Demographics Part II

I spent the next several weeks drinking away my sorrows and fueling the anger I had for being let go from my company. A few interviews and a lot of job applications, yielded nothing. One day, while transporting my laundry from 33 to the laundry room in the back of the lobby a middle-aged, black gentleman asked how I liked living there.

"I love the building, the view is great, but I'm concerned because I lost my job earlier this month."

He graciously replied, "Well check the community board in the lobby, and I'll let you know if I hear about any jobs for you." I was shocked. Here I was, obviously an outsider in a building comprised almost entirely of Section-8 tenants and I was being welcomed and more beautifully, offered professional assistance. The tenant I met seemed intent on me finding a new job and being able to afford the cheap rent I was paying to live there. Completely opposite from some my previous elevator encounters...

Something else struck me though. He mentioned the community bulletin board. Community. I was living in a real community. Real people, real tenants, real rent, real problems. Gentrification. This gracious gentleman was willing to help me out despite the fact that my presence in the building quite possibly jeopardized his keeping his own home.

After a few months of residing in 1990, I realized that this community was not a transient population. The population of Manhattan who are used to moving when their 12month lease ends. The population which looks for deals, for upgrades, for luxury. Many of the tenants in 1990 were not seeking luxury, they were not seeking a place with a view, they were seeking to maintain community. Their community. A community which, while rough around the edges and plagued with gangs and drugs, was not only sustaining but is vibrant.

By mid-november, I found an entry-level position in New York's thriving advertising sector. I was off to the races once again. And as my lavish wardrobe grew and booze consumption took a newly corporate turn, I began to see the number of new faces in 1990 sharply increase.

Let's face it, in 1990 Lex, a new face is not a hard one to spot. It was never hard for me to strike up a conversation with a young female who was hauling boxes up to her new place. I relished in the fact that I had moved in first, had the model apartment on the top floor and that I refused to admit that I was a bit scared of living in this neighborhood. Despite the tensions I experienced while waiting for the few elevators to arrive in the lobby, or the dirty looks I would get from the teens while confined to the elevator car enroute to 33, most of my neighbors were entirely pleasant.

I'll never forget the one lady who sized me up as soon as the doors closed on our way upstairs and stated, "You new here, right?"
I stated the obvious and she replied, "Well welcome. And you in the hood now, so when you hear *pop! pop! pop!* just get down on the floor!"
She was polite though, spoke the truth to me and had a good fucking point.