Rich Mintz  

I did a little research (one Google search, it took five seconds), and was able to confirm that yes, it’s a DEP environmental law violation in New York City to leave the doors of your store open on a hot day, with freezing-cold air-conditioned air flowing into the street. (Exemptions apply, e.g., if you’re not a chain store or are under 4,000 square feet.)

Today at lunch I passed five violating establishments along just three blocks of one side of Fifth Avenue. I shut one of the doors myself; I had words with employees of two of the other stores, one of whom immediately closed the doors (perhaps to reopen them after I left). The greeter in the third, it was clear, had no interest in the ravings of a sweaty lunatic, but it turns out there’s an easy way for me to get my revenge: I’ll fill out this form on NYC.gov and the DEP will put an agent on the case. Your tax dollars at work, doing just a little at the margins to reduce our carbon footprint. Go team NYC, and score one for the grumpy old man!

John Scalzi reminds us that the failure mode of “clever” is… “asshole.” There’s no parallel channel carrying nuance when you’re communicating online, and in asynchronous communications like email it’s hard to notice and correct a misalignment on the fly. So… if you don’t know someone well, don’t overreach in your first email communication; just say what you mean.

What’s funny to me about this is that if we’re talking about face-to-face communication, this is just common sense that everybody knows. Somehow online, everything is different, and we have to relearn all those basic lessons. (And I wish I could read the email to Scalzi that set off his semi-rant.)

Now that I’m a Busy New Yorker with Places to Go, I have much more respect than I used to for efficiency in the customer experience.

When I first arrived here, and realized that it was very common to be served coffee with the milk already added, my reaction was, “ew! What if they put in too much milk? Or too little?”

But I got over myself, after realizing that (1) once you’ve decided to add milk in the first place, coffee is equally delicious with milk added in a pretty wide range of amounts, (2) people who add milk to coffee for a living know how much to put in, and (3) who gives a crap?

If you’re on the way to work and you stop at a coffee cart to grab a cup, the guy in the cart knows what to do. It’s fine — let him put in the milk. And the same for sugar. I know how much sugar I like when I’m preparing my coffee myself. Sometimes the cart guy puts in too little; sometimes he puts in too much. But it’s fine. The coffee always seems to come out somewhere in the “drinkable” range. And it’s nice to save that extra time and effort.

Now, after a few years of doing it the New York way, I can’t stand being forced to adulterate my own beverages, and when you’re outside New York, you almost always do. And increasingly I’m finding New York is just like the rest of the world. This is presented as a convenience — “make it your way” — but, really, at 8:45 in the morning, when my briefcase is over my shoulder and the newspaper is under my arm and I’ve got a CVS bag in one hand and my wallet in the other, really, I have to walk over there, put everything down, take the lid off, and add my own milk?

Even worse is “we’ll add the milk, but you have to add your own sugar.” Really? I’m talking to you, Wichcraft 20th Street, and you, Zaro’s Penn Station. Penn Station! All day long people come in there with bags and luggage slung over their shoulder, hot and sweaty, their hands full. You’re adding the milk already. You can’t add the sugar? There’s nothing as generic and fungible as a spoonful of industrial sugar. I don’t care if it’s Domino’s Golden Crystals or Sysco sugar — it’s sugar! Get yourself one of those metal bins like the coffee cart guy has, and add my damn sugar.

Thank you for your consideration.

After less than 1 hour of trying to get around in the city with an ankle strain (left leg would prefer not to bear my full weight, although it can; would prefer not to be torqued, although if need be it can take it — in other words, left leg is just kind of being a wuss), I’m annoyed at everyone and everything. I couldn’t walk 2 blocks to Fulton and Broadway to catch a cab without getting murderously crabby, and people kept going around me on the sidewalk with that icy gaze that New Yorkers give you when you’re standing between them and whatever is next.

And I’m even in my comfortable but not-really-business-appropriate shoes!

I can only imagine what it would be like to live in the city with a real disability, or even an actually disabling short-term injury that you knew would be healing soon. (On the other hand, at least I don’t have to drive. I’m not sure I could work the clutch today…)

Also, Rich, what the hell is in your briefcase? On a day like this, it feels like it weighs a zillion and one point six pounds.

I said I was fine, but now my leg (the one I fell on, Death Becomes Her style) is all swole up and sore. I can walk (didn’t break anything), but I wouldn’t be trying to if I lived anywhere but New York (the City Where Not Walking Is Not an Option). I have a full day tomorrow; we’ll see how I survive.

What is wrong with people (WIWWP)?

Know what I hate today? Passive-aggressive recyclers. “These takeout containers are made of plastic, so they should be recyclable, right? They have the little symbol on them, so I’ll put them in the bin.”

Hello! There is a decal from the NYC Department of Environmental Protection right there in front of you that shows you exactly what belongs in the bin. In fact, someone called you attention to the decal JUST NOW, but you apparently thought it would be more virtuous to throw some trash yes trash in the bin.

When you do your little move, your taxes have to pay someone to pick through the recycling, pull out the trash yes trash that you put in with the recycling, and haul it to the dump. How is that a better outcome than just throwing your trash away in the first place?