Tag: travel

The One Where I Got A Job– Look Out Corporate America

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After much deliberation, I have decided that I am not meant to work for a living. 

I respect the lifestyle, but it’s just not for me. 

A glamorous headshot of me, taken at work

School’s back in session, so I can finally tell you all about the joys of my New York City job, how I was every inch the slick professional in chic pumps, ready to “shake up the game” or something like that. 

A few weeks ago, I completed my summer gig of working as a receptionist at a zillenial fin-tech place, having found the job through a temp agency.

Photographic evidence of me working for a living

My parents told me to apply at a temp agency, something that I believed to be a thing from their New York City days that no longer existed, like subway tokens and paying a buck 85 for your coffee. As it turns out, temp agencies are still alive and well, unlike the other facets of their New York City days, when they could afford a walk-up on practically no budget with a job that they got by checking the want-ads one afternoon.

My mother requested pics of my work clothes everyday. Here they are

Through Taylor Hodson, I got a job as a receptionist at a company that, like most people, doesn’t even have a landline. My job was primarily to greet people and to shred meaningless documents, something that they trusted a 23 year old to do perfectly. 

This was one of my first ever big girl jobs, not a part time internship that paid me minimum wage, gave me one day off a week, and let me roll in at 10 AM. Working a full forty hour work week for above minimum wage felt like graduating past that point in your school career where you get to have naptime.

A hardworking professional, as you can see

Unlike my previous part-time employment, I actually got off work feeling like I’d earned the right to a Friday afternoon happy hour drink as well as the right to yell at tourists walking three abreast on the sidewalk while I hurtled my body into my subway stop in the morning. 

I filled out an I-9, a W-2, and an NDA, before completing a sexual harassment lecture and quiz that asked real head scratchers like, “is commenting on your coworkers breasts while she’s lactating sexual harassment?”

I practiced my route to work the day before in order to ensure that I could get there in a New York Minute. Then, I did some of new-job-pregaming-rituals the night before, like watching Anne Hathaway play a plucky career woman in one of her films (The Devil Wears Prada, The Intern, etc.). She is every woman… but she is a little bit more me than the rest of you. I’m sorry, it’s the big brown eyes and the long brown hair.

I’d wake up every morning and listen to Megan Thee Stallion rap about “holding a glock in her birkin,” two things that I don’t own, before manning a desk for eight hours. 

I’d gotten a taste of rush hour traffic at my old job, but would now get to enjoy a long commute during rush hour in the middle of a heat wave. Every subway car was sardined with people, except for the one half-full car that has no air conditioning, making New Yorkers choose between personal space and heat stroke. We’re all hot and angry, trauma bonded from being jostled into each other’s half-naked bodies while sweat drips down our ass cracks. Nothing quite beats inhaling a wide range of body odors while trying to get to work on time.

This is being presided over by a conductor who was usually just as mad about it as we were and made that apparent by shouting at us to not only “STAND CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS” but to “USE MORE THAN ONE OF THE DOORS” and “WAIT UNTIL THE NEXT TRAIN IF YOU DON’T FIT,” with the same energy as a TSA agent at LaGuardia who will yell at you to stand back if you approach them to ask a question that has already been answered.

I’m not sure whose fault this is, but I’m just going to blame Eric Adams. You can always blame the mayor of New York and then a decade after they’re out of office, they’ll get a couple of buildings named after them. 

Commuting home at the end of the day, unreasonably exhausted from not doing much of anything, and then being responsible for making my own dinner seems cruel and unusual.

I now have a new respect for the people who work all day, come home to kids to raise, make dinner, and then sleep poorly, only to make a paltry sum of money the next day at work. 

Like I said, I have decided that I am not meant to work for a living. 

I’ve just started another year of school, so I won’t have to rejoin the workforce for another year. Corporate America will have to wait with bated breath for my return. 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

Farewell San Fran

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“…Off to see the world

There’s such a lot of world to see.”

–Moon River, from the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s

In the heart of Golden Gate Park, there’s a serene garden called the Japanese Tea Garden. It has gently combed gravel designed for meditation, statues of Buddha, koi fish in reflecting ponds, bridges you can climb over, and a tea house to eat in. 

It’s free to the public on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays before 10 AM, so on my final day in San Francisco, I went there for breakfast.

I had green tea and what was basically well-seasoned chicken nuggets for breakfast, but with a lovely view of bonsai trees.

After that, I stayed in Golden Gate Park to go to the California Academy of Science, where I watched butterflies land on students’ backpacks in an indoor rainforest, and penguins dive into the water of an aquarium, before falling asleep in a warm, dark planetarium.

I took a ride on a cable car as a last hurrah and got some of my best views of the city by far. I couldn’t have envisioned a better final day in San Francisco. 

My initial impression was that San Francisco was a charmingly-messy, mild-mannered city.  

My new, better-informed impression is that San Francisco is a moody town that’s constantly reinventing itself. It’s in a troubled time, crippled by a homelessness epidemic that is distressing to think about, much less look at head-on, and a gentrified, monocultural tailspin with no end in sight. 

But I believe that it will prevail. 

So much of what I saw fit the reputation of classic San Francisco. 

I saw two men having sex on a nude beach and had them look back at me with a “you lost, girl?” look. Likewise, I was offered magic mushrooms by a guy on the street, which I politely declined. A building had Jimmy Hendrix painted on the side of it, because he’d once lived there, but it had since been converted to a pet shop– the undercurrent of rock n’ roll being never far behind.

I managed to beat the heat for about five days at the start of summer by being in foggy San Francisco, famous for its mild weather year round. 

Another beautiful San Fran attraction that you should visit in Golden Gate Park. Please ignore the little boy picking at his underwear.

This trip marks one of the first times I’ve voluntarily ventured out into the world. As a person who likes her solitude, I often have to force myself to leave my house, but I wanted to experience the world, since there’s such a lot of world to see.

While in San Francisco, I stumbled upon a nude beach, walked across The Golden Gate Bridge, tried to get the attention of some sea lions at Fisherman’s Wharf on Pier 39, visited a Japanese Tea Garden, did some thrifting, and rode in a few self-driving cars and cable cars. There are still many more things I’d like to do in San Francisco: taking a trip to Alcatraz and properly seeing Lombard Street both come to mind. But for now, I’ve gotten my fill of the city and will be thinking about it for a while to come.

Thank you again Raj for letting me stay with you and helping me learn enough for my novel. I will never forget it. 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

The Haight

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San Francisco, being my kind of town, has incredible thrift shops. The best thrifting in San Francisco is in Haight Ashbury and the best shopping in Haight Ashbury is on Haight Street, which is completely lined with thrift shops.

My motto, as you know

I journeyed down to Haight Street, known to the locals as The Haight, to judge for myself whether or not the thrifting was better in New York City or in San Francisco. 

After taking me to Gus’s (the best sandwich shop in the city apparently), Raj gave me his own personal thrift tour, showing me the best spots. 

At the many stores we hit, I found, and fell in love with, a red, wine-colored cocktail dress and a lavender jacket. Anyone who thrifts knows that one or two great pieces is quite the haul. I bought a San Francisco 49-ers shirt as a souvenir and am now prepared for men to ask me if I’m a fan as a way to make small talk, should I ever wear it out in public. My flirting skills, knowing no bounds, will probably have me saying, “no I just own the shirt.”

I came close a few times to buying a vinyl jacket that I absolutely did not need. “Absolutely did not need” would describe all of the shopping that I did while in Haight Ashbury. 

I mainly wanted the statues of the naked golden ladies that were over the dressing rooms of one of the places I went to. I thought that they would make a nice addition to my Columbia apartment. 

It would really give my apartment more of a Greek-sculpture-garden vibe rather than the soggy-cardboard-box vibe it has now and you just can’t get that from William Sonoma. 

They were, alas, not for sale and so my apartment will have to make do with the aesthetically-pleasing pieces of furniture that I find on the street. 

Following that, we had a night out on the town, me with my new jacket and Raj with his equally nice clothes. I was able to take a ride in one of those utterly terrifying self-driving cars that make you fear that you’ll be careening towards a sudden death in a matter of seconds. They also make you question how far automation will put us out of work in the future, but I forced myself to think happy thoughts, like about the amazing thrifting that can be done in San Francisco.

And if you ever find yourself in San Francisco, do yourself a favor and shop at The Haight. 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Read all about my Escape to the Golden Gate that took place the day before I went thrifting.

An Escape to the Golden Gate

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On my second day in the city, I saw exactly what I’d dreamed of when I pictured going to San Francisco all of those years ago: the San Francisco Bay covered in glittery fog and the Golden Gate Bridge disappearing into the clouds.

I’d never been to the West Coast before– I’d only ever gone up and down the East Coast. Standing on the opposite edge of the continent, I wanted to go to the beach. 

After walking the length of the bridge, I decided to hang a left at the beach.

At first, I walked down the path into a wooded hillside towards the water and then decided not to in case I encountered a bear along the way. (It is on their state flag after all).

The view from sunny California

Having told no one where I was going that day, I decided that maybe it was best not to walk down a mountainside alone and instead made it to Marshall’s Beach by taking the road.

I’d packed a swimsuit for my trip without any plans to get anywhere near the freezing cold water in the Pacific Ocean. Since I decided to go to the beach spontaneously, I didn’t have it on me. Instead, I climbed over the rocks and walked barefoot along the shoreline, discovering for myself that the water was in fact numbingly-cold. 

Watching the waves crash, I started to get FOMO and wished I had my bathing suit, despite how cold it was. I turned a corner and realized that this was not the type of beach for which you needed a bathing suit. 

When Google searching beaches with which to best glimpse the Golden Gate Bridge, none of the websites mentioned that Marshall’s Beach was a clothing-optional beach with a large gay scene. 

And I’m not mad about it. I always love a good trip to the beach. 

So did I partake in the nude beach experience? Did I adopt a when-in-Rome attitude and plunge naked into the Pacific Ocean? Did I emerge from the water naked with my long, wavy hair blowing in the breeze behind me like a Botticeli painting? 

Maybe.

I can tell you that I came out of the excursion with a sunburnt nose and my bad knee even worse than before, having witnessed a few eye-opening things taking place on the sand, but I loved it. A day at the beach is still a day at the beach.

Following that, I ate bao at a chinese restaurant called Bao, which more than lived up to its name, and got a drink at The Buddha Lounge in Chinatown. I 10/10 recommend both.

Day two was down with another adventurous San Francisco day in the books. I was ready to limp around San Francisco for another adventure on my third day in the city.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my previous blog post on what my first day in San Francisco was like.

I Left My Heart in [blank]

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“I left my home in Georgia, headed for the ‘Frisco Bay”

–Otis Redding, Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay

School was out for summer and I was in a mood. The kind of mood where I sit around playing California Dreamin’ on repeat as my semester ramped down because that’s exactly what I was doing: dreaming of California, a place that I’ve never been to but have heard so much about due to the total tonnage of songs dedicated to it. I’d made it through my semester and, I’m not sure if you’ve seen the news lately, but that semester was a little bit more difficult than usual.

Around this time, my metrocard was getting low and the temperature was getting high. I found myself wanting to be in a walkable city with famously mild weather.

Packing only the essentials

All of my friends were back to their corners, jet-setting to their own summer plans. I decided to do something that I’ve been dreaming about for a while:

I booked a flight to San Francisco. 

Dressing the part of someone who’d go to the Bay Area

In proper girl-on-a-budget fashion, I made plans to sleep on a friend’s couch and then toggled back and forth between the $120 flights on airlines with shoddy safety records, and 15 hour layovers in the midwest, and the slightly pricier tickets from more reputable airlines. 

Prior to actually visiting San Francisco, I envisioned a politically-correct mecca, filled to the brim with the liberally-enlightened. I’d seen the same iconic images as everybody else: picturesque, Victorian houses stacked up and down hilly streets, a blue-burnt sky behind them, and the Golden Gate Bridge silhouetted on the horizon. 

What I found instead was a not kid-friendly, gritty and grimy city brushing up against a hypoallergenic tech sector. (The amount of signs I saw advertising for strip joints was actually kind of impressive and made it look like a local delicacy). Each street was elbowing the next, with Lululemon-clad women boarding the bus one minute and Boho-hippies boarding it the next. The bus would then migrate over to the decayed financial sector, which has become more of a homeless sector, having lain dormant since the pandemic. 

All of these multitudes and more were compacted onto a tiny peninsula.  

I was trying to understand where this “out with the old and in with the new” mentality came from.  I read the same articles as you (well, some of you): tech people setting up camp and redefining the city, homelessness populations being the largest in the country and turning into a way of life, and the cost of living skyrocketing to untenable heights, all taking root in San Francisco over the past decade.

I had to lay eyes on this for myself.

You’re probably wondering why I went to San Francisco in the first place. I want to set a novel in San Francisco (don’t ask me why because everybody asks me why and I don’t know why, which would indicate that I make questionable decisions) and felt that I could not tell the story authentically until I took the city by storm myself. I slept on my friend Raj’s couch (This is Raj. Say hi to Raj). 

Raj has been my brother’s best friend since they were 2 when I was in utero. 

While he went to work, I tooled around town. 

I arrived the day after the city held one of its biggest traditions, which had inconceivably included both marathons and raves, so I basically showed up during a city wide hangover. It was like a day at the beach when everything is so calm that the water barely moves. 

My first stop was City Lights Bookstore, the indie bookstore where Alan Guinsburg debuted Howl many moons ago. After nearly ending up at a lamp store a few times thanks to my GPS, I arrived at City Lights, a beautiful bookstore that was nearly Alan Guinsburg themed at this point, but didn’t sell any of the hockey romance novels that my mother keeps trying to get me to read. Sad. 

From there, I went to see this bay that everyone talks so much about. I saw the Golden Gate Bridge, which is blue at a distance and only red up close. I could see Angel Island and Alcatraz on the horizon beside one another. 

I closed out my day at Pier 39, seeing –and smelling– the sea lions. 

The sea lions on Pier 39 made me irrationally happy as they spun through the water and then flopped onto the stacks of sea lion bodies on the dock. I enjoyed witnessing the Greco-Roman wrestling matches of the sea lions who’d sardined themselves onto a dock and were now biting and barking at each other.

I started to think that if I were to be reincarnated as any animal, it would not be too bad to come back as a Pier 39 sea lion. I particularly related to the one antisocial sea lion on a different dock who refused to socialize with the other sea lions. 

He wasn’t dead. He moved a few times. He was just chilling like he was dead. 

I spent much of my first day bumbling around, courtesy of my nonexistent sense of direction. Raj was an excellent tour guide, explaining to me the different socio-political forces at play in San Francisco, the geography of where I was, and the best spots in the city. He actually knew the history of where he was and so could tell me the significance of where I was standing at any given time. 

Once I was in San Francisco, I felt like I could feel the city’s character muscling its way to the surface, a character that shuns the very idea of the tech industry being anywhere near Haight Ashbury, the home of free love and public fornication. San Francisco is trying hard to maintain its reputation as the beat-poetry, psychedelic-rock birthplace by trumping its newfound granola-tech-people-with-homeless-encampments-lining-the-streets-reputation. 

You’ll be sure to learn my thoughts on how that’s going by the end of this four part saga.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my last blog post about my friend Alyssa’s Senior show.

Olivia’s Gluten-Free Birthday

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One of my favorite things about living in New York City is not just the way in which various different types of restaurants can coexist here, but the way a restaurant needs a hook in order to stay alive. 

You can create whatever seemingly mismatched fusion restaurant, whatever astrology-themed bar, or animal-themed cafe you want, so long as the food and drink earns its keep. 

A generic restaurant is more likely to be put out of business than an eccentric one– basic restaurants need not apply.

This occurred to me a few weeks ago at Senza Gluten, the gluten-free Italian restaurant I went to for my cousin Olivia’s birthday. My knowledge of Italian came in clutch as I informed the table that “senza” means “without” in Italian, which is about all I can do with my limited knowledge of Italian: impress people by reading off the menu at an Italian restaurant and enhance the viewing experience of season 2 of The White Lotus. 

Our gluten-free meals were excellent, unlike most gluten-free which runs the risk of tasting like carpeting. We had our gluten-free meals, toasted the woman of the hour with all of the alcohol we’d just purchased, and then had some gluten-free bagels the next morning at a gluten-free bagel place. 

Only in New York City could so much lack of gluten thrive. 

For her birthday, I bought Olivia a “pussy astray/incense holder.” The women selling them in Union Square Park clapped them together to demonstrate that they were “indestructible, just like the real thing.” 

Olivia is one of the few people I know who would appreciate such a product. 

Olivia, appreciating such a gift

I’d spent the weekend eating gluten-free around town, on purpose, and witnessing a woman standing in Union Square park unironically clap together vagina-shaped drug paraphernalia, like they were chalkboard erasers, and yet, the thing that I was most struck by was all of the things that I could only get in New York City. 

Between the unique food and the unique gifts, New York City is the place to spend your birthday.

Happy late birthday, Olivia! 

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel

P.S.: Check out my previous blog post: Home Sweet Home

A Day At The Zoo

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At the end of the summer, Valentina and I went to the Bronx Zoo for a last hurrah.  

Hot take: zoos are not strictly for children, as animals are universal. 

And yet there were children everywhere. 

Valentina and I made our way through the crowds of strollers in scorching hot weather, feeling very superior to the toddler who kicked its shoes into the gazelle pen, and losing our minds over the beautiful elephants, same as any sane person would.

This led to many great discussions, such as “what animal would you want to be reincarnated as?” and “do you want kids?”

The Bronx Zoo claims that all of the animals they have in captivity are the result of being rescued from the wild and rehabilitated, which was justification enough for Valentina and me to enjoy ourselves. 

I pspspsped the giraffes and they did the same thing that my cat does when I do it to her: not come towards me. 

I kept my Harry Potter references to a minimum when in the reptile room, staring at the boa constrictors behind glass. 

I used the limited amount of animal knowledge that I could recall from childhood to keep the conversation going.

How many bones do giraffes have in their neck? 

7, the same as humans. They’re just longer.

Are zebras white with black stripes or black with white stripes? 

It depends on the zebra. You can shave them and have your answer.

What animal rules the animal kingdom?

My house cat thinks it’s her. 

Valentina and I spent the afternoon reclaiming zoos for adults. We did not see any Capybaras or Ocelots, the respective favorite animals of Valentina and myself. We missed the penguins, which were the main reason that we went, but we can always take another trip to the zoo in the coming year. 

We were able to see lions, elephants, giraffes, and every other majestic type of animal from the Animal Kingdom. I desperately want to go on a safari but due to my on-going fear that I will accidentally cause my own death one day, I’m thinking about maybe sitting that one out. 

My recommendation would be for everyone to go to the Bronx Zoo and experience it for themselves, so that you might stare at the penguins and succeed where Valentina and I failed.

The Tragic Queen,

Raquel