First Day

The people I'm staying with are pretty rich. Pretty bloody rich. The result is that when I suggest going to get a few things before I move into my flat, I'm told that we will go to a shop called "Bed, Bath & Beyond". The "Beyond" part is pretty much where I was taken. My mother and her partner in waste filled up a trolley with every utterly useless household item that has ever graced the pages of Vogue. It began with a loofah and ended with an attempt to get me to buy a pillow for $99. I was getting pissed off and demanding that anything over $1 go back to the shelves. What was worse was that my father was screaming at me over my phone saying that it was "ridicule" and "un gaspillage".

I then sat in the car and watched as my mother and her friend were driven to every pointless puffed-up department store in NYC, from 'Barneys' (which only sells about three dresses, each at $10000) to Bloomingdales. I waited in the car with the chauffeur, whose name is Milan.

"Milan...is that a Czech name?" I wondered aloud.

"No, Serbian. You ever been to ex-Yugoslavia?"

"No, but I hear it's beautiful."

"Well, it WAS beautiful. Now it's just six banana republics."

"Ah...and Kosovo? Isn't there a vote on independence ahead?"

"How can they vote for independence!? Serbia is the mother land for these people! It's those Albanians that are the problem. They breed like cucarachas."

I let the moment pass. Now wasn't a good time for a lecture about understanding. But Milan just kept going. It appeared he really didn't want anyone to feel left out.

"You know, this country, in 15 years, will become just like South America. Spanish everywhere."

He eventually moved on to black people, but I sort of zoned out after a while.

I got a sandwich from a deli and I realised how much of an English ponce I look, walking up to the counter with all the Manhattan charm of a seashell collector at Lyme Regis. The guy gave me free bananas and a pickle, so I guess it worked. Then I was finally driven to the Columbia University housing offices, where I was to collect my apartment keys.

I entered the plush white offices and again ponced and mumbled my way through an introduction. Ten minutes later I and two other students were escorted into a meeting room where a short guy spoke with an edgy, annoyed tone. "Okay guys, we are going to fill in forms fast. REAL fast. You have ten minutes to get your keys, and if you don't get them in time you'll have to wait till Monday." I was about to laugh when the man began to shout. "I want you to SIGN, PRINT and DATE! SIGN, PRINT and DATE! DO IT!" Everyone scribbled frantically. I kept making mistakes and hyperventilating. "LIONEL! SIGN, PRINT and DATE goddammit!" We weren't even allowed to read through what we were signing. Von Bismarck provided an explanation: "The first one is for lead in the paint. I don't want to see any licking of the walls. The second is for friends. Oh SURE, you want to invite your friends, huh? We want that too. Nice to have friends. But they're not staying at your place long. BOY are they not staying long...' and so on and so on.

I then was told to meet my superintendent, a black 40-year old who had an equally aggressive voice. I realised then that everyone in New York has that voice that makes you shit your pants in fear, but actually they just see it as a likeable greeting. He babbled all sorts of rules about taking out the 'garbage', checking my 'mailbox' and 'washing' my underwear. Then I went up to my apartment to see my flatmate. He smiled and mumbled nervously before running back to his little IT mousehole - he seemed like a nice guy though. The flat was ok, but with bizarre room proportions; huge living room and separate dining room, but a miniscule bathroom and kitchen. I dumped my Brita filters in my bedroom and then went for tea with my mother and a couple of friends.

It was at the Carlyle Hotel, the kind of place I imagine Sex & The City covers frequently. 'Inspired' by Ottoman art, the hotel's (Puerto Rican) staff wore fezes and sold tea priced at $35. I stared into space and listened to the vacuous talk of women: what new diets to try, gym equipment to buy and who had had the most tiring day. Actually to be fair they did touch on the Middle East conflict and said some intelligent things, but how else am I going to feel superior? After the drive home we had dinner and I read some 'Don Quixote' to warn me of what my year might turn me into.