Overheard in New York

I really like overheardinnewyork.com. This site is truly hilarious, but more so, I think, for those of us who live here. For those of you who haven't heard of it, it basically invites New Yorkers to report the things they overhear on the streets and subways. Luckily for the site's owners, there is never a shortage of entertainment to be found in our fair city.

New York is probably the only city where tourists feel like their trip here has been a success if someone tells them to f*** off. That's just part of New York's charm. And it really boils down to one basic truth, which is this: We are always touching each other.

What do I mean by this? Unlike other cities, like LA, where when more people move to the city, it actually gets bigger (heard of "urban sprawl"?) New York, for those of you who don't know, is an island. This means that it cannot get any bigger. Unless we build a land bridge to New Jersey, we're stuck with the space we've got. When more people come to Manhattan, they've got no place to go but your lap. When you're trying to read the paper. Sandwiched between Fatty McFatterson and Smelly Smellingson. On the "express train." Which has taken 28 minutes to move roughly 18 inches.

Being New Yorkers, we do the polite thing, which is to push, shove, elbow, muscle and maneuver for that elusive shard of personal space. Most of us have given up and are resigned to the fact that we must tolerate being grazed the occasional roll of back fat or the odd wet umbrella.

This is not to say that these things do not take their toll on us. We have become so accustomed to everyone being all over everyone, all the time, that we've simply given up on discretion. Why bother trying to use the inside voice to talk about your mysterious rash when the guy next to you is four inches away? So, we get on with it, not caring who's listening.

So, the people at overheardinnewyork.com decided to ask New Yorkers to report on those precious snippets of conversation that pepper our daily lives. There are some true classics on there. I look forward to checking out the book when it's published, no doubt so that Baldy McBeerbelly can read over my shoulder on the V train.

To him I say, "F*** off."