Times Square: The Death of Happiness

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I hate Times Square. It’s a melting pot of sweaty tourists, crusty foreigners, swindlers, pick-pockets, rude grandma’s, screaming children, the occasional Broadway actor donning a baseball cap — as if all the Rude Grandma’s and Screaming Children will recognize Fiyero from Wicked, and my personal favorite: the flea-infested costumed characters that harass everyone and everything that crosses their path like a frat boy virgin in a strip club.

On Monday, I took my cousin visiting from California to NYC. Our goal: Tour the Empire State Building, see Times Square.

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Left to right: Steve, my aunt Missy, my cousin Scary from California, me, my cousin Christopher

HOLY TOURIST ATTRACTIONS, BATMAN!

Here are some things you may not know about me. If you’re familiar with logic, I hope you’ll see where I’m going with this:

  1. Hoards of people give me anxiety
  2. New York City has hoards of people

If A = C, and B = A, then C = B.

Oh, and THE HEAT.

I sweat more than a 400 pound diabetic walking to the mailbox during a heatwave.

So you can imagine how this little foray into the city on Monday made me feel. Especially in Times Square. During one of the heaviest tourist seasons.

As we pushed and shoved our way through apathetic tourists — sidenote: don’t stop in the middle of crossing an intersection to hug your family members, especially if the traffic light is GREEN — we were approached by costumed superheroes and Sesame Street characters, and dwarfed, ratty versions of Minnie Mouse and Hello, Kitty who looked more like STD-infested prostitutes than childhood characters of yore.

This is what I don’t get. Why waste your time dressing in a WalMart Iron Man costume with a plastic half-head mask? Do these people really expect to be welcomed with open arms? Why is Minnie Mouse wearing a Forever 21 tube top? Why does Hello, Kitty have Pamela Anderson boobs?

But my favorite is when they corner themselves and huddle together, take off their masks and pass money back and forth to each other.

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THIS SHIT IS TRAUMATIZING.

If I were a child who believed in Elmo and idolized Cookie Monster, I would be HORRIFIED.

A MAN IS LITERALLY EMERGING FROM COOKIE MONSTER’S NECK. WTF.

This is like some backdoor drug deal shit.

Goodbye, childhood innocence!

Goodbye, hopes and dreams!

Goodbye, light and laughter!

I felt like I had just witnessed the death of happiness.

Or maybe Times Square and it’s moldy fondue pot of unsavory characters is just a window into the real horrors of life.

6 thoughts on “Times Square: The Death of Happiness

  1. Pingback: A Little Vacation… | beautiful chaos

  2. Amen to that! Times Square is a horrible hellhole, despite what anyone in the government says. It’s still a drug-infested den of sin, but now it has lots of flashing lights and the people doing the drugs are wearing designer sneakers. Every time I go there it makes me want to… well, I won’t write it here. Arg.

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