It’s been a little over a month now, and I just found a draft I wrote on my very first afternoon here. It seems a lifetime ago: come reminisce with me about that first morning, when the world was fresh and alien and almost nothing I saw made any sense to me.
After a tipple or two (or three) the night before, I awoke at 6.30am – hey thanks jet-lag, appreciate it – stumbled over last night’s clothes and a couple of half-open suitcases and wondered fruitlessly what was happening in the real world (aka London), where it was 11.30am and presumably rainy.
By 9am I had a place for every thing, and everything in its place, and had moved on to re-arranging the living room and kitchen. Nice.
Shortly thereafter, my cunning plan to navigate Manhattan by compass accidentally took us to Battery Park and spurred us to get American mobile phone plans sooner rather than later, so we could once again deny any evolutionary or learn-ed skills and resume status as savants with lightning-fast and pinpoint-precise fingers darting onto a touchscreen faster than the eye can see; think The Sundance Kid, but with the ability to show you the exact weather in the Republic of Kazakhstan at any second (subject to 3G connectivity.)
3G connectivity for iPhones is only available in America through AT&T, but after AT&T told us only offered two-year contracts, we turned, disconsolate and inconsolable to the helpful and friendly (I tried to avoid using American as the adjective, herein I fail – it’s just too true) folks in the nearby T-Mobile store. Life on the EDGE was, alas, a step too far. We were in a pickle, so it was time to turn to the ultimate source of aid: Twitter.
A return to the AT&T store replete with a plausible lie (recommended by an Internet person); a confident gaze; and a pair of T-Mobile leaflets held none-too-subtly, and we now have their two-year ‘family plan’ (a fantastic concept – check it out), but with the right to cancel it without penalty after our 6 months are up.
Next up this morning (yep, we’re not even at noon yet, go get yourself a cup of tea and settle in, I’ll wait) was a visit to Radio Shack. If you met the perfect girl – witty; fun; shapely; blonde; deviant – this is what her father’s shed would look like. Gadgets and toys littered around the shelves, but the real treasures hidden away in draws categorised and stuffed with obsessive precision – if there’s a fuse, connector or cable you’re after that they don’t stock, the store manager’s firstborn’s child is forfeit.
That’s a picture of a Radio Shack store I found on the Internet. I have no idea what’s happening but that guy looks like a cross between Elvis and a Gunslinger.
We rounded off the morning with an American ideal – a good burger from goodburger; I absolutely adore the notion that one can choose how a burger is cooked (and order it online.)