That's not my problem

Call me a New Yorker, (a title I am at times proud to call myself), call me obnoxious, call me whatever you want. But sometimes, I just don't care.

It is said that New Yorkers are always in their own little world, don't pay attention to anyone around them, and are deaf to the sound of a cry for help. While some of this may be true, it is evident by events such as 9/11 that as a people we all come together when it is really needed. Much like a family. Okay, a dysfunctional family.

I'd say this excerpt from a review on the new TV show '2 broke girls' describes New York City in a nutshell: "Subway indifference: When Max gets accidentally tasered on the subway by a sleeping Caroline, she collapses to the ground while the other train riders completely ignore her. When she gets up, she shouts, “I’m good. Thanks for the help, New York.” Sounds about right: The activities that subway passengers will not take out their earbuds for are boundless."

So we are indifferent. That doesn't mean when you need us we won't be there. But sometimes it's really not my problem.

Which brings me to favors. I am a sucker for saying yes. Ask me for a favor and I'd rather say yes than disappoint you. Does that make me a wimp? Or a really nice person?

But imagine this scenario:

Someone asks you to pick up something of theirs which someone else brought in for them from out of town, and drop it off at another person's house so it can finish its journey and end up at their door. They don't tell you exactly what the items are so you don't know if you will be able to carry them or not.  Then when you graciously agree to help them out you get to the address they told you and low and behold! It's the wrong house. Apparently the people who lived there are now dead.

Thankfully, the real and very much alive family lives 2 doors down. Next step: Knock on their door. No answer. Okay, call them. But no number. Their name is impossible to spell, not to mention you aren't even sure it's the right house.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Confirmation of correct address, but they are not home.

After all this, you've wasted a good 45 minutes of your day and are rightfully frustrated.

And then the person asked you to try again another time. Really?

If I didn't like her so much I would have told her what I really thought.

If, (and I say if since it is a rare occurrence,) I ever ask people for a favor this is what I would do:

Call the people who brought in the package, make sure they are home, arrange a time when the person I have asked to pick it up can come, etc. I like when things are organized and coordinated so as not to put people out.

End of story: I finally stopped by there one day on my way home from work after much friendly cajoling on the friend's part. Annnnndddd.... (drum roll please) they told me the package was already dropped off at the person in mention's relatives house. And she never bothered to tell me. (Okay, I did keep telling her that I 'forgot' to arrange to pick it up but that was my nice way of saying, find another sucker to do it.)

A wasted stop.

Now if this is not the place where I can use all the obnoxious New York energy I have built up, I don't know when is.

I would like to believe that I am a nice person. Sometimes more or less than others. There are many ways to be nice to people, and it doesn't always involve putting yourself out on the behalf of others.

Ask me for directions, I'm happy to help if I can. Ask me for a ride and if I had a car I'd give you one. Ask me for money and I'll lend you some if you need.

You know that joke that says, a good friend would bale you out of jail, but a true friend would be sitting there next to you saying, oh no we messed up?

Well, if you ever call me from jail, you better be real sure that we are true friends, otherwise:

"Sorry sweetie, that's not my problem."