My Person of the Year

(Originally published 12/20/12)

Time magazine has finally made its “Person of the Year” selection. I was on tenterhooks with anticipation and can now rest easily. Anyway, befitting my blog’s general theme, I thought it appropriate to personally select a local “Person of the Year,” and I have. I will not even mention his name. In fact, I do not even know the man’s name. What I do know is that he works hard—six- and seven-day weeks—and supplies the area with an excellent product. He sells pizza and assorted specialty dishes, gives you a real bang for your buck, and he is an all-around nice guy, too.

Yesterday, while patronizing his establishment, which I often do, a fellow customer stood by awaiting a slice of pizza that was heating in the oven. He had parked his car in front of the shop but opted not to purchase a meter parking ticket. It is twenty-five cents for ten minutes now, which not too long ago was twenty-five cents for fifteen minutes. The guy figured he would be in and out in a flash—no biggie. But this is New York City in the twenty-first century and, sure enough, a meter maid materialized with her computer ticket writer in hand. Lurking in the shadows and ready to pounce, meter personnel are ubiquitous in the City That Never Sleeps, and the little guy has not got a chance.

When the pizza parlor patron ran outside to plead his case, my favorite Pizza Man wistfully peered out his front window and shook his head. I said something like: “The city needs money. This is how they get it today.” He replied with something like, “You said a mouthful.” He then proceeded to tell me of the perpetual health inspections he and countless fellow New York City eateries are subject to nowadays: “This morning an inspector comes in while I am preparing a big order for a Christmas party. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘Do what you have to do, but I’ve got to work.’ I told him that somebody was in here last week. He says to me, ‘Really. I did not know that.’ You would not believe how much money they have taken from me.”

Sadly, my Pizza Man’s tale of woe is commonplace. This is the reality of today's New York City. And when combined with the exorbitant rents charged by conglomerate—and mostly faceless landlords—it is often a lethal one-two punch. “It’s not like it was," my Pizza Man said. Indeed, this small business guy—working his butt off—summed it up succinctly: “They won’t let you rise!” This line struck me as both eloquent and apropos—particularly for a pizza maker—in this once special town. I would like to believe there are better days ahead for the Average Joe and Jane in old New York. But the reality snapshot keeps whispering in my ear: Fuggedaboutit!