331 West 39th Street

In New York, we run to opportunity, we look for kind people with kind hearts to grab on to and hope for important moments and generous faces. We like to ignore the violence and the piss stained sidewalks; bow our head down when others ask for help and raise them back up to accept it. We, New Yorkers, are fast paced; we cry for the attention that we shy away from. An ego of New York, a big ego that we carry around, even the ones that think they might not have one. Imagine a New York artist- that’s a show, a show of an ego. The most innocent ones can carry it too. And it isn’t a bad thing, we wouldn’t put our work out there if it wasn’t for others to cherish. I sure like the acceptance as an artist, a New York artist. The ones that are lucky enough to go to school for it, learn from the best of the best, we are told that we will find a connection, an outreached hand to grab on to. The student loans build but our hands remain scarce. We look for work and hope and ride the dirty subway. We just need to make a new connection, a new hand, we just need to have someone believe that we can be young with little experience but sure as hell put up a fight. New Yorker’s know that almost everything is too good to be true and if it is truly good, it is truly a price. We know that once we walk into a new environment, a new space of the city, we aren’t in for anything, we’re just in. Young, we remain with hope, but desperate nonetheless, we get a response from some marketing agency that is looking for immediate hires. You know, I’m not looking to work in marketing but I definitely love to write. Maybe it could be something new. I get an interview. I must dress business formal so I wear my beautiful, tired black boots with a slack my legs grow in. I want to prove I am making every effort for work, every part of myself committing to my success. I am told the building is across from a tree? What does that even mean? Are trees really that scattered in New York that it can be a GPS function? I wait on line. Yes that’s right, I wait on line outside of the building where a singular tree is potted parallel to the door that reads 331. I wished for running shoes. I sign in with a young woman most likely my age, get a form with some strange font and take a seat next to over 30 others, could have been 40. Some sweet jams play on a speaker hung on the wall. I think to myself, this is young. I begin filling out the falsely-fonted form: my name, my address, my number, my interests, my hobbies? What is th-? A woman comes out of one of the rooms after her interview and goes straight to the young girl behind the desk, the one I signed in with. She says, this is a scam, give me my information back, the young girl refuses. This goes on for a few minutes while I break into a sweat. What will happen? Am I okay? How do I leave if the doors are blocked by people? I take my form, rush out. Never a text saying I missed my time allotted interview, nothing. I look at the company’s website once more, their address is linked to New York City Hall. What a funny joke New York played. I find on reddit a list of companies that have used this space, 331 West 39th Street, to scam, re-route banking information, begin pyramid schemes. New Yorker’s do not trust, but we hope and sometimes that can be just as dangerous. I will not stop hoping, just hope in a pair of running shoes.

Using Format