Though I often toot my own horn for being low maintenance, I’m going to go ahead and round out Manic Monday with a post on some of the recent first world problems I’ve encountered. Feel free to vent about some of your own first world frustrations in the comment section, or berate me for being an ungrateful American.
For a myriad of reasons, I’m a lucky person. My first job in New York was located in the MeatPacking district, a swanky treasure in lower Manhattan frequented by many celebrities and famous figures (my boss and I spotted Tyler Perry walking into Spice Market right before Christmas). The office was also conveniently located just a block away from Chelsea Market, which I like to call “a mall for food.” The proper term is “food court,” but it’s nothing like the messy, rank eating areas you’ve encountered in malls or airports.
Chelsea Market is home to many high end restaurants, eateries, and stores. You walk in and immediately see Antropologie, and if you’re anything like me, the women’s apparel shop could be a major productivity (or financial!) killer during your short lunch break. Though you may think otherwise, you’re not safe once you’ve successfully moved past Anthropologie without stepping into the shop. You have countless restaurants ahead. It’s like being buckled into a roller coaster seat as the car inches up the tracks, ticking throughout the ascent: There’s no going back now.
For months, I relied on Chelsea Market to provide me with healthy, reasonably priced lunch. I found myself ordering tomato soup regularly from Hale and Hearty and getting lost in Eleni’s to buy treats for friends and family members all over the country. Like many New Yorkers, Chelsea Market customers are always in a rush, so a leisurely stroll through the large complex does not make for a relaxing lunch break after all. Especially because the inside of Chelsea Market resembles a cave:
And it’s also no fun having to deal with the insufferable entrance door at the front. At the University of Arizona, I constantly complained about the heavy exit door at the campus’s popular Highland Market. The Chelsea Market entrance door is about ten times harder to push through, especially now that my arm muscles have weakened since college. I cannot for the life of me get through the Chelsea Market threshold. I usually just wait for someone else to storm out so I can cheat my way in. Thankfully, the place is always bustling, so I’m never outside for too long.
Another issue on my plate? My phone. My BlackBerry has been on the verge of dying for about six months, so I plan on trading it in for an iPhone sometime this month. Who knows, maybe it’ll be my Valentine’s Day present to myself tomorrow. I need a device that works and doesn’t freeze on me every hour, especially for business purposes. The Mac folks had me fooled this whole time.