If You Thought NYC Couldn’t Get Worse, Remember: Alvin Bragg is Running for Re-Election
Getting a handle on the grievances
Today, my goal is to vent and complain.
Much like women lamenting low salaries while showcasing their perfectly manicured nails from Forest Hills to Atlantic City.
Or those long, double-length buses that stretch taller than the World Trade Center yet sit idly on the curb, completely empty.
Bread served at restaurants? Seems like you now have to bring your own.
Need a doctor’s appointment? Good luck with that. The nurse will grant you a mere seven-minute consultation in six months—if you’re still around by then.
An appointment at the iconic 42nd & Lex Chrysler Building? Even with an office above, you have to check in at the concierge, snap a photo, show your ID, sign in, explain your purpose, tell him off, and then dash to catch the elevator.
Your favorite sweater has a moth hole.
Your second favorite sweater’s matching skirt? The cleaners lost it.
Your go-to shoe repair shop is now closed.
Your best friend isn’t your best friend anymore.
Disputes with your co-worker, fights with the IRS, shouting matches with your spouse, cutting ties with your brother-in-law, and forgetting to pay your rent.
The dental bridge that supports your four front teeth takes six months to be replaced.
The closest school won’t accept your child.
Can’t locate your glasses, phone, or hearing aid.
The airline with your prepaid tickets to Paris has just canceled its trans-Atlantic flights.
Your computer is acting up.
Your housekeeper has quit.
Your husband has left you.
Hire Hunter—but be sure to hide your silverware.
Your longtime plumber is now involved with your short-term babysitter.
Rent increases, job losses.
A rat as big as your Chevy just dashed through the kitchen.
We all—yes, all—want to stuff Meghan Markle back beside her red-haired Harry.
You mislaid an earring.
You stumbled upon another single earring that doesn’t match anything.
Your house has run out of Kleenex.
The store is out of Kleenex.
Your nose is out of Kleenex.
After an illegal left turn, the cops are now pulling you over.
Ugh! Bragg is gearing up (is he walking? limping?) for re-election as DA!
Memorize Kamala’s last address.
The IRS claims you owe them taxes going back eight years.
Your cat is not fond of you or your dog.
Bills are stacking up, and so is your waistline.
And let’s not forget: You now reside in the city where P. Diddy’s most popular neighborhood bumper sticker says, “Reminder: Don’t forget to hug your bail bondsman today.”
Only in New York, folks, only in New York.
