part of the night had to be the people watching. Most of the people appeared to be models (a theory that was further proven by their refusal to eat food, smile and act as though they were having fun.) Scantily clad women hung off the arms of what appeared to be rich men and then the most enjoyable had to be the outrageously dressed fashionistas who spun on the dance floor before sulking at a table.

Goals Accomplished:

1) First invite to a trendy Meatpacking club

2) Momentarily uncomfortable by the clientel

3) Learned...free champagne=headache...and that people who want to be seen are as dreary as they appear

The Apartment Hunt

*photo property of brooklynnynews.com

What: Apartment Hunting
Where: Midtown East/West, Hell's Kitchen, Greenwich Village, West Village, Bushwick
Who: Carson and Me

“It will all work out.” A lovely sentiment from friends and those I encountered while apartment hunting in New York City, but since their bum was not between a rock and hard place their words were lost on me.

Growing up I had apartment/condo/house hunted on multiple occasions with my parents. The main difference between then and now was that there was no dire need to move, no end point at which we had to vacate our current premises, no landlord banging down the door, and definitely no management company threatening to withhold a security deposit.

Last month there were all of those things and more. Brokers missed appointments, other brokers showed Carson and me the same apartment, even worse brokers showed us apartments that were already rented, and the very worst brokers tried to bait and switch us.

With eight days left in our lease Carson found an apartment on his own. Feeling slightly more screwed than before I panicked and reached out to a few friends whose couches I proposed a rental fee for.

Then, with four days left, Carson found out that there was an opening in the apartment he was going to sign for. However, when I found out there were no windows in the room I had to turn down the offer. The past year without windows dubbed me Harry Potter (I should also mentioned that I literally lived under a staircase) among my friends and I feared that another year would dub me Smegal.

I now reside in Bushwick (or far East Williamsburg if you are speaking to someone trying to fool themselves) for the next two months until I sign a new lease with a friend in Manhattan. Supposedly an “up and coming” section of Brooklyn, Bushwick has piqued my interest more than I could have anticipated. There is a version of Costco with products that are unrecognizable, a JFK Fried Chicken that serves seafood 24 hours a day and gunshots are simply the crickets of the neighborhood. The commute to work is the same, eating out is cheaper, groceries are basically free, oh and my rent is less than half…why didn’t I try this sooner?

Goals Accomplished:
1) First time I have had to apartment hunt, when I moved down I was offered a spot
2) More uncomfortable with fried chicken and fish than with the crickets
3) Learned the cost saving lifestyle attainable in Brooklyn

It's Not a Bar Fight When it's on a Boat

*photo: property of www.theyoungandthehungry.com

What: Bar Fight
Where: The Frying Pan
Who: My roommates, myself, miscellaneous rowdy men

I find it remarkable that I have been in New York City for months and just recently saw my first bar fight; or rather I saw a ‘boat fight.’ On Saturday night I went to the Frying Pan as a send off for one of my roommates who is leaving for London.

Located on the Hudson, the Frying Pan, is a boat that is permanently docked and serves as a bar in the warmer months. There are two smaller side boats, the first of which has dancing down below at the base of the ship.

After having one drunken jock approach me, initiating a fight, on my walk through the dock to the ship I realized I had entered a rowdy location. I made my way over to the further side boat and found my friends seated around a large table.

Within ten minutes my attention turned to the party of thirty next to us. One man at the table next to us was shouting at a guy on the main boat, which could not have been more than three feet away. The guy on the main boat was urinating off the side of the main boat into the direction of the side boat. A shouting match ensued when the party next to us proceeded to take an innocent picture of themselves and the Pisser accused them of trying to snap a photo of his ‘piece.’ (Definition number 7 in the link)

One of the girls at the party turned out to be a quite a firecracker and started throwing bottles at the Pisser and one broke upon hitting him. The Pissers friends started shouting and in return the guys at the Party table decided to take action. Instead of walking twenty feet down the side boat to dock back onto the main boat they decided to take a scene straight out of a pirate movie. Five of the guys in the Party climbed up the railing of the side boat and jumped to the railing of the main boat and scaled up the side.

Moments later the Pisser was in a chokehold and one of his friends was being punched in the face. Fists were thrown and men were falling to the ground. At least ten people were taking part in this fight; the guys from the Party outnumbering the Pisser’s friends exponentially.

One female bartender tried to shout to stop the fight while her male counterpart continued serving drinks. Without adequate security at this location the fight was not broken up. Instead it continued with punches being thrown, men rolling on the floor, and violent words until the Pisser and his friends retreated.

Just when I thought I had witnessed a great fight, the girl who threw the bottle that smashed over the Pisser proceeded to go onto the main boat and retrieve the Pisser’s food which had been delivered and left untouched. Needless to say this girl is now my hero.

Goals Accomplished:
1) First New York Bar Fight
2) Not terribly uncomfortable...there were no bottles aimed at me
3) The firecracker girl taught me that you truly can have your cake and eat it too...and if you want to have a successful bar fight without any arrests, do it at a place like the Frying Pan where security is lacking