My Super is B-A-N-A-N-A-S

I interrupt this Belize-scheduled blogging to post about my crazy super, a Hispanic woman in her 50s. I've lived in my first-floor jr one bedroom (a term unique to New York) in Hell's Kitchen for nearly 3 ½ years. During that time, I’ve, ahem, entertained a few gentlemen; let a very drunk (and possibly roofie’d) stranger who was banging on my door at 2am sleep on my couch (that story made the book); left my keys in the door overnight; locked myself out of the apartment; and survived a fire in the boiler room. My super, who lives across the hall, has seen it all. In fact, from her perch by her front window, she sees everyone who enters and leaves and building and knows everything that happens therein.

When I moved in, a single girl on the first floor, my super decided to act as my surrogate mother. Sometimes she brings me soda or pizza from the corner; she gives me Christmas and gifts, and generally feels like she looks after me. She also yells at me for reasons as vague as talking in the hallways or not throwing out my trash correctly.

My super found out I was Jewish during my first Christmas in the building when I didn’t go home for the holiday. Although she continues to give me Christmas and Easter presents, she has acknowledged my Judaism by asking about “weird, ethic food smells” coming from my apartment and having me sew the lining of her coat. Why she thought I was a tailor, I don’t know, but since I’m crafty I fixed it for her.

Anyway, today I told her that my single life was over and I would be giving up my apartment to move in with Matt on Feb 1st. (A subject that is, of course, worthy of much introspection and several blog posts to come). She expressed her please that I was “moving ahead in my relationship,” and then got pensive, wondering aloud about who would be moving in.

“I hope it’s not one of those Indians,” she said clucking her tongue. “You know, they like to show the place to those Indians sometimes.”

I just smiled and nodded. This is a good tactic to take when one has to listen to your super talk about Indians or use the n word as she is prone to do. So, apparently “slutty Jewish girl” ranks higher on her list of acceptable tenants than Indians or black people. I can only hope that whoever moves into my apartment has an affinity for nosy Hispanic ladies.