The State of New York hates Michael Alm

It's true... I have good reason to believe that an entire state is out to get me.

That's right, the NYBG de-install trip sucked hard.

But lets go back to the beginning. My first memory of New York is being smashed in the face by a bronze miniature of the statue of liberty. In 1996 My family lived in Albany, where we had record snowfalls, a 9 month winter, and unanimously the worst year of our lives.

When Mrs. Gordan asked me what regions I wanted to look at for colleges I told her "anywhere, but New York."

Flash forward to two weeks ago when I was naively excited about my first business trip to NYC. I was going to get to see the Guggen, MoMA, and the MET. Plus I have a friend at NYU, Larke, who I could do things with.



The first bad news came when I found out we were staying in White Plains, which is a bland suburban town practically in Connecticut. It was bad enough the Botanical Garden is in the Bronx, but thanks to the New York Marathon we were out in the boonies.

The commute sucked, but I figured I could deal. Then there was Daylight savings. Why the fuck do we still do this. It was black in the city by 5:00, so my schedule was wake up at 6:00 am work till 4:30 and get into the city at 5:15. Hauling glass for 9.5 hours pays its toll and it ain't easy mustering the strength to do much. Nevertheless, I wasn't hanging out in White Plains, so I made the trip almost every night.

The first time in the city I met Larke down in the village. We had a good time eating and such, unfortunately we had to call it a night early cause I was still jet lagged, and she had a boat load of work. Little did I know that due to a roommate feud and her missing a deadline, I wouldn't get to see her again this trip. Ugh.

So now I was fending for myself... The one day we got off from work early was Saturday. We had worked hard enough that we were let go at 3:00. I hightailed it to catch the 3:19 to Grand Central.

Getting in at 4:35 My first thought was MoMA. This was number one on my list and I figured I could miss everything else and be happy. I didn't know where it was so I walked into the Hyatt and asked the concierge. She said take 5th Ave to 59th and turn left, but hurry because it closes at 5:30.

I made great time down the crowded streets. I got to 59th at about 4:50. I was happy with the prospect of seeing the world renowned museum even if it was for a wee 40 minutes.

I didn't see it so I walked a few blocks down 59th to check.

I reached the end, and no MoMA. You wanna know why?..... Because MoMA is at 54th and 5th. Something I found out by looking at a map. FRIGGA FRUGGA SHIGGA! When I finally made it there, there was only 15 minutes left and not worth the $19.

My shoulders fell and I wondered off down a random street.

I ended up seeing Time Square, Rockefeller Center, and the one thing I've always dreamed of seeing.... Trump Tower. Tired and bummed to be all alone in a city that hates me, I went back kinda early.



As for the work situation... I spent most of the time removing, measuring, and stuffing reeds into tubes:

visual:



It wasn't too terrible, but a little more variety would have been nice. (I'd be very happy to never see another cardboard tube again.)

And the work associates were a ragtag crew of middle aged chain smokers from Tacoma. Smoking usually doesn't bother me, but waking up at 6 am to six flaring cigs started to make me feel sick. (tung twister) Honestly, they were very nice people, but I just couldn't relate to 'em.

The last full day was debatably the worst. We were told before that we would only be working for about an hour because there was just one truck to load. I was excited, until I saw our team leader Paul in the morning. First thing he said was, "Hope you're ready to work today." The last truck we loaded the day before had driven under a low bridge and skinned the top of the trailer. We had to unload it and load a new one.

Since this was the last truck loaded for Tacoma, it was the crap truck. All the odds and ends were thrown in, and yes there were plenty of reed tubes. On top of that the art handlers/ box movers that had helped this entire time were not hired for that day, because we didn't think we'd need them. So, we unloaded the truck, and loaded the truck scheduled for the day with stuff for Fairchild. Meanwhile, we waited for the replacement to arrive.

Then, when were about 3/4 done, we got a call from the trucking company. The replacement truck had also gone under a low bridge and skinned its top. Ugh. So, what did that mean? It meant that the initial trucker had to detach his rig from the container, drive 90 miles through the city, pick up a new container and bring it back to us.

3.5 hours later we were loading the trailer for the second time. A day that was supposed to end at 9am actually ended at 3pm.

Despite my frustration I figured I would have ample time to go into downtown and see the Guggenheim. I hopped on the 3:19 to Grand Central, and took the 6 to 86th. I walked a up to 88th and down towards 5th ave. I made great time and had 1 hour and 45 minutes to hang out in the museum. I could actually relax and enjoy it.

As I came around the corner I started to see what had to be it, but, as was the way with this trip, something was wrong... Scaffolding. Scaffolding! I fucking hate scaffolding. And this wasn't just a small section to one side. This was the entire exterior.... covered:



Most of the time I don't go to a museum to see its outside, but with the Guggenheim the building was number 1 and the art inside number 2.

I figured, oh well, at least I could settle for number 2. Right?

Wrong! I get inside and go to buy a ticket and the guy says that because they are de-installing I can donate whatever I want. De-installing a show is one thing, but they were de-installing the entire museum. There was one small show in the back corner of floor 5, and that was IT. Everything else blocked off, and if an art piece was still hung on the wall it was covered in butcher paper. I just wanted to walk the spiral ramp. That's all. The building could have been empty for all I cared. I just wanted to walk from bottom to top. But no, I was forced to go to the 5th floor in a tiny elevator and was gated off from everything else.

I walked back to the train station defeated, lonely, and depressed. I gave the finger to the Trump Tower, and rode back to White Plains.

Fucking New York.